"One thing, Harvey; you were sent here by Van Vernet. I know that much. Now, tell me why did not Van make this attempt himself? Don't hesitate. Van has well-nigh led you and these fellows into a scrape; he has certainly made trouble for himself. Where is he now?" A moment Harvey hesitates. Then he says: "I don't know where he is, but he has gone to make another arrest." "Another! who?" "A sailor; the fellow who killed the Jew, Siebel." Richard Stanhope swings himself around and points to Papa Francoise, as with the finger of fate. [Illustration: "_Stanhope!_" gasps the officer, starting forward.--page 413.] "The man who killed the Jew, Siebel, is _there_!" he says sternly. Then snatching up the wig, he readjusts it upon his head, saying, as he does it: "Drake, Holt, look after these people; and Harvey, you may do well to ignore Vernet's instructions for the present. He has done mischief enough already. I must prevent this last blunder." The carroty moustache has once more resumed its place. "Holt, you understand?" "Perfectly, sir." As the detective is once more transformed into Franz Francoise, Mamma becomes fairly livid. She makes a final frantic effort to free herself and howls out: "Let me go; what have I done? for what am I arrested? Let me go, you impostor!" "You will learn in good time, woman," retorts Stanhope. "You may have to answer to several small charges: blackmail, abduction, theft, murder." He goes to the door; then turns and looks back at the handcuffed pair: "Holt," he says impressively, "watch that woman closely, and search them both at the Jail. You will find upon the woman a belt, which you will take charge of until I come." Mamma Francoise yells with rage. She writhes, she curses; her fear and fury are horrible to behold. As Richard Stanhope crosses the threshold, her curses are shrieked after him, and her captors shudder as they listen. Papa is abject enough. He has been shivering, quaking, cowardly, from the first; but Stanhope's last words have crushed him utterly. His knees refuse to support him, his eyes stare glassily, his jaw drops weakly. And as they bear them away, the one helpless from fear, the other resisting with tiger-like fierceness, a distant clock strikes one, two, three! CHAPTER LVII. WHAT HAPPENED AT WARBURTON PLACE. There is unusual stir and life in the Warburton Mansion, for Alan Warburton has returned, as suddenly and strangely as he went away. He has made Mrs. French and Winnie such explanations as he could, and has promised them one more full and complete when he shall be able, himself, to understand, in all its details, the mystery which surrounds him. After listening to the little that Alan has to tell--of course that part of his story which concerns Leslie is entirely ignored, as being another's secret rather than his--Mrs. French and Winnie are more than ever mystified, and they hold a long consultation in their private sitting-room.