"D'you know where he was last night?" he asks me. "Yes," I says; "Caxton Hall, wasn't it?--meeting to demand the release of Miss Clebb." He leans across the table till his face was within a few inches of mine. "Guess again," he says. I wasn't doing any guessing. He had hurt me with the walnut table, and I was feeling a bit short-tempered. "Oh! don't make a game of it," I says. "It's too early in the morning." "At the Earl's Court Exhibition," he says; "dancing the tango with a lady that he picked up in St. James's Park." "Well," I says, "why not? He don't often get much fun." I thought it best to treat it lightly. He takes no notice of my observation. "A rival comes upon the scene," he continues--"a fatheaded ass, according to my information--and they have a stand-up fight. He gets run in and spends the night in a Vine Street police cell." I suppose I was grinning without knowing it. "Funny, ain't it?" he says. "Well," I says, "it has its humorous side, hasn't it? What'll he get?" "I am not worrying about what HE is going to get," he answers back. "I am worrying about what _I_ am going to get." I thought he had gone dotty. "What's it got to do with you?" I says. "If old Wotherspoon is in a good humour," he continues, "and the constable's head has gone down a bit between now and Wednesday, I may get off with forty shillings and a public reprimand. "On the other hand," he goes on--he was working himself into a sort of fit--"if the constable's head goes on swelling, and old Wotherspoon's liver gets worse, I've got to be prepared for a month without the option. That is, if I am fool enough--" He had left both the doors open, which in the daytime we generally do, our chambers being at the top. Miss Dorton--that's Mr. Parable's secretary--barges into the room. She didn't seem to notice me. She staggers to a chair and bursts into tears. "He's gone," she says; "he's taken cook with him and gone." "Gone!" says the guv'nor. "Where's he gone?" "To Fingest," she says through her sobs--"to the cottage. Miss Bulstrode came in just after you had left," she says. "He wants to get away from everyone and have a few days' quiet. And then he is coming back, and he is going to do it himself." "Do what?" says the guv'nor, irritable like. "Fourteen days," she wails. "It'll kill him." "But the case doesn't come on till Wednesday," says the guv'nor. "How do you know it's going to be fourteen days?" "Miss Bulstrode," she says, "she's seen the magistrate. He says he always gives fourteen days in cases of unprovoked assault." "But it wasn't unprovoked," says the guv'nor. "The other man began it by knocking off his hat. It was self-defence." "She put that to him," she says, "and he agreed that that would alter his view of the case. But, you see," she continues, "we can't find the other man. He isn't likely to come forward of his own accord."