"It must be that you were a.s.saulted by one of the train robbers, d.y.k.e," said the youth, as he returned the relic of that midnight crime.

"I imagine so. The scoundrels have discovered that I am on the trail, and they mean to put me out on the first base, if possible. Did you see the man's face who a.s.saulted me, Harry?"

"Imperfectly. I know, however, that he had red hair."

"Ah!"

"You suspected as much?"

"Yes. In the dead man's fingers was a bit of red hair. It seems conclusive that the villain who a.s.saulted me to-night was the one who engaged in the death struggle with poor Nicholson. The trail is becoming plain, and before the National holiday rolls round I hope to have the perpetrator of this crime behind prison bars."

"I hope you are not over-sanguine, d.y.k.e."

"I have ever been successful."

"How about the Osborne case?"

"Ah, yes; but that isn't off yet. I expect that the murderers of the old captain will come to light about the time the railway criminals are brought to justice."

"Indeed."

"There are several hands engaged in these b.l.o.o.d.y crimes, and when I do make a haul, it will be a wholesale one."

"I should think you would need help in a work of this kind."

"I do."

"Can I be of any service? You may command me, d.y.k.e."

"Thanks. You were of inestimable service to-night, and I believe you can do more. It would please me to have you remain in this city and keep an eye out, while I go up the road to the spot where the crime was committed."

"You know the place?"

"Certainly. It was near Black Hollow, a wild spot, where the woods along the creek afforded chance for hiding. Some of the rascals are yet in that vicinity, I believe. The one who a.s.saulted me to-night may not remain in the city long. You will do as I wish?"

"Certainly; glad to do it, d.y.k.e."

"That settles one point, then. If I need any more help I know where I can find it."

"Where?"

"Elliston. He is something of a detective, you know."

Harry Bernard frowned at mention of that name. The pleasant look vanished from his face, and he relapsed into silence.

Holding up the handkerchief, d.y.k.e Darrel said:

"This was used by the a.s.sa.s.sin to wipe his b.l.o.o.d.y hands after the murder. He was a fool to keep the tell-tale linen by him; but these fellows are always leaving some loophole open. I have made one discovery that may have escaped your notice, Harry."

"What is that?"

"Look." Laying the b.l.o.o.d.y handkerchief over the young man's knee, d.y.k.e Darrel pointed to a spot near the center, where the imprint of fingers was plainly visible.

"You see that?"

"Certainly; the marks of human fingers, but I can't see that you will be able to make anything out of that, so many hands are alike, you know."

Then Harry laid his own hand against the spot stained with blood. "My hand fits exactly."

The eyes of d.y.k.e Darrel began to dilate. His usually immobile features began to twitch, and a deadly pallor overspread all.

What was it that had caught the eye of d.y.k.e Darrel, to cause such terrible emotion? He had indeed made a discovery.

A close examination of the finger-marks showed a white circle, centered with a ragged dot of blood near the knuckle; this had undoubtedly been caused by a wart on the hand of the a.s.sa.s.sin. It was this fact that had attracted and interested d.y.k.e Darrel, and what he intended showing his friend Harry Bernard. The moment Harry laid his hand against the print on the handkerchief the detective made a startling discovery. Not only did the hand of Harry Bernard fit the b.l.o.o.d.y stain exactly, but a large wart near the knuckle of the little finger fell exactly against the spot that dotted the center of the white circle.

A feeling of unutterable horror filled the mind of d.y.k.e Darrel at that moment. Harry Bernard had been his friend for years, and he had always found him upright and true.

But what meant this horrible revelation of the handkerchief?

Could it be possible that another had the same-sized hand and a wart near the knuckle of the little finger? It was not likely.

d.y.k.e Darrel came to his feet, with cold perspiration oozing out upon his brow. Before him sat Harry Bernard, smiling gently, and yet he had a devil in his heart--THE DEVIL OF a.s.sa.s.sINATION!

CHAPTER VIII.

A PLUNGE TO DEATH.

For some moments neither man spoke. Harry Bernard noticed that his friend was deeply moved, and he seemed to wonder at the cause. At length he said:

"d.y.k.e, what is it?"

"Nothing, only---"

"Well, speak out," as the detective hesitated.

"It is strange that your hand should so exactly fit the marks on the handkerchief, Harry."

"Well, yes," admitted the youth; "I hope you didn't imagine, however, that _I_ had a hand in this railway robbery and murder?"

At the last Harry Bernard laughed lightly. d.y.k.e Darrel did not seem to relish the young fellow's lightness, and only frowned.

"This is not a laughing matter, Harry Bernard," said the detective, sternly.

"Well I should say not. If you have a serious thought that I could do such a deed, d.y.k.e, place me under arrest at once."