The clamour of noisy voices blared out a moment into the street before the doors swung to again, and I stood quite still for an appreciable time, blotted out of sight in my black shadow. Had I not hesitated a moment to reflect about that hot whisky I should have passed, my figure full in the blaze, just in front of the two men, who would have waited in the dark side-street till I was safely out of sight. The state of my nerves, I suppose, was pretty bad, and the lack of my customary evening dose accentuated it. I know, anyhow, that at first I realized one thing only--that I could never have the heart to arrest the fellow. This quickly passed, however; the racing of my blood passed too; determination grew fixed; I decided to act at once. But should I go in, or should I wait till they came out again? If I went in there would probably be a fight; Boyde’s hulking companion would certainly take his side; the lightest blow in my weak state and I should be down and out. On the other hand, there was a side door, there were several side doors, and the couple might easily slip out, for I could not watch all the doors at once. I decided to go in. And the moment the decision was taken, complete calmness came over me, so that I felt myself merely an instrument of fate. It was horrible, but it had to be. Boyde was to get the punishment he deserved. I could not fail. The way the little scene was stage-managed seemed curious to me when it was all over, for as I moved out into the light, a couple of policemen came across the broad avenue behind and looked inquisitively at what must have seemed my queer behaviour. I immediately crossed to meet them, while never taking my eye off the swing-doors. A man who had just gone into that saloon, I told them, was to be arrested. “That so?” they asked with a grin, thinking me drunk, of course. “And what’s he done to get all that?” I told them I was a reporter on the _Sun_, that I was the complainant in the case, and that Detective Lawler of the 9th District had the warrant at headquarters. They could telephone to him if they liked. They listened, but they would not do anything. I could telephone to Lawler myself; _they_ weren’t going to act without a warrant. They finally agreed to wait outside and “see fair play,” if I would go in and fetch “the guy” out into the street. “We’ll stop any trouble,” they said, “and take him to the station if _you_ make a complaint.” I agreed to this and walked in through the swing-doors.