He turned quickly and looked about him, his eyes taking in everything. Some men beside us had heard our talk and were ready to interfere. “What’s your trouble?” one of them asked thickly. I realized we must get away at once, out into the street, though the scene had barely lasted two minutes yet. “There’s a policeman waiting outside,” I went on. “You’d better come quietly. A row won’t help you.” But I said it louder than I thought, for several heads turned towards the swing-doors. The effect on Boyde, however, was hardly what I expected, and seemed strange. He wilted suddenly. I believe all thought of resistance or escape went out of him when he heard the word “police.” His jaw dropped, there was suddenly no expression in his eyes at all. A complete blankness came into his features. It was horrible. He’s got no soul, I thought. He merely stared at me. “Whose is that overcoat?” I asked, feeling sure it was not his own. I already had him by the arm. “Roper’s,” he said quietly, his voice gone quite dead. “Here he is.” His face was still like a ghost’s. It was blank as stone. I had quite forgotten the companion, but at that same moment I saw Roper hovering up beside me. His attitude was threatening, he was three-parts drunk; a glance showed me he was an Englishman, and obviously, by birth, a gentleman. “Roper, if you want your coat, you’d better take it. Boyde is under arrest.” “Arrest be damned!” Roper cried in a loud voice that everybody heard. There was already a crowd about us, but this increased it. Roper was looking me over. He glared with anger. “You’re that cad Blackwood, I suppose, are you? I’ve heard about you. I know your whole damned rotten story and the way you’ve treated Boyde. But Boyde’s a friend of mine. No one can do anything to him while _I’m_ here...!” He roared and shouted in that crowded bar-room, while the whole place looked on and listened, ready to interfere at the first sign of “a fuss.” A blow, a little push even, would have laid me out, and in the general scuffle or free fight that was bound to follow, Boyde could have got clear away--but neither he nor Roper thought of this apparently. Roper went on pouring out his drunken abuse, lurching forward but never actually touching me, while Boyde stood perfectly still and listened in silence. He made no attempt to shake off my hand even. I suddenly then leaned over and spoke into his ear: “If you come quietly at once it’s only petit larceny--stealing the money. Otherwise it’s forgery.”