he famous railroad detective.

Had Dyke Darrel been in the full vigor of his manly strength, and Nell
not by to unnerve him, his chances for escape would have been tenfold
greater.

As it was, a terrible weakness oppressed him. His fall into the
basement had jarred him terribly, and it was with difficulty that he
could stand alone. The walls seemed to whirl about in a mad waltz, and
the faces of the three villains seemed one mass of grinning demons.

"Halt!"

Nell Darrel, white as death, yet with the fires of a resolute purpose
blazing in her eyes, thrust forward her pistol.

"It's pretty Nell on a lark!" exclaimed Professor Ruggles. "It will be
better for you not to make any resistance, for the moment you attempt
it, that moment death will come to both of you. Be wise in time."

The Professor advanced a step.

"Stop there," sternly ordered the girl.

"Aye! stop there," repeated Dyke, in a voice husky from very weakness.
"We will not be taken alive. Do you know on what dangerous grounds you
are treading? This block is surrounded by members of the force, and
any harm offered to Nell or myself speedily avenged."

A jeering laugh answered the detective.

"It is wrong to tell such a whopper, Mr. Darrel, especially when one
is on the verge of eternity," said Ruggles, showing his teeth.

The situation was interesting.

"Will you permit us to depart from here?" questioned the detective,
suddenly.

This speech brought a laugh to the lips of Darlington Ruggles.

"You do not seem to know me!" he said.

"I know that you pretend to be a professor of some sort, but I believe
that you are in disguise. I think, if you would cast aside that red
hirsute covering, we should see----"

"Zounds! Go for him, boys," cried Professor Ruggles in a loud voice,
completely drowning the faint accents of Dyke Darrel.

The two men who kept the Professor company, made a quick move to seize
the twain in front of them. On the instant came a flash and sharp
report.

One of the villains staggered and sank with a groan against the
stairs.

"I--I'm shot!" he gasped.

"The she jade!"

It was Nick Brower who uttered the hissing cry of rage, and the next
instant the villain's revolver flashed.

"My God! You have killed Nell!"

It was a cry expressive of the deepest agony, as the weak and reeling
detective caught the form of his sister in his arms, as she fell
backward, with the blood streaming down her face.

Poor Nell!

She h