“Stanhope!”
“Stanhope!”
Then the man who has so long masqueraded as Franz Francoise flings aside the carroty wig and fixes a stern eye upon Mamma Francoise.
“Woman,” he says slowly; “let me set your mind at rest. You need never again call me your son. Franz Francoise is dead, and before he died he told me his story, and yours, as he knew it. If for weeks I have lived among you in his likeness, you know now why it was necessary. Oh, you are a clever pair! Almost too clever, but you are outwitted. Harvey,” turning once more to the officer, “you shall not go back without a prisoner; you shall have two. Put your bracelets on this rascally pair; and see them safely in separate cells. Holt and Drake will go with you.”
The two humble citizens glance up, and confirm by a look their leader’s assurance.
“Drake! Holt!” The man addressed as Harvey utters the names mechanically. Drake and Holt are two efficient detectives, and Harvey knows them as such. “Mr. Stanhope, I—I cannot understand.”
“And I cannot explain now.” He is actively assisting Drake to put the manacles on Mamma’s wrists. “Old woman, it will be policy for you to keep quiet; or do you want me to gag you?”
Then turning:
“One thing, Harvey; you were sent here by Van Vernet. I know that much. Now, tell me why did not Van make this attempt himself? Don’t hesitate. Van has well-nigh led you and these fellows into a scrape; he has certainly made trouble for himself. Where is he now?”
A moment Harvey hesitates. Then he says: