"What? You draw a pistol on me, Dyke Darrel? I am surprised," cried
Mr. Elliston in an injured tone. "I did not imagine that you could
lose confidence in me, let what would happen. Can it be that our
friendship was but a brittle cord, after all?"
"I cannot remain friendly when my confidence has been betrayed."
"And you deem me a most hardened scoundrel? Of course you will give me
a hearing. You are an upholder of law, and do not approve of lynching.
Here, put on the handcuffs, Dyke, and take me to prison. You will be
sorry for this some time, but now that circumstances are against me
your friendship falls to the ground. I did not expect such treatment.
However, I can live through it; but I shall never feel toward you as I
have in times past. Put on the irons, Dyke. Why do you hesitate?"
"There is a chance for a mistake, of course," said the detective,
"I am glad you admit that much."
"Is that your photograph?"
"You said it belonged to a young lady!"
"But is it a photograph of your face?"
"It is not."
"You swear it?"
"I do."
"And you were not in Black Hollow, last night?"
"I was not."
"Swear it?
"I swear it."
"You did not know this dead girl?"
Dyke Darrel pointed toward the face in the coffin.
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