Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective; Or, The Crime of the Midnight Express Read online

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  DYKE DARREL THE RAILROAD DETECTIVE

  Or

  THE CRIME OF THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS

  By FRANK PINKERTON

  1886

  CONTENTS

  I. A STARTLING CRIME. II. DYKE DARREL'S TRICK. III. PROFESSOR DARLINGTON RUGGLES. IV. SCALPED. V. ELLISTON'S REBUFF. VI. DYKE DARREL'S DANGER. VII. WHAT A HANDKERCHIEF REVEALED. VIII. A PLUNGE TO DEATH. IX. WORDS THAT STARTLE. X. BLACK HOLLOW. XI. POOR SIBYL! XII. A BURNING TRAP. XIII. A SAD FATE. XIV. DYKE DARREL ASTOUNDED. XV. A BAFFLED VILLAIN. XVI. NELL MISSING. XVII NELL IN THE TOILS. XVIII. BEATEN BACK. XIX. THE DETECTIVE FOOLED. XX. OVERMATCHED BY A GIRL. XXI. A BOUT IN THE CELLAR. XXII. THE EMPTY SEAT. XXIII. DYKE DARREL ON THE TRAIL. XXIV. A RACE FOR LIFE. XXV. SAVED! XXVI. THE MYSTERIOUS WART. XXVII. THE STORY OF A WART. XXVIII. THE REVELATIONS OF A SATCHEL. XXIX. RETRIBUTION.

  WON BY CRIME

  CHAPTER I.

  A STARTLING CRIME.

  "The most audacious crime of my remembrance."

  Dyke Darrel flung down the morning paper, damp from the press, andbegan pacing the floor.

  "What is it, Dyke?" questioned the detective's sister Nell, who atthat moment thrust her head into the room.

  Nell was a pretty girl of twenty, with midnight hair and eyes, almostin direct contrast with her brother, the famous detective, whose deedsof cunning and daring were the theme of press and people the wide Westover.

  "An express robbery," returned Dyke, pausing in front of Nell andholding up the paper.

  "I am sorry," uttered the girl, with a pout. "I shan't have you withme for the week that I promised myself. I am always afraid somethingwill happen every time you go out on the trail of a criminal, Dyke."

  "And something usually DOES happen," returned the detective, grimly."My last detective work did not pan out as I expected, but I do notconsider that entirely off yet. It may be that the one who murderedCaptain Osborne had a hand in this latest crime."

  "An express robbery, you say?"

  "And murder."

  "And murder!"

  The young girl's cheek blanched.

  "Yes. The express messenger on the Central road was murdered lastnight, and booty to the amount of thirty thousand dollars secured."

  "Terrible!"

  "Yes, it is a bold piece of work, and will set the detectives on thetrail."

  "Did you know the murdered messenger, Dyke?"

  "It was Arnold Nicholson."

  "No?"

  The girl reeled, and clutched the table at her side for support. Thename uttered by her brother was that of a friend of the Barrels, a manof family, and one who had been in the employ of the express companyfor many years.

  No wonder Nell Darrel was shocked at learning the name of the victim.

  "You see how it is, Nell?"

  "Yes," returned the girl, recovering her self-possession. "I meant toask you to forego this man-hunt, but I see that it would be of nouse."

  "Not the least, Nell," returned Dyke, with a compression of the lips."I would hunt these scoundrels down without one cent reward. Nicholsonwas my friend, and a good one. He helped me once, when to do so was ofgreat inconvenience to himself. It is my duty to see that his cowardlyassassins are brought to justice."

  Even as Dyke Darrel uttered the last words a man ran up to the stepsand opened the front door.

  "I hope I don't intrude," he said, as he put his face into the room.

  "No; you are always welcome, Elliston," cried Dyke, extending hishand. The new-comer accepted the proffered hand, then turned andsmiled on Nell. He was a tall man, with smoothly-cut beard and a tingeof gray in his curling black hair.

  Harper Elliston was past thirty, and on the best of terms with DykeDarrel and his sister, who considered him a very good friend.

  "You have read the news?" Elliston said, as his keen, black eyesrested on the paper that lay on the table.

  "Yes," returned the detective. "It's a most villainous affair."

  "One of the worst."

