The Inspector hailed the crowd.
"Get out!" he shouted. "Do you hear? The first man moving this way will mean the end of the lot of you! Remember my Maxim!"
Then both sides waited, facing each other, in intense silence.
This was the crisis. Which was it to be—a fight or a retreat?
"Don't fire, sir, till they're right on us!" whispered Kellett. "Never do, sir, never do!"
The mob gathered itself together, yelling. The Police maintained their ominous silence. Motionless, they faced the mob—twelve men against three hundred. The flag above them blew out gloriously in the breeze.
Suddenly the toughs charged.
Gemmell's face was marble, under dried streaks of blood. This, surely, was the end. Bullets whistled round them, the crowd opening fire as it advanced.
"Machine-gun, ready there!"
"Ready!"