CHAPTER VII.
WHAT A HANDKERCHIEF REVEALED.
Dyke Darrel was so dazed from the blow he had received as to be unableto ward off the dirk that was thrust at his bosom by the vileassassin, and had not a third party appeared on the scene at thiscritical moment the story we are now writing would never have beentold.
A kind Providence had on more than one occasion favored the daringrailroad detective.
Before the point of the knife touched the breast of Dyke Darrel, aswift-flying object sent the deadly weapon out into the middle of thestreet.
The next instant a man bounded from the shadow of a building upon thewould-be assassin. There was a short struggle, when the last comerfound, that instead of the detective's assailant, he held a coat inhis hands.
The villain had made good his escape.
"Confound you!" greeted the new comer.
"Who was it?"
"I saw him following you, sir, and made up my mind that some villainywas in the wind. I do not know who the villain was. Are you hurt?"
"Not in the least."
Then the two men walked on until a lamp-post was gained. Here thefeatures of each were plainly revealed.
A low exclamation fell from the lips of Dyke Darrel.
"Good thunder, Harry Bernard! how are you? Where in the world did youspring from?"
The detective grasped and wrung the man's hand warmly--a ratherslender young fellow, with brown hair and eyes, a mustache being theonly sign of beard on his face.
"One question at a time, Dyke," returned the young man with a laugh."I mistrusted it was you all the time. It strikes me that you arebecoming careless in your old age. Hope you're not in love--THAT makesa fool of a man sometimes?"
"Does it? No, I'm not in any such predicament; fact is, I am wedded tomy profession and shall never marry. But, Harry, you haven't answeredmy questions yet."
"You asked me how I get on; I can answer that by saying that I wasnever better in my life. I have been across the plains, among cowboysand Indians, and it's given me strong muscles and good health. Iarrived in St. Louis this morning. It was the merest chance thatplaced me in a position to do you a service, Dyke. As I said before,it seems to me that you are getting careless. Just imagine what theresult would have been had I not put in an appearance. I have thefellow's coat to show for the adventure."
"True enough. I admit that I was careless," returned the detective,"and my adventure will serve to put me on my guard hereafter. Comewith me to my room, Harry, and we will talk over matters in general. Imust take the midnight express North, and may not see you again soon,unless you conclude to go on with me."
"I shall remain in St. Louis for the present," returned young Bernard.
He went with his friend to the hotel, however, and soon the two werein the privacy of Dyke Darrel's room.
"Now, then, let us look at that coat." Harry Bernard laid the garmentdown on the bed, and Darrel began a close examination of the same. Itwas an ordinary sack coat, with two inside pockets. The detective wasnot long in going through the pockets.
"Ah!"
The ejaculation was significant.
It fell from the lips of Dyke Darrel, the detective.
"Now what?" questioned Bernard.
"Look at that."
Dyke Darrel held aloft a handkerchief that had once been white, butwhich was now dingy with dirt. But this was not the onlydiscoloration. There was a stain on the square bit of linen that wassignificant.
"What is it?"
"Blood!" answered Dyke Darrel.
Then the detective made a close examination, and made still anotherdiscovery--a name in one corner of the rumpled handkerchief.
The keen eyes of the detective gleamed with a satisfied light.
"What have you discovered, Dyke?"
"A clew."
"To what?"
"To the most infamous crime of the century. This handkerchief has thename of its owner stamped plainly in the corner."
"Well?"
"Arnold Nicholson."
"What?"
"That is the name on this bit of linen, which shows that it was oncethe property of the murdered express messenger. Of course you haveheard of the crime on the Central?"
"Yes. It gave me a shock, too. Arnold was a good fellow."
Harry Bernard's face wore a serious look as he took the blood-stainedhandkerchief from the hand of the detective, and examined it withmournful interest.
"It must be that you were assaulted by one of the train robbers,Dyke," said the youth, as he returned the relic of that midnightcrime.
"I imagine so. The scoundrels have discovered that I am on the trail,and they mean to put me out on the first base, if possible. Did yousee the man's face who assaulted me, Harry?"
"Imperfectly. I know, however, that he had red hair."
"Ah!"
"You suspected as much?"
"Yes. In the dead man's fingers was a bit of red hair. It seemsconclusive that the villain who assaulted me to-night was the one whoengaged in the death struggle with poor Nicholson. The trail isbecoming plain, and before the National holiday rolls round I hope tohave the perpetrator of this crime behind prison bars."
"I hope you are not over-sanguine, Dyke."
"I have ever been successful."
"How about the Osborne case?"
"Ah, yes; but that isn't off yet. I expect that the murderers of theold captain will come to light about the time the railway criminalsare brought to justice."
"Indeed."
"There are several hands engaged in these bloody crimes, and when I domake a haul, it will be a wholesale one."
"I should think you would need help in a work of this kind."
"I do."
"Can I be of any service? You may command me, Dyke."
"Thanks. You were of inestimable service to-night, and I believe youcan do more. It would please me to have you remain in this city andkeep an eye out, while I go up the road to the spot where the crimewas committed."
"You know the place?"
"Certainly. It was near Black Hollow, a wild spot, where the woodsalong the creek afforded chance for hiding. Some of the rascals areyet in that vicinity, I believe. The one who assaulted me to-night maynot remain in the city long. You will do as I wish?"
"Certainly; glad to do it, Dyke."
"That settles one point, then. If I need any more help I know where Ican find it."
"Where?"
"Elliston. He is something of a detective, you know."
Harry Bernard frowned at mention of that name. The pleasant lookvanished from his face, and he relapsed into silence.
Holding up the handkerchief, Dyke Darrel said:
"This was used by the assassin to wipe his bloody hands after themurder. He was a fool to keep the tell-tale linen by him; but thesefellows are always leaving some loophole open. I have made onediscovery that may have escaped your notice, Harry."
"What is that?"
"Look." Laying the bloody handkerchief over the young man's knee, DykeDarrel pointed to a spot near the center, where the imprint of fingerswas plainly visible.
"You see that?"
"Certainly; the marks of human fingers, but I can't see that you willbe able to make anything out of that, so many hands are alike, youknow."
Then Harry laid his own hand against the spot stained with blood. "Myhand fits exactly."
The eyes of Dyke Darrel began to dilate. His usually immobile featuresbegan to twitch, and a deadly pallor overspread all.
What was it that had caught the eye of Dyke Darrel, to cause suchterrible emotion? He had indeed made a discovery.
A close examination of the finger-marks showed a white circle,centered with a ragged dot of blood near the knuckle; this hadundoubtedly been caused by a wart on the hand of the assassin. It wasthis fact that had attracted and interested Dyke Darrel, and what heintended showing his friend Harry Bernard. The moment Harry laid hishand against the print on the handkerchief the detective made as
tartling discovery. Not only did the hand of Harry Bernard fit thebloody stain exactly, but a large wart near the knuckle of the littlefinger fell exactly against the spot that dotted the center of thewhite circle.
A feeling of unutterable horror filled the mind of Dyke Darrel at thatmoment. Harry Bernard had been his friend for years, and he had alwaysfound him upright and true.
But what meant this horrible revelation of the handkerchief?
Could it be possible that another had the same-sized hand and a wartnear the knuckle of the little finger? It was not likely.
Dyke Darrel came to his feet, with cold perspiration oozing out uponhis brow. Before him sat Harry Bernard, smiling gently, and yet he hada devil in his heart--THE DEVIL OF ASSASSINATION!
Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective; Or, The Crime of the Midnight Express Page 7
