"I guess it's time I introduced myself, Mrs. Druce. My name is Summerlad." After a slight pause and with a hint of self-consciousness, he amplified: "Lynn Summerlad."
Sensible that he seemed to expect her to think well of that precious name, Lucinda found no echo for it in the chambers of her memory. She bowed and said "Thank you," and all at once discovered that she had reason to be mystified.
"But how is it you know my name, Mr. Summerlad?"
"That's easy: your husband told me."
Again Lucinda was reduced to a blank "Oh!" This time she felt that she was colouring.
"In the police station," Mr. Summerlad added with a broad grin. "But don't be alarmed, we weren't either of us mussed up much. Only, you see, Mr. Druce rather lost his head—can't say I blame him—and when the innocent bystanders insisted on separating us, and a cop happened along and took a hand, he—wouldn't be happy till he'd had me arrested on a charge of assault. So the officer marched us both off to the nearest station-house, with half Chicago tagging at our heels. By the time we got there your husband had cooled down and remembered that publicity wasn't his best bet. So he withdrew the charge."
"How dreadful!" Lucinda murmured, her thoughts with Bellamy. "I'm so sorry."
"No reason to be. If you must know, I enjoyed the adventure tremendously. That's what one gets for having been born with a perverted sense of humour."
"But if you had been locked up——!"
"Oh, it wouldn't have been for long, I'd have got somebody to bail me out inside of fifteen minutes. But there wasn't ever any danger of that, really. You see, the sergeant knew me at sight and—well, the sentiment of all hands seemed to be with me. Besides, it wasn't as if I'd never been pinched before."