"Miss Nell? Isn't she at home?"
"Wal, now, what a question. In coorse she ain't. Didn' yo' send fur her yo' very self? How den yo' 'spec she's goin' to be home ef yo' didn' done brung her, eh?"
All this was Greek to Dyke Darrel.
"What in the name of caution are you driving at, Aunt Jule? I haven't seen my sister since I left home, and if she's gone to look for me she's done a very foolish thing, for I'm not long in one place—she ought to have known better."
Aunt Jule flounced out of the room, to return soon with a yellow envelope in her hand.
"Dere, look a-dat now. Ef yo' didn' done writ dat, den I'd like to know who did."
The detective opened the letter his housekeeper placed in his hand, and read:
"CHICAGO, April 30, 188-.
NELL:—Come on the next train, as I wish to see you in this city. Aunt Jule will look after the house until your return. Don't disappoint me.
"DYKE."
The detective glanced at the negress after reading this note, the writing of which very much resembled his hand.
"This came when?"