"Lor-a-ma.s.sy, no, Ma.r.s.e d.y.k.e. I meant Missy Nell," explained the black woman.

"Miss Nell? Isn't she at home?"

"Wal, now, what a question. In coorse she ain't. Didn' yo' send fur her yo' very self? How den yo' 'spec she's goin' to be home ef yo'

didn' done brung her, eh?"

All this was Greek to d.y.k.e Darrel.

"What in the name of caution are you driving at, Aunt Jule? I haven't seen my sister since I left home, and if she's gone to look for me she's done a very foolish thing, for I'm not long in one place--she ought to have known better."

Aunt Jule flounced out of the room, to return soon with a yellow envelope in her hand.

"Dere, look a-dat now. Ef yo' didn' done writ dat, den I'd like to know who did."

The detective opened the letter his housekeeper placed in his hand, and read:

"CHICAGO, April 30, 188-.

NELL:--Come on the next train, as I wish to see you in this city. Aunt Jule will look after the house until your return. Don't disappoint me.

"d.y.k.e."

The detective glanced at the negress after reading this note, the writing of which very much resembled his hand.

"This came when?"

"Yesterday."

"Through the mail?"

"Yes, Ma.r.s.e."

A frown darkened the brow of the detective. He crumpled the letter in his hand and began pacing the floor with nervous strides.

"Somefin must be wrong ef yo' didn' write that letter."

Suddenly d.y.k.e Darrel turned on the speaker and touched her huge arm with a clinging hand.

"Jule, when did my sister answer this letter?" he demanded, fiercely.

"Jest the next train."

"Last night?"

"Yes, Ma.r.s.e d.y.k.e."

Dropping his hand from Aunt Jule's huge arm, the detective rushed from the room and the house. He was laboring under great excitement, as well he might be, for Nell was as the apple of his eye, and she had been enticed to the great city for a fell purpose, he believed.

CHAPTER XVII.

NELL IN THE TOILS.

The instant after Professor Ruggles fired, the masked face in the doorway disappeared, and the sound of swift-moving feet was heard.

Still clutching his weapon, the Professor strode to the door and flung it open, gazing into the alley, which framed no reply to the question that trembled unspoken on his lips.

"Did you hit him, Professor?"

"I fear I didn't."

Professor Ruggles then made an examination of the alley that a.s.sured him that his bullet had not been stopped by flesh and bone--instead, it lay on the ground where it had fallen, flattened, from the brick wall above.

"So much for being a poor shot," sneered the woman.

"So much for your condemned carelessness in not locking the door," he retorted with equal severity.

"Well, maybe you'd better see that it is fastened now."

Professor Darlington Ruggles turned the key in the lock, and then a.s.sumed a seat once more.

"Let me see. Where did we leave off?"

"In a mighty important place," answered the woman. "If that sneak had been at the door long, he must have heard something of our plans."

"And it makes you feel uneasy?"

"Don't it you?"

"A trifle. I can't imagine who the sneak was."

"Nor I."

"It might have been one of the boys playing a joke," said Ruggles.

"I hope it's nothing more serious."

"I shall dismiss the sneak from my mind at any rate," returned Mr.

Ruggles. "To-morrow night you may look for your guest, Mrs. Scarlet.

Remember, whatever plans for vengeance you may have formed will be more than gratified in placing this detective's sister completely in the power of a man who knows how to use it."

The Professor's eyes snapped at the last, and he lifted and smoothed his hat rapidly with one long arm.

"I understand. Nothing can be too harsh and awful for one of the breed," hissed Madge Scarlet, in a way that made even Professor Ruggles' flesh creep.

Then he rose to go.