"Ee's done for her!" shouted one of the captors; "an' for the Sister too!"
"The Sister!" shrieked a woman behind Aldous—it's the nuss he means! I sor her go in when I wor at my window half an hour ago. Oh! yer blackguard, you!"—and she would have fallen upon the wretch, in a frenzy, had not the bystanders caught hold of her.
"Stand back!" cried a policeman. Three of them had come up at Peabody's call. The man was instantly secured, and the crowd pushed back.
Aldous was already upstairs.
"Which room?" he asked of a group of women crying and cowering on the first landing—for all sounds from above had ceased.
"Third floor front," cried one of them. "We all of us begged and implored of that young person, sir, not to go a-near him! Didn't we, Betsy?—didn't we, Doll?"
Aldous ran up.
On the third floor, the door of the front room was open. A woman lay on the ground, apparently beaten to death.
By her side, torn, dishevelled, and gasping, knelt Marcella Boyce. Two or three other women were standing by in helpless terror and curiosity. Marcella was bending over the bleeding victim before her. Her own left arm hung as though disabled by her side; but with the right hand she was doing her best to staunch some of the bleeding from the head. Her bag stood open beside her, and one of the chattering women was handing her what she asked for. The sight stamped itself in lines of horror on Raeburn's heart.
In such an exaltation of nerve she could be surprised at nothing.
When she saw Raeburn enter the room, she did not even start.