With a cry the fellow leaped across the long, narrow table, but as he landed on the other side he found himself facing the muzzle of a revolver pointing at him from the window curtains. Without a word he threw up his hands, and as he did so passed the check into his mouth. The movement did not escape Williams, and like a flash his revolver was between the fellow’s eyes.
“Spit it out,” he said quietly. “Don’t chew it! This revolver is self-cocking! One—two——”
The check came again into evidence.
“Hands down for the bangles—my son,” ordered the detective as he stepped toward Stein. As the handcuffs snapped, Williams lowered his weapon and picked up the check. Then as the men moved their prisoners toward the door he turned to the woman.
“Mrs.—Forbes,” he began in a low tone, “won’t you be good enough to tell me your right name?”
The reply was a paroxysm of tears and sobs. Williams waited for the outburst to subside and then quietly repeated his question. The answer came brokenly between sobs.
“It’d be—it’d be Mrs. Forbes—if—if—I had my rights!”
Williams stared at the speaker in utter amazement. Was there something more in this case? Who was this woman, anyway, and why did she claim any right to Forbes’ name?
“And until you get your rights,” he said, “what shall I call you?”
“Mary Halpin—Miss,” answered the woman, sullenly.