"
"Indeed!"
A sneer curled the lip of the detective.
"What do you mean by that?" questioned Mr. Elliston. "Am I to
understand that you connect ME in any way with this girl's death, or
that I am a friend to this Hubert Vander of whom you speak?"
"Your pretended indignation will not deceive, Harper Elliston. Look at
THIS, and tell me what you think of it," said Dyke Darrel, with the
sternness of steel.
The detective laid the photograph he had obtained in the Black Hollow
cabin in the hand of Mr. Elliston.
The New Yorker did start then.
He gazed long and constantly at the pictured face.
"What have you to say now, Harper Elliston?" demanded Dyke Darrel, in
an awful voice.
"It is a mighty close resemblance," returned the gentleman. "Where did
you obtain this, Dyke?"
"From Sibyl Osborne."
"Sibyl Osborne?"
"She who lies before you. If that is not YOUR portrait, and if you are
not the man who murdered Captain Osborne and ruined his daughter, then
I am out of my senses."
With the words Dyke Darrel presented a cocked revolver at the heart of
the cool, smiling villain before him.
The smile left the New Yorker's face, and a serious expression
followed it.
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