The young woman stepped to Porgy’s door, and called. Presently the door opened, and a woman helped the beggar out to his seat upon the sill, then seated herself behind him in the deep gloom of the room. Archdale crossed the short distance, and seated himself on the sill beside the negro. “Tell me about your friend who got locked up on account of the Robbins murder,” he asked, without preamble. In the dim light, Porgy leaned forward and looked long into the keen, kindly face of his questioner. Archdale gave a surprised exclamation: “Why, you’re the old man who used to beg in front of the apothecary shop on King Charles Street!” he said. Then, after a moment of scrutiny: “But you are not old, after all, are you?” and he studied the face intently. There was a touch of grey in the wool above the ears, and strong character lines flared downward from the nose to corners of a mouth that was, at once, full-lipped and sensuous, yet set in a resolute line most unusual in a negro. With the first indications of age upon it, the face seemed still alive with a youth that had been neither spent nor wasted. “But, tell me about your friend,” said the visitor, breaking a silence that was commencing to become tense. Porgy’s face still wore its mask. “How come yuh tuh care, Boss?” he queried. “Why, I am the Rutledge’s lawyer; and I look after their colored folks for them. I think they must have owned half the slaves in the county. A woman here, Serena Robbins, is the daughter of their old coachman, or something; and she asked them to help her friend out.” “Peter ain’t gots no money, yuh know, Boss. An’ I jes begs from do’ to do’.” There was still a shade of suspicion in Porgy’s voice. Archdale laughed reassuringly. “It will not take any money. At least, not much; and I am sure that Mrs. Rutledge will take care of that. So you can go right ahead and tell me all about it.” Fully satisfied at last, Porgy told the tale of the killing and the subsequent arrest of Peter. When he had finished the recital, Archdale sat silent for a while. “The dirty hounds!” he said under his breath. Finally he turned wearily to Porgy, and explained slowly: “Of course we can go to law about this; but it will take no end of time. There is an easier way. He must have someone, who is acceptable to the magistrate, to go his bond. Do you know a man by the name of Huysenberg, who keeps a corner-shop down by the West-end wharf?” Porgy, listening intently, nodded. Archdale handed him a bill. “Take this ten dollars to him, and tell him that you want him to go Peter’s bond. He hasn’t any money of his own, and his shop is in his wife’s name; but he has an arrangement with the magistrate that makes him entirely satisfactory.” He handed Porgy a card with an address pencilled under a printed name. “You will find me here,” he said. “If Peter is not out in two days after you hand over the ten, let me know.” Then, with a brisk, but friendly “Good night,” he left the court. §