“Can you get back to the City from here, hackman, right away?” she asked him. “There’s something I have forgotten.”
The man asked where she wanted to go, and then opined that the shop could easily be reached by way of Holborn. He turned at the first opportunity, and as they approached the corner Maimie caught sight of Mr Steinherz and Usk a second time, looking at some books in a shop-window. They had not gone far towards Regent Street, and Maimie laughed to herself as she thought of Usk’s impatience. When she looked round again, her attention was attracted by a man standing on the pavement at the corner, who was gazing—glaring was the word that occurred to her—across the street at the bookshop opposite. He was elderly and poorly dressed, and evidently a foreigner, with a ragged beard and unkempt hair.
“An Italian,” said Maimie to herself. “How he looks! like a lion stalking his prey. What can he be staring at, any way?”
As the thought crossed her mind, the man dashed suddenly into the street in front of the hansom, and seeming not to hear the lively remonstrances of the driver, who was obliged to pull up pointblank, threaded his way through the traffic to the opposite corner. Maimie, watching him carelessly through the side-window, saw him reach the pavement. What followed was done all in a moment. He took one step forward, there was the flash of something long and shining which fell and rose and fell again, and Mr Steinherz sank heavily against Usk. That was all Maimie saw, for her wild scream sent the horse, already startled by the sudden check, tearing down Holborn, and it seemed to her an eternity before the driver succeeded in stopping it, and turning back again at her frenzied entreaty. The irate policemen whose orders they had disregarded in their wild career, and the other drivers whose destruction they had sought to compass, took no notice of them as they returned; every one was running or looking in one direction. Even at that moment Maimie was conscious of a feeling of wonder as the crowd gathered. People came hurrying out of shops, pouring down side streets, rushing up from behind, and very soon the hansom could go no farther. Maimie waited in agony while the driver tried to force his horse through the crowd, and found herself the recipient of the confidence bestowed on a friend by a boy with a baker’s basket.
“I see ’im come runnin’ like mad, brandishin’ ’is drippin’ knife—as good as a theaytre. ’E run strite into the middle of the street, all among the ’orses, rarght in front of the dray. Blowed if ’e didn’t ’it out at the ’orses with the knife as ’e went down. ’E was gyme!”
“Say, who is it? what has happened?” gasped Maimie to a policeman, who found even his authority insufficient to clear a passage for him into the midst of the crowd, and was forced to content himself with ordering the people on its outskirts to move on. He answered civilly, and with obvious self-importance.
“An Eye-talian, miss, supposed to be a lunatic, that stabbed an American gentleman, and then threw himself under the ’orses’ feet.”
“But Mr Steinherz—the gentleman who was stabbed?” she cried. “I saw it all. What about him? He is my guardian.”
“You saw it, miss? Then I must trouble you for your name and address. You’ll be wanted at the inquest. They’re takin’ him to the ’orspital.”
“Oh, where is it? You’ll show me, officer, won’t you? But I guess I ought to go and fetch his daughter. You’ll let the hack through?”