"Dere, look a-dat now. Ef yo' didn' done writ dat, den I'd like to
know who did."
The detective opened the letter his housekeeper placed in his hand,
and read:
"CHICAGO, April 30, 188-.
NELL:--Come on the next train, as I wish to see you in this city. Aunt
Jule will look after the house until your return. Don't disappoint me.
"DYKE."
The detective glanced at the negress after reading this note, the
writing of which very much resembled his hand.
"This came when?"
"Yesterday."
"Through the mail?"
"Yes, Marse."
A frown darkened the brow of the detective. He crumpled the letter in
his hand and began pacing the floor with nervous strides.
"Somefin must be wrong ef yo' didn' write that letter."
Suddenly Dyke Darrel turned on the speaker and touched her huge arm
with a clinging hand.
"Jule, when did my sister answer this letter?" he demanded, fiercely.
"Jest the next train."
"Last night?"
"Yes, Marse Dyke."
Dropping his hand from Aunt Jule's huge arm, the detective rushed from
the room and the house. He was laboring under great excitement, as
well he might be, for Nell was as the apple of his eye, and she had
been enticed to the great city for a fell purpose, he believed.
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