JIM. [A pause in which he decides the question.] He's in that closet.
KATE. [Turning.] He is not.
JIM. [Straddling a chair and facing closet. Speaks in ordinary tone.] Travers, come out. If you don't come out, I'll shoot through the door.
TRAVERS. [Bursting from closet and levelling pistol.] Throw up your hands!
JIM. [Pause. In fateful monotone.] You're a damn fool! The sound of a gun now would fill both them streets with pitchforks.
KATE. Don't—don't—shoot.
JIM. Oh, he won't!
TRAVERS. Do you think you can arrest me—alive?
JIM. It don't make no difference to me.
KATE. [Anxiously pleading.] If you are innocent, Mr. Travers—if you have acted in self-defence—