The two were near enough for Porshinger to hear what Lorraine said, and his eyes suddenly narrowed like a snake's and took on a look as venomous.

"Is this Mr. Porshinger—Charles J. Porshinger?" the constable inquired, with an important air, that was at the same time slightly apologetic.

"Yes!" said Porshinger. The word was fairly bitten off.

"I've a warrant here for you, sir," the constable continued.

"For me!" Porshinger exclaimed. "What do you mean, fellow—do you know who I am?"

"It don't make no difference to me who you are, sir. I'm doin' my duty, in the name of the law, and I'm arrestin' you because I've a warrant here what orders it."

"Arresting me for what?" Porshinger demanded.

"For assault and battery."

"At whose instance?"

Burke passed the warrant across.

"This gentleman here is the prosecutor, I believe," he said. "Now come with me and see the magistrate. He'll fix the amount of bail."

Porshinger took the warrant and read it.

"So!" he sneered. "What do you think to gain by this business, Lorraine?"

Lorraine ignored him.

"The prisoner is in your hands, constable," he remarked. "I suggest you would better take him along—the magistrate is waiting. If he doesn't want to enter bail, take him to jail."

"Take me to jail!—me to jail!" cried Porshinger.

"That's where I'll have to take you unless you enter bail, or arrange with the magistrate. I've got nothin' to do but to take you, Mr. Porshinger," said Burke firmly.

"Won't you take my word that I'll appear there before six o'clock and enter bail?" Porshinger demanded.

"I'll take nothin' but you, sir. I must obey my warrant, and you've got to obey it too."

"Do you know who I am?" said Porshinger again.

"I know who you are, all right, but that don't make no difference to me, as I said before. I don't know nothin' about the merits of the case; whether you're guilty or innocent is none of my business. I'm executin' my warrant, and I'm a goin' to do it—so come along."

"I suppose you'll at least let me telephone to my lawyer?" said Porshinger.

"Sure, sir; if you do it at once, with me along with you."

"Oh, certainly. I wouldn't lose the pleasure of your company!" mocked Porshinger. "And then you'll let me ride with you in my car to the magistrate's office?"

"No, I won't," Burke smiled. "We'll go in Mr. Lorraine's car. You might forget to tell your buzz man where to stop."

"My dear officer, do you know you're piling up a lot of trouble for yourself in the future?"

"I don't know nothin' at present but my warrant, Mr. Porshinger—so come along and do your telephonin', and then let's be off. It's four o'clock now, and if the magistrate's office is closed, it's you to the jail in default of bail—understand?"

"What!" cried Porshinger.

"That's it," replied Burke.

"Then let us be going, by all means," said Porshinger sourly. He crossed to where Lorraine was sitting. "It's a new rÔle for you, Mr. Complaisant Husband—to defend your wife!" he sneered. "You would better have stirred yourself after Amherst—it might have been to more purpose. Now—you're brave enough to drag her name through the mire of a court—and wash all your dirty linen, including hers. I don't want to tell all I know regarding Mrs. Lorraine, but I'll tell enough to show that there was no assault. I did kiss her—a number of times. She's a very kissable lady—but it wasn't by force. Oh, no!"

Lorraine gripped his chair arms until his knuckles were white, but he controlled himself. Then he arose.

"It was because I knew you were such a poltroon that I prosecuted you rather than horse-whipped you," he replied; "and I am careful to abstain from physical violence. You would be only too ready to prosecute me, and so muddy the water. You're too despicable, Porshinger, even to talk to," and he turned his back and walked away.

"You might as well start another prosecution, since you seem to be strong on them at present," Porshinger went on. "Why don't you prosecute the new Amherst?" with a look at Pendleton.

"The new Amherst!" cried Lorraine, whirling around—"The new Amherst!—What do you mean?"

"You poor, blind cuckold!" was the mocking retort. "You've horns growing all over you. You never see anything until it is too late. You're an easy mark, sure enough. Oh, it isn't I—I'm not in the Amherst class, thank God!—but your dear friend Pendleton is," raising his voice so that Pendleton could hear.

A contemptuously amused look came over Lorraine's face, and he broke into a derisive laugh.

"I'm obliged for the information!" he replied.

"No doubt you are. If you doubt it, you might ask what your wife and Pendleton were doing on the Criss-Cross piazza, one night about five weeks ago. That was what first put me wise as to Mrs. Lorraine's—possibilities—also capabilities."

"You damn coward!" cried Lorraine, springing toward the other.—Then he stopped. "No—you don't lure me to offer you violence," he said.

"Time's passing, Mr. Porshinger," said Burke's voice behind him. "If the magistrate's gone, don't blame me."

"Ah! thank you for reminding me," Porshinger answered. "Come, we'll go to the telephone," and with a sneering smile at Lorraine, and another at Pendleton as he passed him, he went into the Club-house—Burke following just behind.

Porshinger got Dalton, his personal counsel, on the wire. He was just leaving for the day, he remarked when he recognized Porshinger's voice.

