CHAPTER XXVI.
THE MYSTERIOUS WART.
We left Dyke Darrel, the detective, in a critical position on therailroad track, with the roar of a freight engine in his ears. Therays of the rising sun touched the glittering rails as the long trainswept around the bend upon doomed Dyke Darrel.
One more tremendous effort on the part of the detective, and hesucceeded in throwing his body squarely across one of the rails. Inthis position he hung a helpless weight, with the hoarse roar of theengine making anything but sweet music to his fainting soul.
Ha! Look! A hand is outstretched to save at the last moment, and DykeDarrel is jerked from under the smoking wheels, even as their breathfans his fevered cheek.
The train swept on.
A cheer greeted the man who had come opportunely to the rescue as theengine swept on its course.
And a little later a man, young, yet whose boyish face bore marks ofdissipation, stood beside the detective and gazed into his face nowfor the first time.
"Great Caesar!"
The young man started as though cut by a knife, and bent low over thefallen detective, who was now struggling to a sitting posture.
When he looked into the face of his rescuer he uttered a great cry.
"My soul! how came you here, Martin Skidway?"
"I am a fugitive," answered the young convict. "It wasn't through yourgood will that I got out of prison, I can tell you that. Had I knownwho it was on the track, I might not have put out my hand to save."
The detective regarded the speaker in no little amazement. This wasthe second time he had escaped from the Missouri prison, which arguedwell for the man's keenness and capability, or else ill for theofficial management of the prison.
"It was from the St. Louis prison that I escaped," explained MartinSkidway a little later. "I never got inside the State institution asecond time. I've had a sweet time of it thus far."
"Tell me how you made your escape," said Dyke Darrel, who sat with hisback against a tree, and regarded the young counterfeiter in wonder.
"There isn't much to tell," returned Skidway. "I had no assistance,but it seems that a pair of burglars had broken out by filing off thegrating to one of the corridor windows, and the opening had not beenrepaired when I was taken to the jail. I was left in the corridor aminute while the jailor was attending some other prisoners, and thatminute gave me the opportunity. I mounted a chair, climbed through thewindow, and made my escape by the light of the moon. Of course therewas a big search, but I remained hidden in an old cellar under adeserted house in a grove within the city limits, for several days,and finally made good my escape from the State."
"And now?"
"I am going to put the ocean between me and the beaks of Americanlaw."
Dyke Darrel regarded the speaker with mingled emotions. He saw in thisdaring young fellow much talent, that had it been rightly directed,might have made an honorable place in the world for Martin Skidway.
"I am helpless to arrest your steps just at present," groaned thedetective. "Would you do it after what has happened, if you were in acondition to do so?" demanded the convict, bending over the man on theground, regarding him with a menacing look.
"Duty often calls one to do that which is disagreeable," answered DykeDarrel. A deep frown mantled the brows of the convict.
"I see that my mercy was misdirected," he said. "It seems that I havesaved your life only to give you a chance to dog me to doom. Think youI am fool enough to permit this?"
There was a menace in the man's voice that Dyke Darrel did not like.
"I am at present helpless," he said. "I don't imagine you will harm aman who is in no condition to injure you if he would."
"But you can talk. The first man who comes along will hear from youthat an escaped convict is in the rural districts of New York, and atelegram will set ten thousand officers on the lookout for me. Withoutsuch information I would not be recognized in this community. I am adesperate man, Dyke Darrel, and do not propose to sacrifice myself foryour benefit."
"What will you do?"
"One of two things."
"Well?"
"You must solemnly swear that you will never reveal to another that Iam in this region, and swear also to make no effort to capture meunder a month, or else I shall have a painful duty to perform."
"Go on!"
"Will you take the required oath?'
"Certainly not."
"Then the other alternative is alone left me, Dyke Darrel."
"And that?"
"DEATH TO YOU!"
Straightening to his full height after uttering the three terriblewords, Martin Skidway snatched a heavy iron bolt from the ground, thathad lain long beside the track, and raised it above the head ofhelpless Dyke Darrel.
"Martin Skidway, hold!"
The words of the detective came forth in a thrilling cry.
An instant the would be assassin stayed his hand.
"You agree to my terms?"
