The contents of the envelope puzzled Mr. Elliston, who had been but ten days in New York since his return from the West. He had several acquaintances whose names might with appropriateness be signed B. "I don't think there'll be any harm in meeting Mr. B. at the place mentioned. It may be of importance, as he says. If it should be a trap set by Dyke Darrel--but, pshaw! that man is dead. I had it from the lips of Martin Skidway, and he knew whereof he spoke. I will call at 388, let the consequences be what they may." Thus decided a cunning villain, and in so doing went to his own doom. Ten days had Dyke Darrel and his friend Bernard searched the city of New York ere they found their prey. Once found, the detective resolved upon a novel manner of procedure for his capture. The sending of the letter was part of the scheme. Had this failed, then a bolder move would have been made. But it did not fail. When Mr. Elliston rapped at room 14, number 388 Blank street, the door was opened, admitting the visitor to a small room containing a bed, a few necessary articles of furniture, and a curtained alcove. The door was suddenly closed and locked behind Elliston, light was turned on fully, and then the visitor found himself confronted by Harry Bernard, whom he had met once or twice in Woodburg, many months before. "Eh!" ejaculated Elliston. "So you are the man who wrote that note requesting an interview? Well, I am glad to see you, Mr. Bernard," and Elliston held out his hand, with a smile wreathing his thin lips. "I imagined you would be," returned the youth. "I am glad to see you so well. Fact is, you are badly wanted out in Illinois at the present time." "I am sorry that I cannot accommodate my friends out there," returned Elliston, with a frown; "but it is wholly out of the question. I think I will bid you good evening, Mr. Bernard. I cannot waste precious time here." He turned and grasped the door-knob. It did not yield to his touch. "Not just yet, Mr. Elliston," said Harry. "I wish to ask you a few questions." "Well?" "What do you know of the murder of Arnold Nicholson on the midnight express, south of Chicago, some weeks ago?" "I read of it, of course." Mr. Elliston pulled nervously at his glove as he answered. "What do you know of the disappearance of Captain Osborne and the death of his daughter?" persisted Bernard. "Do you suppose I have nothing to do but answer such nonsensical questions?" demanded Elliston, angrily. "Open this door and let me pass out." "Not yet. I wish to tell you a little story, Mr. Elliston." "I haven't time to listen." "Nevertheless, you must take the time," said Harry Bernard, sternly. "Don't attempt to make trouble, sir; you will get the worst of it if you do." There was a glitter in the eyes of the speaker that was not pleasant to see. Mr. Elliston sank to a chair, and with an air of resignation said: "Well, well, this is impudent, but I will listen if it will gratify you."