"Give me the child, Mrs. Warburton," he says respectfully, "and lean on my arm. We have a carriage near."

When Leslie had disappeared beyond the doorway, Franz Francoise throws down his pistols.

"Now then, boys," he says quietly, "you can come and take me."

With a yell of rage, Mamma hurls herself upon her captor.

"Let me go!" she shrieks. "Ah, ye brute, let me get at him! Let me kill the sneakin' coward! Ah," kicking viciously, and gnashing her teeth as she struggles to reach the Prodigal, "that I should have to own such a chicken-hearted son!"

The leader of the officers, handcuffs in hand, has approached Franz, and the others are closing about him.

As Mamma utters her fierce anathema, he turns upon her suddenly, making at the same time a swift gesture of impatience.

"Gray," he says sternly, "bring out that old man."

It is not the voice of Franz Francoise; it is not his manner. And as the man addressed as Gray lays a hand upon Papa Francoise, the old woman catches her breath with a hissing sound, and stares blankly.

Struggling and whimpering, Papa is dragged from the inner room, and when he stands before the group, the Prodigal says:

"Now, Harvey, make the proper use of your handcuffs. Put them on this precious pair."

"What!"

The leader of the arresting party starts forward, and stares at the speaker, who makes a sudden movement and then faces the officers, holding in his hand a carroty wig and moustache!

Papa's face is ashen. Mamma writhes and gurgles, staring wildly at this sudden transformation. The officers instinctively group themselves together, and the handcuffs fall from the leader's grasp, clanking dolefully as they strike the bare floor.

"_Stanhope!_" gasps the officer, starting forward, and then drawing back.

And the two aids instinctively echo the word:

"Stanhope!"

"Stanhope!"

Then the man who has so long masqueraded as Franz Francoise flings aside the carroty wig and fixes a stern eye upon Mamma Francoise.

"Woman," he says slowly; "let me set your mind at rest. You need never again call me your son. Franz Francoise is dead, and before he died he told me his story, and yours, as he knew it. If for weeks I have lived among you in his likeness, you know now why it was necessary. Oh, you are a clever pair! Almost too clever, but you are outwitted. Harvey,"

turning once more to the officer, "you shall not go back without a prisoner; you shall have two. Put your bracelets on this rascally pair; and see them safely in separate cells. Holt and Drake will go with you."

The two humble citizens glance up, and confirm by a look their leader's a.s.surance.

"Drake! Holt!" The man addressed as Harvey utters the names mechanically. Drake and Holt are two efficient detectives, and Harvey knows them as such. "Mr. Stanhope, I--I cannot understand."

"And I cannot explain now." He is actively a.s.sisting Drake to put the manacles on Mamma's wrists. "Old woman, it will be policy for you to keep quiet; or do you want me to gag you?"

Then turning:

"One thing, Harvey; you were sent here by Van Vernet. I know that much.

Now, tell me why did not Van make this attempt himself? Don't hesitate.

Van has well-nigh led you and these fellows into a sc.r.a.pe; he has certainly made trouble for himself. Where is he now?"

A moment Harvey hesitates. Then he says:

"I don't know where he is, but he has gone to make another arrest."

"Another! who?"

"A sailor; the fellow who killed the Jew, Siebel."

Richard Stanhope swings himself around and points to Papa Francoise, as with the finger of fate.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Stanhope!_" gasps the officer, starting forward.--page 413.]

"The man who killed the Jew, Siebel, is _there_!" he says sternly.

Then s.n.a.t.c.hing up the wig, he readjusts it upon his head, saying, as he does it:

"Drake, Holt, look after these people; and Harvey, you may do well to ignore Vernet's instructions for the present. He has done mischief enough already. I must prevent this last blunder."

The carroty moustache has once more resumed its place. "Holt, you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

As the detective is once more transformed into Franz Francoise, Mamma becomes fairly livid. She makes a final frantic effort to free herself and howls out:

"Let me go; what have I done? for what am I arrested? Let me go, you impostor!"

"You will learn in good time, woman," retorts Stanhope. "You may have to answer to several small charges: blackmail, abduction, theft, murder."

He goes to the door; then turns and looks back at the handcuffed pair:

"Holt," he says impressively, "watch that woman closely, and search them both at the Jail. You will find upon the woman a belt, which you will take charge of until I come."

Mamma Francoise yells with rage. She writhes, she curses; her fear and fury are horrible to behold. As Richard Stanhope crosses the threshold, her curses are shrieked after him, and her captors shudder as they listen.

Papa is abject enough. He has been shivering, quaking, cowardly, from the first; but Stanhope's last words have crushed him utterly. His knees refuse to support him, his eyes stare gla.s.sily, his jaw drops weakly.

And as they bear them away, the one helpless from fear, the other resisting with tiger-like fierceness, a distant clock strikes one, two, three!

CHAPTER LVII.

WHAT HAPPENED AT WARBURTON PLACE.