"I ain't blind, I reckon," growled the man. "I heard sufficient to tell me that the detective was takin' the kid back to Missoury, and that was enough for me."
"Why did you permit it?"
A laugh answered the woman.
"You might have saved the boy," pursued Mrs. Scarlet, angrily. "Now he will spend another five years in the dungeon where my poor man died of a broken heart. Watson told me that the infamous Dyke Darrel was in Chicago; but I had no thought of his recognizing the boy. Can you lend me some money, Nick?"
"A purty question, Madge. Don't you know I'm always dead-broke?" growled Brower. "What in the nation do you want with money any how?"
"I'm going to St. Louis."
"No?"
"I am. If Dyke Darrel puts my boy behind prison bars again, I will have no mercy. It's life for life. I am tired of living, and am willing to die to revenge myself on that miserable detective."
Mrs. Scarlet began pacing the room. She was deeply moved, and tears of anger and sorrow glittered in her eyes. She was about to utter a fierce tirade against the detective, when a step sounded without, followed immediately by three raps on the door.
"Whist!" exclaimed Brower. "It is the Professor."