“I reckon the thought was heavy on her mind, for her face was white with the terror of it.”
We hastened forward, but at the next corner a passing hack stood ready for passengers, and we rolled down the street, the horses' hoofs outstripped by my anxiety and apprehensions.
One of the men was sent to bring out such of my force as had returned, and I, with the two others, hurried on to Borton's.
There was none of the sounds of riot I had expected to hear as we drew up before it. The lantern blinked outside with its invitation to manifold cheer within. Lights streamed through the window and the half-opened door, and quiet and order reigned.
As I stepped to the walk, I found the explanation of the change in the person of a policeman, who stood at the door.
“Holy St. Peter! the cops is on!” whispered Broderick.
I failed to share his trepidation in the presence of the representative of law and order, and stepped up to the policeman.
“Has there been trouble here, officer?” I asked.
“Oh, is it you, sor?” said Corson's hearty voice. “I was wondering about ye. Well, there has been a bit of a row here, and there's a power of broken heads to be mended. There's wan man cut to pieces, and good riddance, for it's Black Dick. I'm thinking it's the morgue they'll be taking him to, though it was for the receiving hospital they started with him. It was a dandy row, and it was siventeen arrists we made.”
“Where is Mother Borton?”