still in durance vile?"

"Yes," answered the low ruffian, "and what's more, Dyke Darrel, the
detective, is in Chicago!"

CHAPTER XIX.

THE DETECTIVE FOOLED.

Two men met unexpectedly in one of the hotel corridors of the great
city; two hands went out, and

"How are you, Harry?"

"How are you, Dyke, old boy?"

"When did you leave St. Louis?"

This from the detective.

"Not long since. I am confident that our game is in this vicinity. I
meant to come down to Woodburg soon, and consult with you. I sent a
telegram, but it brought no answer from you."

"I wasn't at home. It was placed in my hands yesterday."

"And that is why you are here?"

"Not wholly."

There was a gloomy look on the face of the detective, not natural to
it, and young Bernard knew that something had gone decidedly wrong
with his detective friend.

"It is about Nell," said Dyke Darrel, when questioned. "She came to
the city last evening, in answer to a letter purporting to come from
me. The letter was a decoy from some villain, and I fear that Nell has
met with a terrible fate."

A groan came at the last.

Harry Bernard's face blanched, and he, too, seemed excited and deeply
moved. The keen eyes of Dyke Darrel noticed the young man's emotion,
and he felt a suspicion growing stronger each moment.

"Nell in the city--decoyed!" exclaimed Harry at length. "Great heaven!
Dyke, this is awful!" "It is."

Then the detective laid his hand on the young man's shoulder, and
piercing him with a stern look, said in an awful voice:

"Harry Bernard, on your honor as a man, what do you know of this
enticing of Nell to the city?"

"What do I know?"

"Yes; what do you know?"

There was a stern ring in the detective's voice, not to be mistaken.

"I know only what you have just told me, Dyke."

"This is the truth?"

"Good heaven! Dyke Darrel, do you imagine that _I_ had aught to do
with enticing your sister to this wicked city? My soul! You do not
understand the feeling that animates my heart for Nell Darrel. I hope
you will not insult me again with a suspicion so haggard and awful."

The hurt look resting on the face of the young amateur detective was
sufficient to convince Dyke Darrel that Harry Bernard spoke the truth,
and this knowledge only increased his uneasiness.

"I am fearful some terrible ill has befallen Nell," groaned Dyke.

"My friend," said Harry, "we must let all other matters rest until we
find the girl. I have a