One hour later, at the suggestion of the great detective, the river in front of the wharf was dragged. Nick, expecting yet fearing that something would be found that would substantiate a theory that pointed to foul play, watched the diggers with painful, and yet with eager interest. The space upon which the work was being performed was not large, and before darkness set in the something was brought up from the muck of the river. It was a section of two-inch water-pipe about two feet in length, and heavy rust showed when the mud had been removed. Rust and something else, something that spoke of a bloody deed. Adhering to the pipe, under partly detached wafers of rust, were human hairs, sticky with a substance that was not rust, but which Nick knew without analysis was coagulated blood. The chief of police was present when the iron pipe was brought up, and his superficial examination caused him to come to the same conclusion that had forced itself into the mind of Nick Carter. "There has been murder done," was the chief's comment, "and this is the instrument of death. We must drag further for the body, though we may not be able to find it, on account of the swift current which has been running for several days." "Yes, that should be done." Nick would have been better satisfied could an expert's analysis of the stains and the evidence on the iron pipe have been obtained before the arrest of Gabriel Leonard, but there was danger in delay. Leonard must be arrested before he reached home and discovered the loss of the incriminating articles. Two detectives, with Nick, were at the Union depot for an hour before the arrival of the Illinois Central train from Chicago. But Gabriel Leonard did not appear. Among the passengers who alighted from the train was a tall, handsome woman, with large, trustful, gray eyes. One of the detectives knew her, and pointed her out to Nick as the wife of John Dashwood. She was pale, but composed. There was nothing in her manner to indicate that she had been expecting to meet any one. And yet she must have come on from Chicago in response to the telegram sent in the morning by Gabriel Leonard. At Nick's request, the detective who knew her walked forward and accosted her just as she was entering the spacious waiting-room, on her way to the broad stairway leading to the street. "Good evening, Mrs. Dashwood," he said. "Can I be of any assistance? Perhaps you are looking for Mr. Leonard?" "No. I met him at Madison, a little over an hour ago. He won't be home until morning." Nick Carter heard this statement with deep disappointment. "Has Mr. Dashwood returned?" Mrs. Dashwood was now the questioner. "I--I don't know. Perhaps you will find him at home," the detective hurriedly replied.