“Why, he can’t give any! The joker takes every trick! It’s the highest card in the pack, and I have just played it!”
“The thing is a forgery! I never was in California in my life! And I never set eyes on this woman before this hour! It is a forgery, I say!” exclaimed the colonel, so positively, so confidently, so authoritatively that the men were once more puzzled.
“Oh, it’s a misdeal, then, is it? I’ll prove that it isn’t!” said the stranger. “Now, then, gentlemen, you can test the truth for yourselves. Money is no object to you, particularly in such a case as this. You can telegraph to the Rev. Father Paul Minitree, and ask him if this marriage certificate is genuine, and you can telegraph every word of the certificate, word for word. Ask him to compare it with the entry in the parish register of August 1, 18—, and to telegraph the answer, at your expense, mind you; and, though it will be expensive, it will be worth the money, and you won’t mind the cost,” said the woman.
This settled the question.
Abel Force, the man most deeply concerned of any man present, had made no violent demonstration. He had controlled his just wrath all through the scene. His reverence for the sanctuary had aided his habitual self-government in this ordeal.
Now, turning his back on Col. Anglesea, he said to Leonidas, who had been a silent spectator of the drama enacting around him:
“Go, my dear boy, and order the carriages. I shall take my wife and daughters home.”
Le nodded, and went elbowing his way through the crowd—that made room for him—to do his errand.
“Col. Anglesea, we will hereafter be compelled to dispense with your society at Mondreer. Your effects shall be sent to the Calvert Hotel, subject to your orders,” he said, turning for a moment to his late guest.
“Sir, you abduct my wife by violence! You do it at your own peril!” exclaimed the braggart.