"One question," said Ruggles, as the man was about to walk away.
"Well?"
"Did any passengers get off here some hours since from the New York
train east?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"None came into the depot, at any rate," said the man.
"Any passengers get on?"
"Several."
"Among them an old woman?"
"I saw no woman."
"You are sure?"
"Of course I am."
Ruggles was disappointed. Could it be possible that he had been led on
a fool's errand after all, and that Madge Scarlet, with her prize, had
been concealed on the train, and continued on to New York? The thought
was intolerable.
In the meantime, how fared it with Dyke Darrel, who lay stunned and
bleeding across the railroad track.
It was almost sun-up before he opened his eyes and groaned. His bed
was a hard one, and it seemed as though every bone in his body was
broken. The fact was, he was yet sore from his serious fall through
the trap into the basement on Clark street, consequently it is little
wonder he was badly demoralized, both in mind and body, at his last
mishap.
Presently a strange rumbling jar filled his ears. A bend in the road
to the west hid the track, but the dazed brain of Dyke Darrel took in
the situation nevertheless--a train was thundering down upon him.
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