suspicion that may lead to something definite.
Let me tell you now, that during the past year you have warmed a
serpent in your bosom in the person of Harper Elliston. I have never,
until now, dared make this assertion in your presence, knowing as I
did the great respect you had for the oily-tongued fellow. The time
for plain speaking has come, however."

"I shall take no offense."

"No! I am glad to hear you say that. Come to my room, Dyke, and I will
tell you something that may open your eyes a little."

The detective complied, and when they were seated Harry poured out his
confidence.

"I am glad you have been thus frank with me, Harry," said the
detective when his friend had finished. "I have heard enough of late
to convince me that Elliston is a wolf in sheep's clothing!"

"And that is one point gained."

"It is."

"And I believe that it was Elliston who penned the decoy letter."

"I am more than half convinced that such is the case," admitted Dyke
Darrel.

"Have you investigated?"

"Thoroughly, since I came into town. I learned that Nell got off at
the depot, and that she met a red-haired man, and entered a hack with
him. After that all is blank."

"That confirms my suspicions, Dyke." "What is that?"

"This man with the florid looks meeting Nell, and going away from the
depot in her company, Professor Ruggles, is a friend of Elliston's."

"Indeed!"

"It is true. I believe before another day passes, the place of the
girl's seclusion can be found. Down on Clark street is Mother
Scarlet's place, a played-out old hag, and she has been hand and glove
with this red-haired man for some time."

"Mother Scarlet!" exclaimed the detective. "I have met her; she is the
aunt of the Martin Skidway who is now serving out the remainder of his
term for counterfeiting."

"The same, I suppose. I move that we visit her den, and see what we
can find."

"Agreed. Let us go at once."

Dyke Darrel came to his feet.

"One moment, Dyke."

"Well."

"You are too well known by the crooks of this city to move about
without disguise."

"I will fix that. I will meet you again in an hour."

And then Dyke Darrel hurried away.

It was almost dark when two men, one old and gray, with a hump on his
shoulder, called at a dingy old brick on Clark street and rapped on a
narrow door that opened into an alley.

No answer was vouchsafed.

Then the old man turned the knob, but the door refused to yield.

"What's wanted,