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Standish rose to his feet, and across the desk looked steadily at Aintree. To Aintree the steadiness of his eyes and the quietness of his voice were an added aggravation.

“Suppose you did,” said Standish, “that would not save you.”

“From what?” roared Aintree. “Think I’m afraid of your night- sticks?”

“From arrest!”

“Arrest me!” yelled Aintree. “Do you know who’s talking to you? Do you know who I am? I’m Major Aintree, damn you, commanding the infantry. An’ I’m here to charge that thug–“

“You are here because you are under arrest,” said Standish. “You are arrested for threatening the police, drunkenness, and assaulting a citizen with intent to kill–” The voice of the young man turned shrill and rasping. “And if the man should die–“

Aintree burst into a bellow of mocking laughter.

Standish struck the desk with his open palm.

“Silence!” he commanded.

“Silence to me!” roared Aintree, “you impertinent pup!” He flung himself forward, shaking his fist. “I’m Major Aintree. I’m your superior officer. I’m an officer an’ a gentleman–“

“You are not!” replied Standish. “You are a drunken loafer!”

Aintree could not break the silence. Amazement, rage, stupefaction held him in incredulous wonder. Even Meehan moved uneasily. Between the officer commanding the infantry and an officer of police, he feared the lieutenant would not survive.

But he heard the voice of his lieutenant continuing, evenly, coldly, like the voice of a judge delivering sentence.

“You are a drunken loafer,” repeated the boy. “And you know it. And I mean that to-morrow morning every one on the Zone shall know it. And I mean to-morrow night every one in the States shall know it. You’ve killed a man, or tried to, and I’m going to break you.” With his arm he pointed to Meehan. “Break that man?” he demanded. “For doing his duty, for trying to stop a murder? Strip him of his shield?” The boy laughed savagely. “It’s you I am going to strip, Aintree,” he cried, “you ‘hero of Batangas’; I’m going to strip you naked. I’m going to ‘cut the buttons off your coat, and tear the stripes away.’ I’m going to degrade you and disgrace you, and drive you out of the army!” He threw his note-book on the table. “There’s your dossier, Aintree,” he said. “For three months you’ve been drunk, and there’s your record. The police got it for me; it’s written there with dates and the names of witnesses. I’ll swear to it. I’ve been after you to get you, and I’ve got you. With that book, with what you did to-night, you’ll leave the army. You may resign, you may be court-martialled, you may be hung. I don’t give a damn what they do to you, but you will leave the army!”

He turned to Meehan, and with a jerk of the hand signified Aintree.

“Put him in a cell,” he said. “If he resists–“

Aintree gave no sign of resisting. He stood motionless, his arms hanging limp, his eyes protruding. The liquor had died in him, and his anger had turned chill. He tried to moisten his lips to speak, but his throat was baked, and no sound issued. He tried to focus his eyes upon the menacing little figure behind the desk, but between the two lamps it swayed, and shrank and swelled. Of one thing only was he sure, that some grave disaster had overtaken him, something that when he came fully to his senses still would overwhelm him, something he could not conquer with his fists. His brain, even befuddled as it was, told him he had been caught by the heels, that he was in a trap, that smashing this boy who threatened him could not set him free. He recognized, and it was this knowledge that stirred him with alarm, that this was no ordinary officer of justice, but a personal enemy, an avenging spirit who, for some unknown reason, had spread a trap; who, for some private purpose of revenge, would drag him down.