  "I was never so shocked," said Nell. "Do you imagine the robbers willbe captured, Mr. Elliston?"

  "Certainly, if your brother takes the trail, although I hope he willnot."

  "Why do you hope so?" questioned Dyke.

  "My dear boy, it's dangerous---"

  A low laugh cut short the further speech of Mr. Elliston.

  "I supposed you knew me too well, Harper, to imagine that danger everdeterred Dyke Darrel from doing his duty."

  "Of course; but this is a different case. 'Tis said that four men wereengaged in the foul work, and that they belong to a league ofdesperate ruffians, as hard to deal with as ever the James and Youngerbrothers. Better leave it to the Chicago and St. Louis force, Dyke. Ishould hate to see you made the victim of these scoundrels."

  Mr. Elliston laid his hand on the detective's arm in a friendly way,and seemed deeply anxious.

  "Harper, are you aware that the murdered messenger was my friend?"

  "Was he?"

  "Certainly. I would be less than human did I refuse to take the trailof his vile assassins. You make me blush when you insinuate thatdanger should deter me from doing my duty."

  "I am not aware that I said such a thing," answered Elliston. "I didnot mean it if I did. It would please me to have you remain off thistrail, however, Dyke. I will see to it that the best Chicagodetectives are set to work; that ought to satisfy you."

  "And I sit with my hands folded meantime?"

  A look of questioning surprise filled the eyes of Dyke Darrel, as heregarded Mr. Elliston.

  "No. But you promised Nell to take her East this spring, to New York-"

  "He did, but I forego that pleasure," cried the girl, quickly. "Irealize that Dyke has a duty to perform in Illinois."

  "And so you, too, side with your brother," cried Mr. Elliston, forcinga laugh. "In that case, I surrender at discretion."

  Dyke picked up and examined the paper once more. "DIED FOR DUTY. BOLDAND BLOODY CRIME AT NIGHT ON THE CENTRAL RAILROAD."

  That was the heading to the article announcing the assassination ofthe express messenger. The train on which the deed had been committed,had left Chicago at ten in the evening, and at one o'clock, when thetrain was halted at a station, the deed was discovered. ArnoldNicholson was found with his skull crushed and his body terriblybeaten, while, in the bloody hands of the dead, was clutched a tuft ofred hair. This went to show that one of the messenger's assailants wasa man with florid locks.

  Leaving Nell and Mr. Elliston together, Dyke Darrel hastened to thestation. He was aware that a train would pass in ten minutes, and hewished to enter Chicago and make an examination for himself. Thedetective's home was on one of the many roads crossing Illinois, andentering the Garden City--about an hour's ride from the Gotham of theWest.

  In less than two hours after reading the notice of the crime on themidnight express. Dyke Darrel was in Chicago. He visited the body ofthe murdered messenger, and made a brief examination. It was at onceevident to Darrel, that Nicholson had made a desperate fight for life,but that he had been overpowered by a superior force.

  A reward of ten thousand dollars was already offered for the detectionand punishment of the outlaws.

  "Poor Arnold!" murmured Dyke Darrel, as he gazed at the bruised andbattered corpse. "I will not rest until the wicked demons whocompassed this foul work meet with punishment!"

  T
here were still several shreds of hair between the fingers of thedead, when Dyke Darrel made his examination, since the body had justarrived from the scene of the murder.

  The detective secured several of the hairs, believing they might helphim in his future movements. Darrel made one discovery that he did notcare to communicate to others; it was a secret that he hoped mightlead to results in the future. What the discovery was, will bedisclosed in the progress of our story.

  Soon after the body of the murdered a messenger was removed to hishome, from which the funeral was to take place.

  As Dyke Darrel was passing from the rooms of the undertaker, a handfell on his shoulder.

  "You are a detective?"

  Dyke Darrel looked into a smooth, boyish face, from which a pair ofbrown eyes glowed.

  "What is it you wish?" Darrel demanded, bluntly.

  "I wish to make a confidant of somebody."

  "Well, go on."

  "First tell me if you are a detective."

  "You may call me one."

  "It's about that poor fellow you've just been interviewing," said theyoung stranger. "I am Watson Wilkes, and I was on the train, in thenext car, when poor Nicholson was murdered. I was acting as brakemanat the time. Do you wish to hear what I can tell?"