The window, of course, he was unable to secure.
It did not seem hardly safe to sleep under the circumstances, but Dyke
Darrel was very tired, having been without much rest for several
nights, and he was on the present occasion extremely drowsy.
Resolving not to fall into a deep slumber, the detective sat with his
revolver at his side, and went off into the land of dreams before he
was aware of it.
Dyke Darrel slept heavily.
A crackling sound outside did not reach his ear with sufficient force
to waken him. A face peered in at the window, dark and sinister, but
the sleeping detective heeded it not.
Another face, girded about with bristling red hair, appeared for a
moment, and then receded. Dark forms moved about the cabin without,
and engaged in a whispered conversation.
Presently the trees and bushes became visible, and there was a smell
of burning wood in the air.
"It is well," uttered a voice. "They will both perish like rats in a
trap. Dyke Darrel, the famous detective, will never be heard of more,
and that girl--well, she will be better dead than living. Come, Nick,
let us go!"
"You're sure the door's tightly fastened?" "I fixed it so Satan
himself could not open it.
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