"You will find
it no holiday affair to keep a house for the purpose of murder and
robbery. Never mind, you need say nothing, for it will not better
matters in the least. Come;" and Harry Bernard led the old woman from
the cellar.
A patrol wagon bore the prisoners to the lock-up, and Bernard had Dyke
Darrel taken to a private hospital, where he could have the best of
care. It was some days, however, before the badly battered detective
came to his senses sufficiently to converse on the subject of the
racket in the building on Clark street.
"My soul! Harry, has nothing been discovered of poor Nell?--was she
killed?" questioned the wounded man in a voice wrung with anguish.
"I don't think Nell was mortally hurt," returned Bernard in a
reassuring tone, although he hardly felt hopeful himself. If she was,
why should the villains have taken her away, or the villain rather,
since, from your account, I judge that but one of them escaped, and he
the man with the red hair."
"Yes, he seemed the chief scoundrel among them. I heard him called
Professor Ruggles."
"He is about as much a professor as I am," answered Bernard.
"HE is the man we want for that midnight crime on the express train.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159