Behind them came a stiff, soldierly looking man, in a blue suit, and him Jamieson greeted with a smile and handshake.
“There’s your man, marshal,” he said, pointing to Holmes. “I guess he won’t make any resistance.”
And, while Mr. and Mrs. Richards stared in astonishment, and Weeks turned purple, the marshal laid his hand on the merchant’s shoulder, and put him under arrest. Holmes was trapped at last.
“What does this mean?” Mrs. Richards asked, indignantly. “What are you doing to my brother, Mr. Jamieson?”
“That’s quite a long story, Mrs. Richards,” he answered, easily. “And, strange as it may seem, I’ll have to answer it by asking you and your husband some questions that may seem very personal. But I’ve made good with you so far, and I can assure you that you will have no cause to regret answering me.”
Mrs. Richards bowed.
“In the first place, you and your husband have been away from this part of the country for quite a long time, haven’t you?”
“Yes. For a number of years.”
“And you have not always been as well off, financially, as you are now?”
“That is quite true. My husband, shortly after our marriage, failed in business, owing–owing to conditions he couldn’t control.”