"No; but--"
"Then you must die. It will be considered an accident, and no one willsuspect my hand in the affair."
Again the young convict poised his weapon for deadly work. On theinstant the rumble of wheels met the ears of Martin Skidway.
A wagon containing two men was in sight, moving down a road that ranparallel with the railway at this point. It was evident that theoccupants of the vehicle had seen Skidway, and to strike now would butadd to the vengeance of pursuit and punishment. With a curse, hedropped the iron bolt and turned to flee.
"Dyke Darrel, if you inform on me, I will kill you at another time!"hissed the convict.
Then he rushed from the spot and disappeared.
As the wagon came opposite it halted, and the cries of Dyke Darrelbrought both men to his side.
"Hello! is this you?" cried a cheery voice, and the next instant DykeDarrel was lifted to his feet by the strong hand of Harry Bernard.
It was a happy and unexpected meeting. Harry had good news to tell,and when Dyke Darrel, assisted by his friend, reached the farmhousewhere Nell had found safety and shelter, the detective was strongenough to stand, and assist himself in no small degree.
Mutual explanations were entered into, and, as may be supposed, themeeting between brother and sister was a happy one indeed. Harry wasthe hero of the hour.
When Dyke Darrel spoke of Martin Skidway, and the part he had acted insaving his life, a word of admiration fell from the lips of Nell.
But when Dyke proceeded to the conclusion, the girl's face blanched,and she had no word of commendation left for the miserable convict,who, after all, possessed but little honor.
"So Aunt Scarlet is in the neighborhood; and also your abductor,"mused the detective. "The trail is becoming hot, indeed."
"It is, for a fact," admitted Harry. "I believe, if the truth wasknown, this man Ruggles will prove to be the man we want. Have youthat handkerchief with you, Dyke, that we found in the coat of therascal who attempted your murder in St. Louis?"
This was several hours after the events of the morning, and Nell wasnow resting in a large wooden rocker, very weak, yet feelingremarkably well, considering the siege she had passed through duringthe past two weeks and more. Dyke Darrel and Harry were the onlyoccupants of the room, the farmer being at his work in the field, andhis good wife attending preparations for supper in the kitchen.
"I have kept the tell-tale handkerchief through it all," answered thedetective, at the same time producing the article from a receptaclebeneath, his shirt.
"It's a wonder this was not discovered when you were in the hands ofthe thugs of Chicago."
"I wasn't closely searched, I suppose. You and the boys were too closeafter them."
"You give me too much credit, Dyke," returned Harry Bernard, modestly."I've a question to ask."
"Ask as many as you like."
"Was it the fact of my hand fitting this bloody imprint that sostartled you in the St. Louis hotel?"
"Did I not so claim at the tim
e?"
"Perhaps; but wasn't there another coincidence that gave you reason tosuspect me?
"There might have been."
"I thought so. It was the imprint of a large wart, such as this on thehandkerchief, that made you look with suspicion upon me. Is it notso?"
Harry held up his hand, so that a wart on the little finger wasplainly revealed, and which, when he placed his hand against thetell-tale handkerchief, fitted the marks perfectly.
"Forgive me, Harry," cried the detective, quickly. "I know now that itwas only a remarkable duplicate; the wart belonged to another handthan yours. The print of the wart was also on the bosom of ArnoldNicholson's white shirt bosom, where a bloody hand had fallen. I madethis discovery when I examined the body of my dead friend.Circumstantial evidence pointed to you, and yet I doubted--"
"I understand," interrupted Harry. "My hand is indeed a duplicate ofthe assassin's. It is a wonder that I have not been arrested ere thisby some of the detectives who are engaged in working up this case."
"Why so?"
"Because you are not the only one who made the discovery of the wartthat adorned the hand of the assassin. A reporter got hold of thestory and published it. Don't you remember?"
"I haven't read the papers closely since the murder."
"But I have, and so has the man who killed Nicholson."
"Indeed?"
"He soon learned that officers of the law were all looking for a manwith a large wart on the second joint of the little finger of theright hand. This fact made him nervous, and one night he severed thewart, and flung it from him, since which time he has breathed easier."
A low exclamation from the lips of Nell startled both men.