CHAPTER VIII.
A PLUNGE TO DEATH.
For some moments neither man spoke. Harry Bernard noticed that his friend was deeply moved, and he seemed to wonder at the cause. At length he said:
"Dyke, what is it?"
"Nothing, only—-"
"Well, speak out," as the detective hesitated.
"It is strange that your hand should so exactly fit the marks on the handkerchief, Harry."
"Well, yes," admitted the youth; "I hope you didn't imagine, however, that I had a hand in this railway robbery and murder?"
At the last Harry Bernard laughed lightly. Dyke Darrel did not seem to relish the young fellow's lightness, and only frowned.
"This is not a laughing matter, Harry Bernard," said the detective, sternly.