As Jack dragged him
forward, the others could see that one foot shambled along the floor.
"Gentlemen," observed Darrow in his most casual tones, "let me present
Monsieur X!"
Every one exclaimed at once. Above the hubbub came Lyons' voice, clear and
commanding.
"The proof!" he thundered. "This is too serious a matter for buffoonery.
The proof!"
Percy Darrow raised his hand. Through the roar of the maddened city the
bell of the Metropolitan tower was beginning its chimes. By the third
stroke the uproar had died almost away. The people were standing still,
awaiting what might come.
The sweet-toned chimes ceased. There succeeded the pause. Then the great
bell began to boom.
_One--two--three--four--five--six_ came its spaced and measured strokes.
The last reverberations sank away. Nothing happened. Percy Darrow let his
hand fall.
"The proof," he repeated, "is that you are still here."
From the night outside rose a wild shriek of rejoicing, stupendous,
overwhelming, passionate. Paige sprang across the room. "Release!" he
shouted fairly in Simmons' ear. The spark crashed. And at a dozen places
simultaneously bulletins flashed; at a dozen other points placarded
balloons arose, on which the search-lights played; so that the people,
hesitating in their flight in thankfulness over finding themselves still
alive, raised their eyes and read:
Monsieur X is captured. You are safe.
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