"You cannot come in. Sibyl isn't afraid, but she wishes to be alone."

Nevertheless, the woman stood aside and held the door wide. This seemed invitation enough, and the detective at once crossed the floor, and pushed to the door at his back.

The female receded before him, and stood at the far side of the room, with both hands extended, waving them gently up and down.

"Come no nearer, sir; Sibyl would view you from afar. There, stand where you are, and do not move. It may be that you are the one I have been looking for all these years."

The speaker was evidently young, and possessed a weirdly beautiful face, that strangely attracted d.y.k.e Darrel. He stood still and watched her singular movements curiously.

She drew a morocco case from her bosom, opened it, and gazed at something, evidently a picture, long and earnestly. She seemed to be comparing the face of the picture with that of her visitor.

d.y.k.e Darrel was puzzled, and somewhat pleased.

"No, you are not my Hubert; he was a n.o.bler looking gentleman by far."

"Will you permit me to look at the picture, Miss--"

"No, no; I dare not trust it out of my hands. I promised him, you know, and I must not disappoint Hubert, for he is very exacting.

Hark!"

The girl secreted her prize, and lifted a warning hand.

"Don't you hear his step? It is Hubert--dear, dear Hubert--come back to comfort his poor Sybil after these long, weary years."

A low, startling laugh fell from her lips at the last. She darted across the floor, and flung the door wide, peering out into the darkness.

A solemn, awful silence followed, then the door was sharply closed, and the queerly acting girl faced d.y.k.e Darrel once more. She looked weirdly beautiful, with a ma.s.s of golden hair falling below her taper waist, her face white as the winter's snow, almost too white for the living.

So she stood now; the dancing light from the fire fell full on her countenance, revealing it for the first time plainly to the gaze of the detective.

A low, stunned cry escaped from his lips.

"My G.o.d! It is Sibyl Osborne, the Burlington Captain's daughter."

A low laugh fell from the girl's lips.

She began humming a gay tune, and danced across the room with arms outstretched, as though attempting to fly.

The truth came with stunning force--the poor girl was crazy! Her father, a wealthy Burlington real estate broker, had mysteriously disappeared some months before, and it was supposed that he had met with foul play. Despite the efforts of d.y.k.e Darrel and other detectives, no clew had yet been found of the missing man. The detective had met Sibyl at her father's house, and had regarded her as one both beautiful and accomplished. To meet her as now was a terrible revelation indeed.

No wonder d.y.k.e Darrel was stunned.

For some moments he stood in pained silence, watching the antics of the poor unfortunate.

"Hubert will come, Hubert will come," she sung, as she glided back and forth across the floor.

What had caused this awful calamity? d.y.k.e Darrel asked this question in saddened thoughtfulness, as he gazed upon the beautiful wreck before him.

"Tell me that Hubert will come, sir, and then I won't believe that he wrote that cruel letter," cried Sibyl, in a mournful voice, pausing in front of the detective. "I cannot tell you unless you show me the letter," returned d.y.k.e Darrel, resolving to humor her.

Quickly she drew from her bosom a letter and placed it in the detective's hand.

He drew it from the wrapper, hoping to learn something that might give him a clew to the situation.

This is what he read:

"MISS SIBYL OSBORNE: I am sorry to inform you that I cannot see you again. I am off for Europe on my wedding tour. Forget me as soon as possible.

"H. VANDER."

"Do you think my Hubert could write anything so cruel?" she questioned, as he handed the missive back to her.

"It doesn't seem possible," answered d.y.k.e Darrel.

It was evident to his mind that the girl had become crazed on account of her father's disappearance and the treachery of her lover. The detective's heart beat sympathetically for the poor wronged girl. It was his duty to see the girl safely on her way to the Burlington ere he continued his search for the a.s.sa.s.sins of Arnold Nicholson. One had already given up his account, but there were others yet to punish.

While d.y.k.e Darrel stood debating what course to pursue, under the remarkable change in circ.u.mstances, the mad girl uttered a sudden, sharp cry.

"See! it is Hubert, my Hubert! come at last!"

A look of mad joy sped across the white face, as one slender arm was extended, pointing toward the window. d.y.k.e Barrel followed with his eyes, and then he, too, uttered an involuntary cry.

Glued to the narrow pane was a face that was startling in the intensity of its ghastly pallor, but it was not this that sent an involuntary exclamation to the lips of the railroad detective.

The face at the window was that of his friend, HARPER ELLISTON! His presence here was one of the mysteries of that eventful night.

CHAPTER XII.

A BURNING TRAP.

For some moments d.y.k.e Darrel stared at the face in the window without moving. How came Harper Elliston in the woods at Black Hollow, when he ought to have been in Chicago, according to his expressed intentions of the previous day?

With a sudden, wild scream the crazed Sibyl darted across the floor, and thrust her hands against the window with such violence as to burst the gla.s.s, cutting her hands severely in the operation.

"Hubert! Hubert! come at last!" The girl staggered back and sank in a paroxysm to the floor.

It was indeed a startling affair, yet d.y.k.e Darrel did not lose his presence of mind. He hurried to the door and opened it, springing outside quickly.

"Elliston, I want you."

d.y.k.e Darrel stood by the broken window now, but the man he had expected to find was not there. The apparition had vanished as though fleeing into the upper air.

Again the detective called the name of his friend, but without receiving a reply.

Here was a mystery indeed.