They had reached the great lower halls of the hotel, when they were stopped by a sound of altercation in the office, which was on their right hand as they went out.
"I tell you," said the clerk of the house, in an angry voice, "that there is no one of that name here!"
"And I tell you there is! And there she is now! I'd know her among ten thousand!" exclaimed a harsh, rude-looking man, who the next instant came out of the office and confronted Sybil, saying roughly:
"I know you, madam! You're my prisoner, Madam Berners! And you'll not do me, I reckon, as you did Purley! I'm Jones! And 'tan't one murder you've got to answer for now, but half a dozen!"
And without a word of warning, he snapped a pair of handcuffs upon the lady's delicate wrists.
"Villain!" thundered Sybil's husband, as with a sweep of his strong arm he felled the ruffian to the floor.
It was but a word and a blow, "and the blow came first."
He caught his half-fainting wife to his bosom, and strove to free her from those insulting bracelets; but he could not wrench them off without wounding and bruising her tender flesh.
Meanwhile the fallen officer sprung to his feet, and called upon all good citizens to help him execute his warrant.
A crowd collected then. A riot ensued. Lyon Berners, holding his poor young wife to his bosom, vainly, madly, desperately defended her against all comers, dealing frantic blows with his single right arm on all sides. Of course, for the time being, he was insane.