"My friend," said Harry, "we must let all other matters rest until we find the girl. I have a 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, you fellers?" The voice came from behind the two men. Turning, they saw a stout, ill-looking fellow, with unkempt hair and beard, peering in at them from the street. "Ain't this the house where Mrs. Scarlet stops," questioned the elderly man. "Mebbe 'tis." "Where's the woman now?" "Bless your soul, old man, I don't know. Better call agin; she's allus in evenings," suggested the man at the edge of the street.