“Oh, no, they wouldn’t hit me. See how scared they are if I only just look at them.”
Billings had an open note-book in his hand, and Myles saw with amazement that whenever he fixed his eyes upon any particular person or group in the crowd, and pretended to be taking notes in his book, these persons immediately turned their backs or slunk away.
“Well, that beats all!” he exclaimed. “What do you do and how do you do it?”
“I don’t do any thing, only look at ’em. They think, though, that I am drawing their pictures for one of the illustrated papers, and they don’t want to be spotted by having their likenesses printed.”
A few minutes later the mob had been pretty thoroughly dispersed, and Billings said:
“Well, this shindy is about finished, so let’s get back to head-quarters and grind out a little copy.”
As they walked back together Myles’ opinion of Billings’ courage was very different from what it had been a short time before, and he said to himself:
“I believe the little chap is made up of pure grit after all.”
At the police-station Billings coolly took possession of the inspector’s room and writing-table. He seated Myles at one end of this, and, providing him with pen and paper, told him to write out the story of his recent experience. At the same time he threw off his coat and began to write his own report with such rapidity that Myles marvelled at it.