Darke Darrell, the Boy Detective — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

28 DARKE DARRELL. They stopped and stared, but Darke had already stooped and obtained possession of watch and wallet. ‘‘Helloa!” cried one of the nearest bystanders. ‘‘ Why do you let that boy go through the man in that way? He's no relative; he’s a little entry thief.” The man who had been carrying the lower limbs of the corpse dropped them and seized Darke by the arm. The little detective shook him off, and singled out the man who had applied the scurrilous epithet to him. He was a small man, with a cane, with red side-whiskers, crape half-way up his hat, and ribbed cassimere coat. Where had Darke seen that man? Where had he heard that voice? | _ The little girl was quick to speak up. ‘<The boy is my friend, and the dead man is my father,” she said, strongly, distinctly. <‘‘I ordered him to secure the things for me.” She was quivering with passion, her eyes flashing vindic- tively on the stranger. “‘T saw them sitting in the cars together, the man and the girl,” corroborated a passenger. ‘‘I remember study- ing their Italian faces.” The man with crape on his hat interfered again. “It’s all gammon,” he said. ‘* He isn’t her father. The boy’s a knave. ‘I‘he dead man is my particular friend, Mr. Pedro Cassandra, bank-note engraver, of New York. J7J/ take charge of the body and the effects.” ““That is a lie, Tim Jordan!” fiercely cried the girl, stamping her feet, and gesticulating wildly. <‘‘ You never were my father’s friend.” ‘‘Gentlemen, she at least admits that she knows me,” with a grin of triumph, appealing to the crowd. _ Jordan! Cassandra! Darke remembered in a flash. The ~ man with the crape on his hat was the counterfeiter whom comicbooks.com