It ain't me as
made 'em! I'll tell you the whole truth, or may I never speak
another word! It's Bob Hewett made 'em all--he lives in Merlin
Place, Clerkenwell. I'll tell you--'
Thus far had Bob heard before he recovered sufficiently from the
shock to move a limb. The officers were urging their prisoner
forward, grinning and nodding to each other, whilst several voices
from the crowd shouted abusively at the poltroon whose first
instinct was to betray his associate. Bob turned his face away and
walked on. He did not dare to run, yet the noises behind him kept
his heart leaping with dread. A few paces and he was out of the
alley. Even yet he durst not run. He had turned in the unlucky
direction; the crowd was still following. For five minutes he had to
keep advancing, then at last he was able to move off at right
angles. The crowd passed the end of the street.
Only then did complete panic get possession of him. With a bound
forward like that of a stricken animal he started in blind flight.
He came to a crossing, and rushed upon it regardless of the traffic,
Before he could gain the farther pavement the shaft of a cart struck
him on the breast and threw him down.
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