Dyke Darrel looked into a smooth, boyish face, from which a pair of brown eyes glowed.
"What is it you wish?" Darrel demanded, bluntly.
"I wish to make a confidant of somebody."
"Well, go on."
"First tell me if you are a detective."
"You may call me one."
"It's about that poor fellow you've just been interviewing," said the young stranger. "I am Watson Wilkes, and I was on the train, in the next car, when poor Nicholson was murdered. I was acting as brakeman at the time. Do you wish to hear what I can tell?"