Darke Darrell, the Boy Detective — page 38: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DARKE DARRELL. CEO he had dogged, and who had sent the dispatch with the hidden meaning. “A belt, did you say?” Darke asked, turning to the girl, the crowd increasing in numbers. ““Yes; the check for his baggage, too, sir.” Darke stooped, and fumbled for the belt. ‘“ As cool a thing as ever I saw!” growled the man with the crape on his hat. ‘‘I tell you the boy is a thief. I won't stand by and see the dead rifled in that way.” ‘¢Who are you in mourning for, and what business is it of yours, any how?” demanded a burly, pugilistic bystander. ‘*You’ve got too much chin. You'd like to have the watch and pocket-book. That’s the boy who telegraphed for the train, and his mug is twice as honest-looking as yours.” The crowd laughed. The man with the crape on his hat glared at his new antagonist, and reached his hand toward a side-pocket in his coat. Darke secured the belt and baggage-check. ‘*Gentlemen, I am Darke Darrell, the boy-detective of Baltimore,” he said. ‘‘I have my badge and my creden- tials, signed by Mr. Vincent Marks, chief of the detective force. Tllshow them on demand. This noisy, interfering fellow, so free in calling names, is Tim Jordan, the noto- rious counterfeiter.” The man recoiled, a slight pallor in his face. «‘The dead man here, the bank-note engraver, as he calls him, was his confederate,” continued Darke, his voice ris- ing. ‘He is afraid that there is something in this belt which will convict him. J have been tracking both these men. I'll hold these effects by right of search, and at the request of the dead man’s child, this little girl here.” He glanced at her, then gave a slight start. Her black eyes were burning into his face, a look in them that was per- fectly untranslatable. Gomilecbooks (E(0)