"I wish you would send some one around to Magistrate Swinton's office at once," Porshinger directed. "I've been arrested—yes, that's what I said—I've been arrested for assault and battery, and the officer is going to lock me up if I haven't bail ready. I'm out at the Otranto Club now—but we're coming right in, and I'll meet your man there. You telephone the magistrate we're coming, will you?—What?—Yes, they know who I am, but it don't influence the fellow with the warrant—he says he has to take me—which is correct, I reckon.... Yes, some one will suffer, you're damn right!... What is it about?—the assault?—I'll tell you when I see you. Some people have got themselves into a hell of a mess.... Yes.... Very well. Good-bye.—Now, my man, I'm at your service."

Side by side they crossed the piazza and entered Lorraine's car.

"Tell my machine to follow," said Porshinger, to the servant who opened the door.

During the drive, Porshinger did not speak, and Burke was discreetly quiet. When they drew up at the magistrate's office, Burke hopped out and offered his hand to the other, who ignored it. Lorraine's car immediately drove off, and Porshinger's took its place.

"Ah! Dalton, you came yourself, did you? I'm glad to see you," said Porshinger. "There wasn't any need, I suppose, one of your young men would have been able to handle this matter."

"I thought it best to come myself," Dalton replied. "No trouble, I assure you—just simply a case of bail. Everything is arranged. All you have to do is to sign your name. Then we'll waive a hearing, and let the matter come up in court, if you want it to come up," with a sharp glance at his client's face. "Otherwise, we'll have the district attorney's office pigeon-hole it."

"I'm not sure what I want," said Porshinger.

"Well we'll waive the hearing anyway, and you can take your time to consider."

"I'm not sure I want it waived," Porshinger answered. "I'm inclined to fight."

"Don't do it before the magistrate," the lawyer advised. "He is sure to hold you, and it will only make the matter more prominent. You're playing into Lorraine's hands by doing it. For some reason, he seems to want the facts aired. So it's your policy to suppress them—no matter if you're as innocent as to-morrow. A woman is involved—and you must submit to a few adverse inferences for the general good of your cause. Society will forgive much in such a case, if you're quiet—it will never forgive you if you make a fight."

"That is your advice?"

"On general principles, yes," Dalton replied.

"There is force in your argument," Porshinger admitted. "However, I don't know—let the magistrate fix the hearing—we can waive it any time before, I suppose?"

"You will have to come around here and renew your bail," said Dalton.

"Why is that?"

"If you waive the hearing you give bail for court; if you don't waive the hearing your bail will be to appear before the magistrate at a time fixed."

"Hell!" exclaimed Porshinger, "I don't want to come here again, if I concluded not to go to a hearing.—Well, waive the hearing. We can give the Lorraines all they want in court—and something more."

They entered the rear office where the magistrate was awaiting them. Porshinger was introduced, he waived the hearing; the bail was quickly arranged—one thousand dollars for appearance at the next term of court; Dalton and he signed it; and they went out.

"A lawyer isn't supposed to go bail, but I fixed it up with the squire," Dalton remarked. "It's a mere form in your case—and I thought it well not to mention the matter to anyone. Moreover, I hadn't time to get another bondsman. I knew you didn't care to be kept waiting."

Porshinger nodded.

"Have the Lorraines become reconciled?" Dalton inquired.

"Lorraine has become reconciled, the ninny—but Mrs. Lorraine hasn't, I hear. Problem, isn't it?"

"Social problem!" laughed the lawyer.—"The unforgiving offender."

Porshinger smiled. "It may be that way—I can't quite comprehend it, however. Why should Lorraine prosecute me if his wife's not reconciled to him?—and she plainly isn't, or wasn't last evening."

"Which nevertheless is not material to the issue," Dalton replied. "It is: did you commit an assault and battery on Mrs. Lorraine last night?"

"I kissed her in the Croyden conservatory," said Porshinger bluntly.

"Hum—did she know it—I mean, was the kissing with her consent?"

"Sure it was," he lied.

"But she told?"

"No—we were overseen by Dolittle—and he told."

"Most unfortunate!" smiled Dalton. "It's perfectly plain now. To defend herself, Mrs. Lorraine tells Lorraine that you kissed her by force—and Lorraine rushes off and prosecutes you. It's a pretty mess. Everybody knows it, and everybody will be talking, and everyone concerned will be more or less smudged. I'm sorry for you, Porshinger."

"Why sorry?" Porshinger demanded. "Since when has it become a crime to kiss a pretty woman?"

"It hasn't. Your crime wasn't in kissing her but in kissing her so bunglingly as to be overseen. Society never quite forgives one, particularly a new-comer, that sort of clumsiness. It is always remembered against him."

"Not if he can buy forgetfulness," said Porshinger easily.

Dalton's glance flashed an instant over the other's face.

"Perhaps—it's sometimes done, though not often. You may be an exception, Porshinger. I trust so."

"You can do anything if you're willing to pay for it—and keep out of jail," was the complacent answer. "I'll supply the money; it will be up to you to keep me out of jail—understand?"