e lips of Nell.

But when Dyke proceeded to the conclusion, the girl's face blanched,
and she had no word of commendation left for the miserable convict,
who, after all, possessed but little honor.

"So Aunt Scarlet is in the neighborhood; and also your abductor,"
mused the detective. "The trail is becoming hot, indeed."

"It is, for a fact," admitted Harry. "I believe, if the truth was
known, this man Ruggles will prove to be the man we want. Have you
that handkerchief with you, Dyke, that we found in the coat of the
rascal who attempted your murder in St. Louis?"

This was several hours after the events of the morning, and Nell was
now resting in a large wooden rocker, very weak, yet feeling
remarkably well, considering the siege she had passed through during
the past two weeks and more. Dyke Darrel and Harry were the only
occupants of the room, the farmer being at his work in the field, and
his good wife attending preparations for supper in the kitchen.

"I have kept the tell-tale handkerchief through it all," answered the
detective, at the same time producing the article from a receptacle
beneath, his shirt.

"It's a wonder this was not discovered when you were in the hands of
the thugs of Chicago."

"I wasn't closely searched, I suppose. You and the boys were too close
after them."

"You give me too much credit, Dyke," returned Harry Bernard, modestly.
"I've a question to ask."

"Ask as many as you like."

"Was it the fact of my hand fitting this bloody imprint that so
startled you in the St. Louis hotel?"

"Did I not so claim at the time?"

"Perhaps; but wasn't there another coincidence that gave you reason to
suspect me?

"There might have been."

"I thought so. It was the imprint of a large wart, such as this on the
handkerchief, that made you look with suspicion upon me. Is it not
so?"

Harry held up his hand, so that a wart on the little finger was
plainly revealed, and which, when he placed his hand against the
tell-tale handkerchief, fitted the marks perfectly.

"Forgive me, Harry," cried the detective, quickly. "I know now that it
was only a remarkable duplicate; the wart belonged to another hand
than yours. The print of the wart was also on the bosom of Arnold
Nicholson's white shirt bosom, where a bloody hand had fallen. I made
this discovery when I examined the body of my dead friend.
Circumstantial evidence pointed to you, and yet I doubted--"

"I understand," interrupted Harry.