There was an expression of rebuke on the face of Bernard as he uttered the last words. He did not look like a criminal, that was certain, and after a moment d.y.k.e Darrel felt ashamed of his suspicions.

"Never mind, Harry, I could not help feeling shocked. Let it pa.s.s; I will not wrong you by suspicion. But you will admit that it was a strange thing, your hand fitting so perfectly."

"Not at all. Put your own hand here," returned Bernard.

d.y.k.e Darrel did so, but it was not so near a fit as Harry's. It was not the size of the hand, but the imprint of the wart that had so startled the detective. Harry had not discovered the true cause of his friend's excitement, and the detective concluded to say nothing about it then.

Time was flying. The midnight express would soon leave the city.

"I cannot remain with you longer," said d.y.k.e Darrel, at length. "I shall leave the case at this end of the route in your hands, Harry, and if at any time you wish to communicate with me, address me at Woodburg."

"All right. What shall we do with this?"

Harry indicated the coat that still lay on the bed.

"You may retain that, but I will keep the handkerchief. Both may be of use in the future."

Soon after the two men separated.

d.y.k.e Darrel went at once to the depot, and soon after nine that evening he was speeding northward at the rate of forty miles an hour.

At the first stop outside of the city three pa.s.sengers boarded the train. One was a short, thick-set man, with beard and hair of a dark color; the others were women. The man entered the smoking car and thrust himself into an unoccupied seat, and glanced keenly about him.

The man had no ticket, but paid the conductor to a station a hundred miles from the city.

While sitting with his back to the aisle, a touch on the shoulder roused him.

"Eh, it's you, Ruggles?"

"Ahem--seat occupied?"

"No."

The man we have met on a previous occasion, Professor Darlington Ruggles, settled himself beside the late comer.

"Ahem--fine evening."

A grunt answered the Professor's attempt to be sociable. At length, after casting a keen glance about the car, to find that but few pa.s.sengers were present, and those of but little consequence, Professor Ruggles said:

"He's in the next car."

"Yes. I'd like to get my clutches onto him agin."

"You had him once?"

"Yes, but he had help, and escaped. Do you imagine he's on the trail?"

"Certainly," answered Professor Ruggles.

"Then he'll get off to-night."

"I hope so; but you must be cautious."

"Trust me for that."

"Have you formulated a plan?"

"None."

"Then let me help you."

"I'll be glad to do so."

"If we can get the fellow onto the platform the work will be easy. You understand, Sam?"

"I reckon."

"Once he goes over nothing can save him."

"True, but how will we git the cuss outside?"

"Easy's preaching. I'll go and introduce myself and get him to wait this car to try an excellent brand of cigars--see?" And the Professor chuckled audibly.

"I expect it's easier said than done," returned the thickset villain.

"Twixt you 'n me, Ruggles, d.y.k.e Darrel's cut his eye teeth, an' he don't walk into no traps with his eyes open, I can tell you that."

"Well, we'll see about it. I flatter myself that I'm sharper than any detective that ever lived."

Then, adjusting his gla.s.ses, the sunset-haired Professor left his seat and walked down the aisle to the door. He came hurrying back with an interested, perhaps anxious look on his countenance.

"Now's your time, Sam," whispered Professor Ruggles; "the fellow's on the platform smoking!"

This was fully two hours after the thickset man first stepped upon the train. He at once came to his feet, and sauntered in a careless manner to the door. The night was not dark, and the man could plainly see a dark form leaning against the end of the opposite car, a bright red gleam showing the end of his cigar.

It was indeed d.y.k.e Darrel, who had come out upon the platform to cool his heated brow and reflect on the situation, while he smoked a cigar for its soothing influence.

He could not drive the thought of Harry Bernard and the train robbery from his mind. He remembered that the young man had left Woodburg suddenly the fall before, and nothing had been seen or heard from him by his friends since, until d.y.k.e's meeting him so strangely in St.

Louis. It was barely possible that the a.s.sault and the rescue by young Bernard were part of a deep-laid plot. d.y.k.e Darrel possessed a suspicious mind, and he could not reconcile appearances with the innocence of young Harry Bernard.

Deeply meditating, the detective scarcely noticed the opening of the car door opposite his position. His gaze, however, soon met the form of a man as he stepped across the narrow opening between the coaches.

The detective was instantly on the alert. He was not to be caught napping, as he had been once before that night.

The moment the stranger pa.s.sed to his platform, d.y.k.e Darrel faced him with a drawn revolver in his hand.

"Mr., I want a word with you."

Thus uttered the thick-set pa.s.senger, and then d.y.k.e Darrel recognized the man who had boarded the train at the first station outside of St.

Louis.