Then it was that a woman literally tore her way into the heart of the crowd, pushed and beat them back from Frank, and stood over him with a small revolver in her hand, screaming:
“Cowards! Are there no real men among you? Back! This gun is loaded, and, by Heaven! I’ll shoot the first one who tries to touch him!”
“It’s Queen Mab!” exclaimed several, and they fell back before her.
Frank staggered to his feet. One look he took at the woman, and he saw she was the one who had sought to aid in blackmailing him.
“He is no spotter,” she declared. “He is Frank Merriwell, the actor who is playing at the Crawford. I suppose he came in here to enjoy himself, the same as any man may. He has behaved himself, and this brutal assault is an outrage.”
“Mab!” cried a shaking voice, and the man who had claimed to be her husband forced his way forward, his face bruised and cut and bleeding from the blows he had received, “have you gone crazy?”
“No!” she shouted back. “But I’ve seen enough of this! Shame on you, Reg, to try to get revenge like this just because he was too sharp to bite your bait! As for that fellow who planned the job, he’s a cheap actor who was kicked out of Merriwell’s company, and he has been trying to do something to get revenge. I’m disgusted with him!”
It seemed that the woman was well known there, and her words carried some weight. It was useless for the man to protest, she showed her scorn for him and expressed her admiration for Frank Merriwell.
“He’s going out of here!” she declared, “and not another one of you will lift a hand against him! I’ll shoot the dog that tries it. I promise you that, and you know Queen Mab always keeps her promises.”
“What she says goes,” declared a man. “You may as well let the young fellow alone. She’ll take him out.”