CHAPTER XIV
DYKE DARREL ASTOUNDED.
Dyke Darrel lifted a cloth from the face of the dead, and Harper
Elliston stood gazing down upon the features of wronged and murdered
Sibyl Osborne.
The detective watched the expression of his companion's countenance
closely.
With bated breath the man-hunter glued his gaze upon the face of the
man bending over the casket.
"What a sad face, and yet most wonderful in its beauty. Who is she? A
daughter of the house?"
Harper turned and regarded Dyke Darrel questioningly, a sympathetic
look in his black eyes.
"Do you not know her?"
"_I_ know her? You forget that I am a stranger in this part of the
West, Dyke."
"She, too, was a stranger here, Elliston. Her home was in Burlington,
and she has been brought to this by a villain who ought to pass the
remainder of his days behind prison bars, if not conclude them at a
rope's end. Do you know Hubert Vander?"
There was a stern ring in the detective's voice, and a look of deep,
indignant feeling pervading his face. All the time he kept his gaze
riveted on Elliston.
That gentleman stood the ordeal without flinching, however.
"Hubert Vander? The name is a new one to me, Dyke.
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