“Mr. Hope——” he began.
“Stand back there!” cried the officer in charge.
“Mr. Hope,” cried Gibbons, “I want ten words with you.”
Little Mr. Hope shrank into a corner of the hansom, speechless, his face as white as a sheet of paper.
“Stand back, I say!” The officer pushed Gibbons, striking him with some force on the breast.
“Let him answer. Will you speak for one minute with your men—the men who have made you rich?”
“Stand back!” reiterated the officer, pushing him a step further.
The hansom moved inch by inch nearer the gates. The crowd seethed like an uneasy sea, but every man held his breath.
“Listen to me, Mr. Hope. Your men are starving. They ask only——”
The officer pushed the speaker back once more. Gibbons’s heel caught on a cobble-stone, and he went down backwards.