was?"

The prisoner remained silent.

Dyke Darrel proceeded:

"You said that you were a brakeman on the train on which poor
Nicholson found his death. Was that the truth?"

"It was."

"It is now for your own good that you make confession, Martin
Skidway!"

"I've nothing to confess."

"Be careful!"

"You can't scare me into telling a lie," said the prisoner, with an
assumption of bravado that he did not feel. "I don't know anything
about the express robbers, only what I've told you; you can make the
most of that."

"I mean to do so," assured Dyke Darrel. "I shall not leave the trail
until the perpetrators of that crime are secured and punished. In that
day you may wish that you had not been so obstinate."

"I have told all I know."

"I hope you have!"

"You believe I am lying, Dyke Darrel?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," retorted the detective. "Of
course, you are not of the sort who believe in telling facts when a
falsehood will serve you better. I did not expect anything different."

Arrived at the Southwestern metropolis, Dyke Darrel turned his
prisoner over to the proper officers, warning them of the dangerous
nature of young Skidway, and then he turned his thoughts and feet in
another channel.

Dyke Darrel went to the office of the railroad company on whose road
the midnight crime had been committed, and consulted with one of the
officers in regard to the same.

"It is a terrible affair," said Mr. Holden, the officer in question.
"I telegraphed our folks in Chicago to employ detectives in that city,
and expect to have the best talent in the country look into this."

"Of course. Any clew discovered?"

"None."

"I believe the villains covered their tracks well," said Dyke Darrel.
"The express messenger who was murdered was a personal friend."

"Your friend?"

"Yes; one I had known for years, which explains my interest in the
case. I suppose I have your good wishes in hunting down the outlaws?"

"Well, of course; but it is a task that may tax the coolness and
ingenuity of skilled detectives. Amateurs have no place on this case,
I assure you."

"Admitted," returned the young detective, with a smile. "You have
heard of Dyke Darrel?"

"I should think I had. He is the best detective in the West, now that
Pinkerton is gone; he was a trusted friend of Allan Pinkerton, too."

"He was."

"I've telegraphed for our people to see about employing Dyke Darrel. I
shan't be content without.