Kouka was exultant, happy; he experienced an intense satisfaction; already he realized something of the distinction that would be his the next morning, when the little world he knew would hail him as the man who, all alone, had brought the murderers of that poor old Flanagan woman to the vengeance of the people's law.
And yet, he must be cautious; he knew what yeggs were; he knew how readily they would shoot and how well, and he did not care to risk his own body, and the chance of missing his prey besides, by engaging two bad men alone. Bad men they were, to Kouka, and nothing else; they had come suddenly to impersonate to him all the evil in the world, just as, though unknown, they or some two men impersonated all evil to all the people of the city and the county, whereas Kouka felt himself to be a good man whose mission it was to crush this badness out of the world. He must preserve himself, as must all good men, and he ran down the street, opened a patrolmen's box, called up the precinct station, and gave the alarm. Then he hurried back; the shaft of light was still streaming out into the side yard, its rays, like some luminous vapor, flowing palpably from the small window and slanting downward to be absorbed in the dark earth.
He heard the roll of wheels, the urge of straining horses; the patrol wagon stopped at the corner; he heard the harness rattle and one of the horses blow softly through its delicate fluttering nostrils; a moment later, the squad of policemen came out of the gloom; three of the men were in civilian attire, the other six were in uniform.
Kouka received his little command with his big, heavy hand upraised for silence. It was a fine moment for him; he felt the glow of authority; he felt like an inspector; perhaps this night's work would make an inspector of him; he had never had such an opportunity before. He must evolve a plan, and he paused, scowled, as he felt a commander should who, confronted by a crisis, was thinking. Presently he laid his plan before them; it was profound, strategical. The officers in uniform were to surround the house, but in a certain way; he explained this way. Three of them were to go to the right and cover the ground from the corner of the house to the shaft of light that streamed from the window, the others were to extend themselves around the other way, coming as far as the lighted window; then no one would be exposed.
"You'll go with me," said Kouka to the plain-clothes men. He said it darkly, with a sinister eye, implying that their work was to be heavy and dangerous.
"Don't shoot until I give the command."
They went across the street, bending low, almost crouching, stealing as softly as they could in their great heavy boots, gripping their revolvers nervously, filled with fear. Inside the gate, they surrounded the house.
Kouka led the way, motioning the others behind him with his hand. He stepped on to the low stoop, but stood at one side lest Archie shoot through the door. He stood as a reconnoitering burglar stands at one side of a window, out of range; cautiously he put forth his hand, knocked, and hastily jerked his hand away ... He knocked twice, three times ... After a while the door opened slowly, and Kouka saw Mrs. Koerner standing within, holding a lamp. Kouka instantly pushed his knee inside the door, and shouldered his way into the room. The three officers followed, displaying their revolvers.
"It's all off," said Kouka. "The house is surrounded. Where is he?"
Mrs. Koerner did not speak; she could not. Her face was white, the lamp shook in her hand; its yellow flame licked the rattling chimney, the reek of the oil filled the room. Finally she got to the table and with relief set the lamp down among the trinkets Archie had brought from the Philippines.