“She is dangerous. Remember! force if needed. And, do not lose her from your sight an instant.”
In ten minutes, Daly, with a strange light of battle in his eyes, stood before Mrs. Willoughby. “It is now just the time to spring the trap!” he said. “I have two men steadily on watch down in South Fifth Avenue. Vreeland has been lurking around here to warn Justine to meet him at once. He intends, I am sure, to leave the country, for I have already arrested Helms and the letter-carrier, Mulholland. You must act, and at once, or you will lose the bird.”
“Then,” cried Elaine Willoughby, turning ashen in her heart-sinking, “hasten to the rooms yourself. Arrest him! Get the paper! It must come to me alone, whatever happens—remember that. There is human life, public honor and the happiness of innocent hearts all hanging on your success. For God’s sake, hasten! Bring me that paper!” A ferocious joy gleamed in Daly’s eyes.
He felt for his Colt’s police pistol and his steel handcuffs.
“Hold the Frenchwoman tightly. Lock her up by force! I will be here in an hour, and the paper shall reach no one’s eyes but mine.
“But as to Justine, let Dobson arrest her, and handcuff her. Give her a good frightening, but watch her that she does herself no harm.”
As Daly stole down the side stairs of the “Circassia,” there was a muffled scream as the handcuffs closed on the plump wrists of Justine Duprez. It was the beginning of the end, and Harold Vreeland had lost his last friend. He was in the jaws of Fate now.
“Dobson has made sure. Now for my man, and to pay off old scores!” cried Dan Daly, as he sprang into a carriage.
“To South Fifth Avenue!” he cried. “Drive like hell. I’ll make you rich for a year!” he sharply commanded.
Far away, crouching in the squalid room, watching the frail door and listening for the sound of a well-known footstep, haggard-eyed and desperate, Harold Vreeland waited like a wolf at bay. His brain, burning with alcohol, was now reeling with the violence of his emotions.