"Fooled again!" he muttered, fiercely. "If the builders of this infernal den had constructed that place on purpose to raise my hopes, they could not have succeeded better. We'll have to try again."
The words had scarcely left his lips, when from the gloom behind them a strange sound fell upon their ears.
It was half-sigh—half-groan.
It seemed to come from behind the bed.
"My God! Lije, did you hear that?" exclaimed Tisdale, in a hoarse whisper, seizing his companion by the arm.
At the same instant from behind the bed there emerged the form of a woman, tall and thin, with pinched features, wild, restless eyes, and long gray hair hanging down her neck and shoulders.
Coarse, worn garments hung loosely about her, a cheap shawl was thrown carelessly about the shoulders and pinned across her breast.
With one long, white finger extended before her, she advanced slowly toward the villainous pair without uttering a word.
Could Frank Mansfield have seen her, he would have instantly recognized the mother whose death he mourned.
Could Detective Hook have seen her, not for one instant could he have doubted that Mrs. Marley, whose dead body he had raised with his own hands from the floor of that wretched upper chamber in the rear of the Donegal Shades, and this woman were one and the same.