"Harper, I want to ask you a plain question----"
"And you want a categorical answer, Mr. Darrel," interrupted the New
Yorker with a laugh.
"I do."
"Go ahead."
"Weren't you in Black Hollow last night?"
"Certainly not. I was with a friend at least sixty miles away, near
Chicago."
"Can you prove this?"
"If necessary, of course; but what in the world is the matter, Dyke? I
hope you wouldn't accuse me of deception."
"No. Will you come with me to Bragg's?"
"Certainly."
And then the two men walked away together. There was a solemn
expression pervading the face of Dyke Darrel. He had experienced many
strange things during his detective life, but this latest phase
puzzled him the most.
He could swear that he saw the face of Elliston at the window of the
house in the gulch on the previous night, yet the assertion from his
friend that he was fifty miles away at the time seemed honest enough.
Having been long in the detective work, Dyke Darrel had grown to be
suspicious, and so he was fast losing faith in the good intentions of
his New York friend. He had suddenly resolved on a test that he
believed would prove effectual in setting all doubts at rest.
Arrived at the Bragg dwelling, the detective conducted Harper Elliston
at once to the room where the remains of the beautiful, dead girl lay
encoffined.
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