prisoner before him, entered and ordered the
driver to make all speed for the Union depot.

"What does this mean?" demanded the prisoner, with assumed
indignation.

"It means that you will take a trip South for your health, my friend."

"To St. Louis?"

"You have guessed it, Skidway."

A troubled look touched the face of the escaped prisoner.

"Why do you call me by that name, Dyke Darrel?"

"Because that IS your name. You have five years unexpired term yet to
serve in the Missouri penitentiary, and I conceive it my duty to see
that you keep the contract."

"A contract necessarily requires two parties. I never agreed to serve
the State."

"Well, we won't argue the point."

"But I am in the employ of the railroad company, and will lose my
place---"

"You gain another one, so it doesn't matter," retorted the detective.
"No use making a fuss, Mr. Skidway; you cannot evade the punishment
which awaits you. Any confession you choose to make I am willing to
hear. The late tragedy, for instance?"

"You'll get nothing out of me."

"I am sorry,"

"Of course you are. Did you recognize me when we first met?"

"No. It was an afterthought."

"I thought so. You shall suffer for this. You've got the wrong man,
Mr. Darrel."

"You seem to know me."

"Everybody does."

"You flatter me."

"My name isn't Skidway, but Wilks, and I can prove it."

"Do so."

"Release me and I will."

"I'm not that green."

The prisoner muttered angrily. He realized that he was fairly caught,
and that it was too late now to think of deceiving the famous
detective.

Dyke Darrel had recognized in the young man calling himself Watson
Wilks an old offender, who had made his escape from the Missouri State
prison three months before, and he at once surmised that the young
counterfeiter, who was a hard case, might have had a hand in the
murder and robbery of the express messenger. Reasoning thus, the
detective decided upon promptly arresting the fellow before proceeding
to search further. It would be safer to have Skidway in prison than at
large in any event.

More than one pair of eyes had watched the departure of Dyke Darrel
and his prisoner from Chicago, and a little later a bearded man, with
deep-set, twinkling eyes, and the general look of a hard pet, thrust
his head into Madge Scarlet's little room, and said:

"It are all up with the kid, Mrs. Scarlet."

"What's that you say?"

The woman came to her feet and confronted