The tone of anguish, and the look in Alan's eyes, reveal to Vernet the situation. This is the woman beloved by Alan Warburton; now his triumph over the haughty aristocrat will be sweet indeed. Now he can strike through her. Stepping forward, he lays a hand upon Alan's arm. "Mr. Warburton," he says sternly, "I must do my duty. Bob, bring the handcuffs." As the officer thus addressed moves forward, Winnie French utters a cry of anguish, and flings herself before Alan. "You shall not!" she cries wildly. "You dare not! What has he done?" Vernet looks straight at his prisoner, and smiles triumphantly. "Mr. Warburton is accused of murder," he says impressively. "Murder!" Winnie turns and looks up into Alan's face. "Alan, oh, Alan, it is not true?" "I am accused of murder, Winnie, but it is _not_ true." "Oh, Alan! Alan! Alan!" She flings her arms about him clinging with passionate despair, sobbing and moaning pitifully. And Alan clasps her close and a glad light leaps into his eyes. For one moment he remembers nothing, save that, after all her assumed coldness, Winnie French loves him. Still folding her in his arms, he half leads, half carries her to the divan where Leslie sits trembling and wringing her hands. "Winnie, darling," he whispers, "do you really care?" Then as Mrs. French extends her arms, he withdrew his clasp and turns once more toward Vernet. "End this scene at once," he says haughtily. "I ask nothing at your hands, Van Vernet. Secure me at once; I am dangerous to you." He extends his hands, and casts upon Vernet a look full of contempt. It causes the latter to feel that, somehow, his triumph is not quite complete after all. But he will not lose one single privilege, not abate one jot of his power. He takes the manacles from the hands of his assistant, and steps forward. No one else shall adjust them upon these white, slender wrists. At that instant, as Leslie rises to her feet, uttering a cry of terror, there is a sudden commotion at the door; one of the officers is flung out of the way, and a strong hand strikes the handcuffs from Vernet's grasp. He utters an imprecation and turning swiftly is face to face with Franz Francoise! "You!" he exclaims hoarsely. "How came you here? Boys--" The two officers move forward. But the seeming Priest, who has stood in the back ground a silent spectator, now steps before them. "Hold on!" he says; "don't burn your fingers, boys." "Answer me," vociferates Vernet; "who brought you here, fellow? What--" "Oh, it ain't the first time I've slipped through your fingers, Van Vernet," the new-comer says mockingly. Then seeing the terror in Leslie's eyes, he snatches the wig and moustache from his head and face, and turns toward Alan.