The man made a sudden move towards the door of the public-house where an official, vulgarly known as the 'chucker out,' stood smiling on the threshold. "No, sir, you _don't_!" said the policeman, suave but immensely firm, laying a hand on his arm. "The officer's quite right. Do come along," again urged the lady. But the movement towards the public-house door, which revealed to Arthur the face of the obstinate lingerer, showed him to the lingerer also--showed Arthur in his evening uniform of tall hat, white scarf, and silk-faced coat to Sidney Barslow in his 'bowler' hat of rakish cut, and his sporting fawn-coloured coat, with the big flower in his buttonhole and his stick with a huge silver knob. The stick shot out--vaguely in Arthur's direction. "I'm a gentleman, and, what's more, I can prove it. Ask that gentleman--my friend there----" Arthur's face was a little flushed. His mind was full of those terrible quick visions of his--a scuffle on the pavement, going bail for Sidney Barslow, giving evidence at the Police Court. "A friend of the prisoner, Mr. Arthur Lisle, Barrister, of Garden Court, Middle Temple"--visions most terrible! But he stood his ground, saying nothing, not moving a limb, and meeting Barslow's look full in the eyes. All the rest were staring at him now. If he remained as he was they would take it as a denial of Barslow's claim to acquaintance. Could he deny it if Barslow challenged him? He answered--No. But some change of mood came over Sidney Barslow's clouded mind. He let his stick fall back to his side again, and with an angry jerk of his head said: "Oh, damn it, all right, I'm going! I--I was only pulling your leg." "That's right now!" applauded the policeman. "You'd better take 'im in a taxi, miss." "And put a ticket on 'im, in case 'e falls out, miss," some friendly adviser added. Arthur did not wait to see the policeman's excellent suggestion carried into effect. The moment that Sidney Barslow's eyes were off him, he turned quickly up a by-street, and took a roundabout way home. He had much to be thankful for. The terrible visions were dissipated. And--he had not run away. Oh, how he had wanted to run away from the danger of being mixed up in that dirty job. He thanked heaven that he had stood his ground and looked Barslow in the face. But what about the next time they had to look one another in the face--at the Sarradets' in Regent's Park? CHAPTER IV A GRATEFUL FRIEND