Then as Mrs. French extends her arms, he withdrew his clasp and turns once more toward Vernet.
“End this scene at once,” he says haughtily. “I ask nothing at your hands, Van Vernet. Secure me at once; I am dangerous to you.”
He extends his hands, and casts upon Vernet a look full of contempt. It causes the latter to feel that, somehow, his triumph is not quite complete after all. But he will not lose one single privilege, not abate one jot of his power. He takes the manacles from the hands of his assistant, and steps forward. No one else shall adjust them upon these white, slender wrists.
At that instant, as Leslie rises to her feet, uttering a cry of terror, there is a sudden commotion at the door; one of the officers is flung out of the way, and a strong hand strikes the handcuffs from Vernet’s grasp.
He utters an imprecation and turning swiftly is face to face with Franz Francoise!
“You!” he exclaims hoarsely. “How came you here? Boys—”
The two officers move forward. But the seeming Priest, who has stood in the back ground a silent spectator, now steps before them.
“Hold on!” he says; “don’t burn your fingers, boys.
”“Answer me,” vociferates Vernet; “who brought you here, fellow? What—”
“Oh, it ain’t the first time I’ve slipped through your fingers, Van Vernet,” the new-comer says mockingly.