It was the solemn visage of Joel Tarbush, the town marshal, which met Aurora Lane.
"How do you do, Mr. Tarbush?" asked she. "Won't you come in?"
The gentleman accosted gave a quick glance up the street and down.
"I'm a married man," said he, with something of a vile grin on his face as he looked at her.
She answered him only with the level gaze of her own eyes, and pushed open the door. He followed her in, hesitatingly, and then saw the others in the little room.
"Ma'am," said he, "I come to summons you to the justice court this afternoon."
"Yes," said Aurora Lane. "Why?"
"It's that Adamson case," said he—"he knows." He turned now to the tall figure of Dieudonné Lane, instinctively stepping back as he did so.
"In what way do you want us?" asked Don Lane now. "As witnesses? My mother——?"
"I want your—your ma as a witness, yes," said Tarbush, grinning, "since you've said it. For you, you'll have to come along on charge of resisting a officer; likewise for assault and battery, charge brought by Ephraim Adamson; likewise for disturbing the peace. Likewise we're going to test the case of habeas chorus. Old Man Adamson's got money. He's sober now, and he's got a lawyer—the best lawyer in town. They're going to get the eejit out of jail, and Old Man Adamson's going to make trouble for you."