"It isn't pleasant, to say the least, having matters
turn out in this way. I wish to see you in regard to this Dyke
Darrel." "I'm all ears, pard."
"He must never see Chicago again."
"Wal?" "I want you to see to it, Nick."
"I don't know about that," muttered the grosser villain. "I've shed
'bout enough blood, I reckin."
"It is for your own safety that I speak, Nick. No trace of that last
work can ever reach me."
"Don't be too sure, Darl Ruggles. With Dyke Darrel on the trail,
there's no knowing where it'll end. He's unearthed some o' the darkest
work ever did in Chicago an' St. Louis. I WOULD breathe a durn sight
more comfortable like if Dyke Darrel was under the sod."
"So would others."
"Yourself, fur instance."
"I won't deny it, Nick. I don't feel very comfortable with the young
detective free. Between you and me, Nick, I believe we can make this
the last trail Dyke Darrel ever follows. A thousand dollars to the man
who takes the detective's scalp. That is worth winning, Nick."
"Put 'er thar, pard."
Nick Brower held out his huge hand and clasped the small white one of
the Professor.
"I'll win that thousan' or go beggin' the rest o' my days, Darl
Ruggles.
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