"Let me pass, Mrs. Jakes," he said, and made for the stairs.
As soon as he had gone, the trooper advanced to the desk and laid hands on a bottle and a glass. He mixed himself a satisfactory tumbler and turned to Mrs. Jakes.
"The ladies, God bless 'em," he said piously, and drank.
Kamis, looking on mutely, saw the little woman blink at her tears and try to smile.
"Don't mention it," she murmured.
She came into the room and examined Dr. Jakes, bending over him to scan his tranquil countenance. There was nothing in her aspect of wrath or rancor; she was still submissive to the fate that stood at the levers of her being and switched her arbitrarily from respectability to ruin. She seemed merely to make sure of features in his condition which she recognized without disgust or shame.
"Would you please just help me?" she asked, looking up at the policeman, very politely, with her hands on the doctor's shoulders.
"Charmed," declared the policeman, with an equal courtesy, and aided her to raise the drunken and unconscious man to a more seemly position in his chair. It was seemlier because his head hung forward, and he looked more as if he were dead and less as if he were drunk.
"Thank you," she said, when it was done. "It is—it is quite a fine night, is it not? The stars are beautiful. There is whisky on the desk—very good whisky, I believe. Won't you help yourself?"
"You 're very good," said the trooper, cordially, and helped himself.