"Do you think she came to this vicinity on the cars?"

"Most certainly," answered the detective.

"Will you go to Chicago now?"

"I am not fully decided," returned d.y.k.e Darrel. "At what hour does the train pa.s.s?"

"Six-fifty to-night."

"But the down train goes earlier?"

"At four."

"And at Bloomington I can take the cars for Burlington?" "If you so desire."

"I will think about it."

Sauntering along in the afternoon, just in the outskirts of the village, d.y.k.e Darrel came suddenly upon a man standing with his back against a telegraph pole.

"h.e.l.lo!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the detective, as the man turned and faced him.

It was Harper Elliston.

"I thought you were in Chicago," pursued the mystified d.y.k.e. And then he remembered the face he had seen at the window of the cabin in Black Hollow the previous night. The memory brought a harsh expression to his countenance.

"Ah, you are still here, d.y.k.e."

Mr. Elliston smiled and held out his hand.

"I don't understand this," said d.y.k.e Darrel. "You have deceived me in some way, Harper. You were in Black Hollow last night."

"There you are mistaken," a.s.sured Mr. Elliston; "I stopped off here on the noon train."

"You did not go to Chicago, then?"

"Yes, I did; but only remained an hour. You see the man I was looking for was not there, but had gone to Burlington, Iowa, and so, remembering that you stopped off here yesterday, I thought I would run down and learn if you had made any discovery."

"You came at noon?"

"Yes."

"Why did not you call for me at Bragg's?"

"Are you stopping there?"

"Certainly. If you had inquired for me of the agent here, you would have certainly found me."

"That's exactly what I did do, and I did not find you; so now," and Mr. Elliston laughed at the perplexed look on the detective's face.

The actions and words of this man were indeed a puzzle to d.y.k.e Darrel.

"Harper, I want to ask you a plain question----"

"And you want a categorical answer, Mr. Darrel," interrupted the New Yorker with a laugh.

"I do."

"Go ahead."

"Weren't you in Black Hollow last night?"

"Certainly not. I was with a friend at least sixty miles away, near Chicago."

"Can you prove this?"

"If necessary, of course; but what in the world is the matter, d.y.k.e? I hope you wouldn't accuse me of deception."

"No. Will you come with me to Bragg's?"

"Certainly."

And then the two men walked away together. There was a solemn expression pervading the face of d.y.k.e Darrel. He had experienced many strange things during his detective life, but this latest phase puzzled him the most.

He could swear that he saw the face of Elliston at the window of the house in the gulch on the previous night, yet the a.s.sertion from his friend that he was fifty miles away at the time seemed honest enough.

Having been long in the detective work, d.y.k.e Darrel had grown to be suspicious, and so he was fast losing faith in the good intentions of his New York friend. He had suddenly resolved on a test that he believed would prove effectual in setting all doubts at rest.

Arrived at the Bragg dwelling, the detective conducted Harper Elliston at once to the room where the remains of the beautiful, dead girl lay encoffined.

CHAPTER XIV

d.y.k.e DARREL ASTOUNDED.

d.y.k.e Darrel lifted a cloth from the face of the dead, and Harper Elliston stood gazing down upon the features of wronged and murdered Sibyl Osborne.

The detective watched the expression of his companion's countenance closely.

With bated breath the man-hunter glued his gaze upon the face of the man bending over the casket.

"What a sad face, and yet most wonderful in its beauty. Who is she? A daughter of the house?"

Harper turned and regarded d.y.k.e Darrel questioningly, a sympathetic look in his black eyes.

"Do you not know her?"