Morehead got no further, for at that moment the car abruptly stopped, as if on the brink of a precipice. A dirty fist was thrust into the car, and an extra shoved into their faces.
WILKINSON WARNED!
Rumours Rife That the Crowd at Criminal Court Will
Try to Kill——
"Stop the car! Stop the car!" called out Wilkinson frantically. "Look at that murderous gang down there! Go back—go back! Turn the other way—turn the car around, do you hear?"
Morehead held up his hand.
"It's all right, Francois. Go ahead!" he commanded. "Go right ahead and nobody will notice us. We'll go in by the rear entrance; most of the crowd are in front. There are four automobiles there already; they've probably mistaken others for us. The crowd don't know you, Wilkinson, from Adam—wouldn't know you from your pictures in the papers. Besides, there's no danger; there never is, with a New York crowd. Drive on!"
The chauffeur obeyed him.
Now they were on the outskirts of the crowd, and had begun slowly to eat their way through it when, all of a sudden, somebody set up a cry of "Wilkinson!" But quick as a flash, Morehead leaned over the side of the car and shouted to the nearest of the mob:
"Has Wilkinson arrived?"
The answer was "No!" And at once word passed quickly that the car did not contain Wilkinson, but somebody else. Nevertheless, to Wilkinson's fearful eye there was a movement here, there, everywhere, as if the crowd, or some few people in it, had realised the truth.