With her glance never for an instant wavering from the form in the rocker, Mollie called out in clarion tones:
"Come right up-stairs, Mr. Officer, and you will find what you are looking for."
A moment later two policemen entered the room and took in the situation at a glance.
In a trice they had their prize—whom they instantly recognized as a man they had long been trying to run down—disarmed and safely handcuffed, he offering no resistance.
Then they turned their attention to the heroic girl upon the bed. But she felt little like a heroine at that moment.
She had dropped her weapon the instant the officers appeared upon the scene, too weak and spent to hold it longer, and now lay white and panting upon her pillows, consciousness almost forsaking her now that the reaction had come.
Almost simultaneously Nannette rushed into the room, her eyes wide and staring with fear upon beholding three strange men in the place, while she tremulously inquired if the house was on fire.
"No, no," one of the policemen replied reassuringly, "everything is all right now; but you'd better get the young lady a glass of wine or something. Did he attempt to do you any harm, miss?" he respectfully inquired.
"No, he did not have any opportunity," she panted, a ghost of a smile curving her white lips as she significantly touched the revolver that lay beside her.
"I see," said the man with a nod, "and you are a downright plucky girl! There, drink something, and then you shall tell us all about the affair," he concluded as Nannette approached with a glass of port wine which she had taken from a small cabinet which Monsieur Lamonti had in his room.