She saw the two men meet and heard the smack of a blow. They parted—then drew together again, assuming grotesque postures like animals about to spring. Again they closed for an instant, ducking and slamming like madmen. Broken spurts of cursing were jerked to her ears. . . .
They were in the road now—immediately opposite ‘Pier View.’ A street-lamp showed her the blood on Allen’s face. His mouth was smothered. . . .
Figures began to rise out of the shadows. The light of the lamp was illuminating some of their heads. Somebody panted past her hotfoot. A little bunch was crammed in the area gate—Aunt Harriet and . . .
Bob seemed to lift himself up. Then he fell headlong backwards, towards the pavement. His shoulders reached the gutter, and his head just made the kerb. This brought his face forward, with a click. For a moment he lay as he had fallen—as one who wishes to remain recumbent and yet, ridiculously, to regard his feet. Then his head slid slowly sideways. . . .
As the crowd surged up, Ann stumbled forward and fell on her knees beside the corpse. Then she asked for water and began to loosen its tie.
People were nudging one another. She knew it. She could feel their curious stares and the awkwardness of the hush that fell wherever she went. She did not care at all. This was quite different. Bob had need of her. . . . Bob . . .
Two police came hastening. One was a sergeant. The crowd fell back respectfully.
The sergeant fell upon one knee and flashed his lantern on the dead man’s face.
“Who done this?” he cried, looking up.
Again the crowd parted to reveal Joe Allen holding on to the railings with his coat-sleeve across his eyes.