Peter did not at once leap upon the fallen Zanin. He first cast about for a weapon. At Sue's elbow was a large water pitcher. He seized this and for a moment stood over his opponent, blandishing it and again shouting, “A Jew won't fight!” He was in this attitude when the Worm returned from the kitchen.
The room was nearly empty now. Over at the door, the meek little cashier with the big spectacles was calling out in a sharp small voice, “Pay your checks, please! Pay your checks!” And one girl, her eyes glassy with fright, automatically responding to the suggestion, was fumbling in her wrist bag, saying, “I don't seem to have the change.”
The Worm hesitated for a moment between getting Sue out and trying to stop the fight. Sue had pushed back her chair a little way but was still sitting there.
At this moment Zanin, who was trying to draw himself away on his elbows to a point where he could get up in reasonable safety, saw an opportunity to trip Peter. Instantly he put the idea into effect. Peter went down. The water pitcher was shattered on the floor. The two men clinched and rolled over and over among the chairs and against the legs of another table.
The Worm turned to Sue. “You'd better get out,” he said.
She was quite white. “I suppose,” she managed to say, “I'm no use here.”
“Not a bit.”
He took her arm and steadied her until she was clear of the wreckage. Every one else had got out now excepting the girl with the big spectacles. She stood flattened against the wall, apparently all but unable to breathe. As Sue Wilde passed, however, she gasped out, “Check, please!”
The Worm snorted, caught Sue's arm again and rushed her out and up the steps to the sidewalk. Out here most of those who had been in the basement stood about in groups. Others, street children and loungers, were appearing. The situation was ripening swiftly into a street crowd with its inevitable climax of police interference. “Move away!” said the Worm to Sue. “As far as the Square.” And he spoke to others whom he knew. The crowd thinned. Then making a wry face in the dim light, the Worm headed back down the steps, muttering, “Physical prowess is not my specialty, but...”
He carefully shut the street door after him and turned the key. The little cashier was on the stairs now, crouching low against the wall. The Worm half listened for a “Check, please!” as he came down the corridor; but she was silent. There was, too, a suspicious, silence in the dining-room. The Worm hurried to the door.