“Say!  You look like a good fellow; come and put up the bail, won’t you?  I’ve done nothing to get pinched for.  It’s all a mistake.  See how they’re treating me!  You won’t be sorry, if you’ll help me out of this.  Think of your sister or your girl being dragged along the streets this way!  I say, come along now, like a good fellow.”

It may be that Lorison, in spite of the unconvincing bathos of this appeal, showed a sympathetic face, for one of the officers left the woman’s side, and went over to him.

“It’s all right, Sir,” he said, in a husky, confidential tone; “she’s the right party.  We took her after the first act at the Green Light Theatre, on a wire from the chief of police of Chicago.  It’s only a square or two to the station.  Her rig’s pretty bad, but she refused to change clothes—­or, rather,” added the officer, with a smile, “to put on some.  I thought I’d explain matters to you so you wouldn’t think she was being imposed upon.”

“What is the charge?” asked Lorison.

“Grand larceny.  Diamonds.  Her husband is a jeweller in Chicago.  She cleaned his show case of the sparklers, and skipped with a comic-opera troupe.”

The policeman, perceiving that the interest of the entire group of spectators was centred upon himself and Lorison—­their conference being regarded as a possible new complication—­was fain to prolong the situation—­which reflected his own importance—­by a little afterpiece of philosophical comment.

“A gentleman like you, Sir,” he went on affably, “would never notice it, but it comes in my line to observe what an immense amount of trouble is made by that combination—­I mean the stage, diamonds and light-headed women who aren’t satisfied with good homes.  I tell you, Sir, a man these days and nights wants to know what his women folks are up to.”

The policeman smiled a good night, and returned to the side of his charge, who had been intently watching Lorison’s face during the conversation, no doubt for some indication of his intention to render succour.  Now, at the failure of the sign, and at the movement made to continue the ignominious progress, she abandoned hope, and addressed him thus, pointedly: 

“You damn chalk-faced quitter!  You was thinking of giving me a hand, but you let the cop talk you out of it the first word.  You’re a dandy to tie to.  Say, if you ever get a girl, she’ll have a picnic.  Won’t she work you to the queen’s taste!  Oh, my!” She concluded with a taunting, shrill laugh that rasped Lorison like a saw.  The policemen urged her forward; the delighted train of gaping followers closed up the rear; and the captive Amazon, accepting her fate, extended the scope of her maledictions so that none in hearing might seem to be slighted.

Then there came upon Lorison an overwhelming revulsion of his perspective.  It may be that he had been ripe for it, that the abnormal condition of mind in which he had for so long existed was already about to revert to its balance; however, it is certain that the events of the last few minutes had furnished the channel, if not the impetus, for the change.