Suddenly a bloodcurdling yell was heard. The mob, angry at being robbed of its prey, had turned on the policemen that were in the center and a terrific struggle was on.
The police were using their clubs to clear a passage that they might take the prisoner they had to the patrol wagon that was waiting for them at the corner.
The prisoner that they had was the man that had shot his wife.
The poor wretch was bleeding from a dozen different wounds that he had received at the hands of the mob. His hat had been torn from his head and his clothes were in shreds.
The man was crouching in terror by the side of the brave officers that were endeavoring to protect him from the savage onslaughts of the crowd that was intent on taking his life.
Nick saw that something must be done at once, or the policemen, as well as their prisoner, would be crushed to death under the heels of the infuriated crowd.
“Down with the police!” yelled a woman, from a point of vantage on the sidewalk. “They are protecting a murderer!”
A volley of paving stones followed this advice.
More than one brave policeman fell senseless to the ground.
Nick was enraged beyond measure when he saw one great, burly ruffian draw a revolver from his pocket and point it at the head of the officer who was nearest to him. Before Nick had a chance to dash the weapon from his hand, he had fired, and the officer fell to the ground a corpse.