Belva, who had been his able adviser, had assured him that, once inside the room, Fair would not resist him any further, but would give up her obstinate resistance to his rights, and consent to forgive him and live with him.
But her ringing shriek of fear told quite a different story, and he shrank back in alarm, giving her opportunity to spring from her chair and rush toward the door, reiterating her shrill scream for help:
“Murder! Murder!”
Recovering himself, he sprang after her, and, with a fierce oath, clapped his hand over her mouth.
“Be still, you little wild cat!” he said savagely. But Fair, like the wild cat he called her, fought him off with the energy of despair, and the tussle between them was growing fierce indeed when hurried feet were heard rushing along the corridor, the door was quickly burst open, and the room filled with a swarm of excited men, women, and children.
In ten seconds Carl Bernicci’s grasp on Fair was broken, and two stout men were holding him between them, laughing in his face at his hoarse protestations.
“Let me go! She is my wife, and I have a right here!”
A score of voices denied his claim indignantly before Fair could even speak, for her story was not known here, and to the inmates of the house she was known simply as Miss Fielding, the pretty girl who was rooming with Miss Allen.
“He’s a burglar, that’s what he is!” shouted one. “Bring the police at once.”
Carl Bernicci had private reasons for not desiring a personal encounter with the police, and at those words he hastily made up his mind not to stay and argue his claim to his wife with the guardians of the law. He cast a malignant glance at Fair, who was supported between two motherly looking women, and then made such a supreme effort for liberty that he broke the grasp of his captors and escaped through the door, pursued by a yelling mob, who screamed at the tops of their voices: