"
"Why should I think on it? Do you think I'm a fool, Dyke Darrel?"
"Not quite," and the detective smiled. "I know you have been pretty
sharp, young man, but not keen enough to escape punishment. You have
five years yet to serve, at the end of which time you may be arrested
and hung for another crime."
"You are giving me wind now."
"I am not. A terrible crime was committed four and twenty hours since,
and on this road; a midnight crime that the whole country will work to
punish. It will we impossible for the express robbers to escape."
"You are a braggart!"
"I do not say that _I_ will be the one to bring these villains to
justice, but I do say that justice will be done, and I expect to see
the murderers of Arnold Nicholson hung." The keen eyes of Dyke Darrel
fixed themselves on the face of his prisoner, with a penetrating
sharpness that fairly made the fellow squirm in his seat. On more than
one occasion had the railroad detective brought confession from the
lips of guilt, through the magnetism of his terrible glance.
He tried his powers on the man at his side, and found him yielding to
the pressure, when Skidway suddenly turned his face to the window, and
refused to encounter the gaze of his captor.
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