"Oh, I don't know," retorted Grimes. "I'm an officer of the law and——"
"My dear Mr. Baxter," reasoned the bishop, interposing his portly and venerable presence between the excited adversaries, "believe me, we must respect the majesty of the law."
"Majesty nothing," stormed Bob. "I tell you——"
"I tell you to step back," ordered the detective. "And you——" he faced Miss Thompson, "consider yourself under arrest. If you have anything to get ready you'd better do it. We start in——" he glanced at his watch, "in ten minutes."
"Start?" cried Baxter, aghast.
The seriousness of the situation was now clear to everyone.
"See here," the young man appealed to Grimes after a moment's thought, "there's some horrible mistake. Miss Thompson had nothing to do with stealing that money. She couldn't steal. Look at her, man! You know she couldn't. I'll be responsible anyway, or my father will, for the money and everything else. You can't drag her off like this and disgrace her. By God, I won't let you."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I've no choice. A crime has been committed, and—there's evidence enough to hold her on if she was a cousin of the queen."
"Under arrest!" murmured Betty twining her fingers together piteously and fixing her eyes on Hester.
At this moment the sound of carriage wheels was heard outside. Bob went quickly to the window.