How
that woman hates me, simply because I was the means of breaking up a
gang of spurious money makers, of whom old Dan Scarlet was the chief.
Well, well, the ways of the world are curious enough. By the way, I
haven't sent that line to Nell yet. The girl will feel worried if I
don't write."
Then, drawing several postals from his pocket, Dyke Darrel wrote a few
lines on one with a pencil, and addressed it to "Miss Nell Darrel,
Woodburg."
Just then Elliston entered.
"When does the next train pass, Harper?"
"In twenty minutes. Will you go on it to Chicago?"
"Not to Chicago. I shall stop half a hundred miles this side, or more.
I wish to do a little more investigating."
"Don't you accept what the dying Swart said as true?"
"Not wholly."
"Would a dying man be likely to utter a falsehood?"
"I can't say. What is your opinion?"
There was a peculiar look in the eyes of Dyke Darrel, as he put the
question.
"I should think there could be no doubt on the subject."
"Indeed; then you consider that the last name that fell from the lips
of Sam Swart was that of the man who instigated the wicked crime on
the midnight express?"
"Certainly, that is my opinion."
Dyke Darrel drew out a cigar and lit it, his friend refusing to take
one.
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