“Look out! They are going to storm us!” cried the chairman, a pompous linen-draper and former mayor, who in days of calm was wont to consider himself the ruling spirit of the town. “We had better take care of ourselves and our hats,” he added with a ghastly attempt at jocularity and self-possession. His pomposity had gone like the gas in a burst balloon; he was in an abject state of terror, and incapable of making a dignified retreat. All the idea he now retained of his position as chairman was that it gave him an excuse for leading the way; so, although there were ladies on the platform, he pushed through them with a quavering, “Follow me!” and hurried off. Herriard stood facing the storming party, and looking on with disgust at the free fight now raging in the body of the hall. But the struggle was unequal, the well-disposed members of the audience, although in the majority, were no match for the rowdy element of roughs and, it seemed, hired bullies. The outwork of the reporters’ table was stormed; from that it was but an easy leap to the platform where Herriard still stood defiantly.
A man touched his arm, one of the more plucky among the officials. “Come away, Mr. Herriard, quick! You can do no good by remaining here. The meeting is thoroughly demoralized. We can do nothing now. It is all over.”
Reluctantly, with the annoying sense of a wasted effort and lost days, Herriard turned and let himself be hurried from the platform just as a savage cry of exultation announced that the foremost of the attacking party had gained a footing on it. In the ante-room he was met by Mr. Rigglesden, his chairman, coming back with a white face.
“We are cut off,” he exclaimed, shaking with fear. “The street outside is full of the blackguards. We are in a trap.”
“Nonsense,” said Herriard impatiently, as he pushed past the abject local worthy. “Let me speak to them; I’ll bring them to their senses.”
“No use,” groaned the quondam mayor. “I know our Bradbury rowdies. They are terrors when their blood’s up, and have no senses to be brought back to. Mr. Carter and gentlemen, for Heaven’s sake keep that door. To let them in from the hall will be as much as our lives are worth.”
For the man who had brought Herriard from the platform was, with three other young fellows, holding the door that led down from the platform against the savage efforts that were being made to force it open.
Meanwhile Herriard had pushed his way through the frightened group to the outer door. He made its custodian unlock it, and so, passing through, he presented himself before the vicious mob outside. His appearance was the signal for a shout and an ugly rush. He tried to speak, but his voice was drowned by the howls, and he was forced back into the doorway by the assault. Blows were aimed at him, and he saw that reasoning was futile and courage of no avail against what was clearly an organized attack. So he retreated, and then engaged with his supporters in a struggle to hold the door against the crowd which were flinging themselves against it. In the midst of this fierce effort, mingled cries of terror and triumph behind them told that the inner door from the hall had at length been forced and that the roughs were streaming into the ante-room. The cries increased to shrieks and shouts, the crush became terrible, but through it the ruffians were successfully forcing their way to the outer door. Herriard, hemmed in, turned and hit out desperately. “Down him!” came a cry. Next moment an arm encircled his throat from behind. By an effort he half turned, ducked, and freed himself from the clutch. But as he raised his head again he received a heavy blow on it and dropped senseless to the floor.
CHAPTER XXVI
ALEXIA’S VISITOR
ON that same evening in London it was announced to Countess Alexia that a Mr. Maxton was in the morning-room waiting to see her on urgent business. Her brother was not at home, being away at a diplomatic function. Alexia had dined alone and was now busy answering a batch of letters of congratulation which the news of her approaching marriage had brought. She sent down a request to know on what business so late a visitor wished to see her, and word was brought back that it concerned Mr. Herriard and was most urgent. Not satisfied with that reply and beginning to be vaguely suspicious, Alexia sent to say that she was busy and would be glad if Mr. Maxton would give her in writing a more definite idea of what he wished to say. In a few minutes the suggested note was handed to her. She opened it with some apprehension. It consisted of but two lines. “Mr. Herriard has met with a serious accident at Bradbury.”