“Look here, Mrs. B., I want you to understand that you’ve got to obey your husband. I’ll give you back the money as soon as I can, but I need it to track my father. Let me once get hold of him, and it’ll be all right. I will soon have plenty of money.” “But I can’t spare the money, James. The children must have their supper.” “I’m tired of your talk,” he rejoined, roughly. “If you refuse me the money, I’ll raise it in some other way.” He glared round the room, and his eyes rested on a dress that his wife had just ironed. “I can raise something on that,” he said, seizing the dress, and preparing to carry it away. “Stop, James, for pity’s sake!” cried his wife, terrified. “That dress belongs to one of my customers. It would be stealing to take it!” “She’s probably got plenty of others; she can spare it,” he said. His wife hastened to him and tried to wrench the dress from his grasp, but holding it in one hand beyond her reach, he gripped her arm with the other so hard that she uttered a cry of pain. At this moment the door was pushed open, and a new character appeared upon the scene in the person of a stalwart policeman. “What’s all this?” he demanded, in a tone of authority. “Release that woman, or I’ll take you in.” CHAPTER XIV. ON THE TRACK OF NUMBER 91. The policeman’s sudden appearance can be easily explained. He and his family occupied rooms in the same house with Mrs. Barclay, and he happened to be passing the door of her apartment when he heard the cry. “What’s all this?” he demanded once more. “None of your business!” returned Barclay, indignantly. “What call have you to intrude where you’re not wanted?” “I often do that,” said the policeman, grimly. “Mrs. Barclay, who is this man?” “My husband, sir.” “There, do you hear that?” demanded Barclay. “I have a right to be here.” “What were you about to do to your wife? What made her cry out?” asked the policeman, sharply. “I ask you that question, Mrs. Barclay.” “My husband was carrying off that dress to pawn it,” replied the wife. “It does not belong to me, and it would have got me into trouble.” “What have you to say to that?” asked the officer, turning to Barclay. “My wife would give me no money,” answered Barclay, sullenly, “and I threatened to pawn her dress.” “She says it was not her dress.” “I thought it was,” said Barclay. “O, James,” began his wife, but a threatening look from her husband stopped her words. “And then you treated her roughly, it seems!” “No, I didn’t. I just took her by the arm, to stop her getting the dress.” “Have you any complaint to make, Mrs. Barclay?” asked the officer. “Not if he will give me the dress back. It doesn’t belong to me, and I don’t want to lose it.” “Take the dress,” said Barclay, throwing it down. “Mind you make no more trouble,” said the policeman in a warning voice, as he left the room. “Where did the cop come from?” asked Barclay. “He lives in the house.”