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Pinkerton, A. Frank [pseud.]

"Or, The Crime of the Midnight Express"

Its rays revealed a ghastly scene. Two forms lay on the
floor, Dyke Darrel and Nell, both apparently dead.
Nick's companion, who had screamed so lustily at the fire from Nell
Darrel's derringer, still leaned against the stairs seeming little the
worse for wear.
"Mike, where are you hit?"
"Don't know. I FELT the bullet goin' through my brains."
A brief examination showed that the man had only been grazed by the
shot from the girl's pistol. When this discovery was made Professor
Ruggles became very angry.
"You made more fuss than a man shot through the neck ought to. The
girl has been killed in consequence. Hades! this has been a bad
evening's work. I would rather have lost a thousand dollars than had
Nell Darrel slain."
"She wan't wuth no sich money," growled Brower.
"How do you know what she was worth, you miserable brute?" snarled the
Professor, in an angry voice. "I take it, that I know more about it
than you do."
"See here, boss, aren't you goin' on a bin run for nothin'? Whar'd you
be now if I hadn't gin Dyke Darrel his quietus? Mebbe you'd better
thank instead of curse your friend."
There was a deal of homely sense in the words of burly Nick Brower,
and the prince of villains realized it.


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