"Was 'e?—the dirty 'ound!" he observed. "Well, you done it on 'im proper. You ain't drowned 'im, 'ave ye, gents?"
"Oh no," I said. "He's addressing a few words to the crowd now." Then seeing Joyce standing in the doorway I hurried up the steps.
"Joyce dear," I said, "put on a hat and come as quick as you can. It's quite all right, but we want to get out of this before there's any bother."
She nodded, and disappeared into the flat, while I strolled back to the taxi.
It was evident from a movement among the spectators that George was making his way towards the steps. Some of them who had come running up kept turning round and casting curious glances at us, but so far no one had attempted to interfere. It was not until Joyce was just coming out of the flats, that a man detached himself from the crowd and started across the road. He was a big, fat, greasy person in a bowler hat.
"Here," he said. "You wait a bit. What d'ye mean by throwing that pore man in the river?"
I opened the door of the taxi and Joyce jumped in.
"What's it got to do with you, darling?" asked Tommy affably.
"What's it got to do with me!" he repeated indignantly. "Why, it's just the mercy o' Gawd—"
"Come on, Tommy," I said.