"I am," Challoner answered; "now leave me alone."
And now again the bell; and a moment later Murgatroyd, the prosecutor, stood in the doorway. The heat of much haste was on his brow; he looked neither at Mrs. Challoner nor at Shirley; it was toward Challoner and his men that he directed his gaze.
"Has he talked?" Murgatroyd asked, standing over Challoner.
"No," answered the men, "he ain't awake yet."
"Lift him to his feet," ordered the prosecutor.
The men did so.
And then it was that the women heard him say in a tone that cut into their souls:—
"Challoner, wake up! This is Murgatroyd, prosecutor of the pleas." It was a summons; Challoner obeyed it. He opened his eyes, closed them, yawned stupidly, and then, awake, stood squarely on his feet without any help.
"Hello, Murgatroyd!" he said.
"Challoner," said Murgatroyd severely, "remember that I am not here as your friend—I am the prosecutor, do you hear?"