WHAT A HANDKERCHIEF REVEALED.
Dyke Darrel was so dazed from the blow he had received as to be unable
to ward off the dirk that was thrust at his bosom by the vile
assassin, and had not a third party appeared on the scene at this
critical moment the story we are now writing would never have been
told.
A kind Providence had on more than one occasion favored the daring
railroad detective.
Before the point of the knife touched the breast of Dyke Darrel, a
swift-flying object sent the deadly weapon out into the middle of the
street.
The next instant a man bounded from the shadow of a building upon the
would-be assassin. There was a short struggle, when the last comer
found, that instead of the detective's assailant, he held a coat in
his 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 villainy
was 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 the
features 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 you
spring from?"
The detective grasped and wrung the man's hand warmly--a rather
slender young fellow, with brown hair and eyes, a mustache being the
only sign of beard on his face.
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