The sergeant reached with his left hand for the inkstand, while his right clutched the ruler. He never took his eyes off the stranger.
“Say,” wheedled he, glancing around and seeing no trap, “serg, I say: that woman w’at’s locked up, she’s—”
“She’s what?” asked the sergeant, getting the range as well as he could.
“My wife,” said the fellow.
There was a bang, the slamming of a door, and the room was empty. The doorman came running in, looked out, and up and down the street. But nothing was to be seen. There is no record of what became of the third husband of Mary Donovan.
The first slept serenely in the jail. The woman herself, when she saw the iron bars in the Elizabeth-street station, fell into hysterics and was taken to the Hudson Street Hospital.
Reilly was arraigned in the Tombs Police Court in the morning. He paid his fine and left, protesting that he was her only husband.
He had not been gone ten minutes when Claimant No. 4 entered.
“Was Sarah Joyce brought here?” he asked Clerk Betts.
The clerk couldn’t find the name.