Bartholomew's pale intensity, past Borkins, standing very
straight and white and frightened-looking. Then, of a sudden he leapt
forward, his hand clamped down upon someone's shoulder, and his voice
exclaimed triumphantly:
"And here the beauty is!"
Then, before the astonished eyes of the crowd of spectators stood Mr.
Gustave Brellier, writhing and twisting in the clutch of the firm fingers
and spitting forth fury in a Flemish patois that would have struck Cleek
dead on the spot--if words could kill.
A sudden din arose. People pressed forward, the better to see and hear,
exclaiming loudly, condemning, criticising. The judge's frail old hand
brought silence at last, and Antoinette Brellier came forward from her
place and clutched Cleek by the arm.
"It cannot be, Mr.--Cleek!" she said piteously. "I tell you my uncle is
the best of men, truly! He could never have done this thing that you
accuse him of--and--"
"And the worst of devils! That I can thoroughly endorse, my dear young
lady," returned Cleek with a grim laugh.
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