As Mamma utters her fierce anathema, he turns upon her suddenly, making at the same time a swift gesture of impatience.
“Gray,” he says sternly, “bring out that old man.”
It is not the voice of Franz Francoise; it is not his manner. And as the man addressed as Gray lays a hand upon Papa Francoise, the old woman catches her breath with a hissing sound, and stares blankly.
Struggling and whimpering, Papa is dragged from the inner room, and when he stands before the group, the Prodigal says:
“Now, Harvey, make the proper use of your handcuffs. Put them on this precious pair.”
“What!”
The leader of the arresting party starts forward, and stares at the speaker, who makes a sudden movement and then faces the officers, holding in his hand a carroty wig and moustache!
Papa’s face is ashen. Mamma writhes and gurgles, staring wildly at this sudden transformation. The officers instinctively group themselves together, and the handcuffs fall from the leader’s grasp, clanking dolefully as they strike the bare floor.
“Stanhope!” gasps the officer, starting forward, and then drawing back.
And the two aids instinctively echo the word: