“I have thought it best,” resumed Solon, “to take Potts into our confidence at precisely this stage—­giving him this exclusive news one day in advance of its publication.  To-morrow, when every one knows it, Potts might be rash enough to stay and brave it out.  Being advised to-day, privately, and thus afforded a chance to fade gracefully into the great bounding West, he may use his common sense.  Now then, officer, do your duty!”

Our hero arose from his chair, buttoned his coat, passed a hand caressingly over his hip pocket, took the proof from me, and stalked grimly out.

“So the lady is really coming?” I asked, as Billy’s footsteps died away down the wooden stairs.

“She is, the lady and her little son,” said Solon, resuming his walk up and down the room.  “She is coming all the way from Boston, Massachusetts.  And I don’t believe she quite knows what she’s coming to.  She speaks in a strange manner of her hope that she may be able to do good among us, and in her last letter she wants to know if I have ever seen a little book called ’One Hundred Common Errors in Speaking and Writing.’  She seems to have the missionary instinct, as nearly as I can judge.”

He paused in his walk and lowered his voice impressively.

“Between you and me, Cal,—­you know I’ve had about six letters from her,—­it’s just possible that Potts had his reasons.  I don’t say he did, mind you,—­but strange things happen in this world.

“But that’s neither here nor there,” he went on more lightly.  “Potts has brought it on himself.”

In silence, then, we awaited the return of the messenger.  The moment was tensely electric when at last we heard the clatter of his boots on the stairway.  Breathless, he entered and stood before us, his coolness for once destroyed under the strain of his adventure.  Solon helped him to a chair with soothing words.

“Take it easy now, Billy!  Get your breath—­there—­that’s good!  Now tell us all about it—­just what you said and just what he said and just what talk there was back and forth.”

“Gosh-all-Hemlock!” spluttered Billy, not yet equal to his best narrative style.

We waited.  He drew a dozen long breaths before he was again the cold, self-possessed, steely-eyed avenger.

“Well,” he began brightly, “I gains access to our man in his wretched den on the second floor of the Eubanks Block.  As good luck would have it, he was alone by hisself, walkin’ up and down, swingin’ his arms like he was practisin’ one o’ them speeches of his.

“Well, I had it all fixed up fine how I was goin’ to act, and what I was goin’ to say to him, and how I’d back up a few paces against the wall and say, ’Not a word above a whisper, or I’ll send this bullet through your craven heart!’ and he’d fall down on his knees and beg me in vain for mercy and so on.  But Gee! the minute I seen him I got all nervoused up and I jest says, ‘Here, read that there piece—­your wife’s comin’ next Thursday!’