For the merest part of a second Paul Clayton neither moved nor spoke. Then his hand shot down to a side pocket and came up with a heavy revolver.
The officer had been looking for some such move. He seized the young man’s wrist and gave it a wrench that caused the weapon to fall clattering to the floor.
“That won’t help you,” was the quiet warning. “Don’t resist, because you will be the person to suffer if you do.”
“What am I arrested for?” asked Clayton, composing himself with a tremendous effort.
“Stealing jewels estimated at about eighty thousand dollars from Mr. Stephen Reed, of New York City. He is said to be your uncle. We think we have the goods on you, too.”
Paul Clayton dropped his head despairingly. To think that, just when he had been so sure that he could return to his uncl
