A RIOT
On the appointed day Herriard journeyed down to address his
constituents at Bradbury. Since their meeting in Mount Street, he had
seen or heard nothing of Gastineau. He had, however, kept on his guard
through the busy days that followed, being too wary and too suspicious
of Gastineau’s methods to be lulled into the belief that the active
will was not still working against him. Nevertheless, as the days went
by without a sign of Gastineau, or a suggestion of his aggressive
enmity, days which brought him nearer and nearer to that supreme hour
to which he scarcely dared look forward, his mind grew easier, and he
found himself entertaining the hope that, after all, his enemy might,
in his speech with him in the gate, have declared his real intentions,
and that he would be troubled by him no more. Gastineau’s declared
project of betaking himself to America was, at least, reasonable and
likely enough. He had in the old days over and over again expressed his
utter contempt for his English compeers, and told how, in his active
life, he had longed for adversaries more worthy of his skill in fence.
Then, allowing it to be quite possible that, with the memory of his
former reputation, with his talent and determination, it would be a
comparatively easy task for him to push himself again into the foremost
place which he had once occupied, he would probably be withheld by
the consideration that it might be now as a man under the cloud of a
dark suspicion that he would stand forth. It was hardly to be supposed
that Quickjohn’s theory would be allowed to slumber in silence. No;
Paul Gastineau was assuredly too astute and too clear-sighted a man
not to see that a second career in England was closed to him. His
having lain for years _perdu_ under an assumed name, having allowed the
false report of his death to pass uncontradicted, would be in itself a
salient cause of suspicion. Englishmen have ever fought shy, in public
life at least, of men whose record was smirched with doubt. Few men,
if any, have succeeded in living down an ugly scandal to the extent of
gaining unreserved acceptance in a public career. Whatever the private
lives of the units of out-door opinion may be, they are at least
jealous of crooked ways leading to high places.
Reasoning thus, Herriard allowed his uneasiness to diminish, and,
as the time of his marriage drew near, was able to indulge in a
certain sense of happiness and security. It was in this mood that on
the day appointed for his speech he journeyed down to Bradbury. On
his arrival he had a good deal of business to get through with his
agent and principal supporters, and this kept his mind so occupied
that he gave scarcely a thought to the more momentous issues which
he had left behind in town. He was, however, brought back to them in
somewhat startling fashion when, on driving from his hotel to the
hall where the meeting was to be held, he caught sight of a face,
which was uncomfortably familiar to him, that of Hencher, Gastineau’s
confidential body servant. But, after the first start it gave him,
the idea of the man’s being there seemed so unlikely, and even
preposterous, that he told himself he must have made a mistake; the
Gastineau business was on his nerves, and had made him recognize
Hencher in a somewhat similar-looking local man. Still, knowing
Gastineau, and the subtle, enterprising methods of his vindictiveness,
the idea gave him recurrent disquietude, and, try as he would, he could
not dismiss from his mind the possibility that the man he had seen was
really Hencher, and that his presence there foreboded mischief.
Up to the opening of the proceedings there had been no hint or idea
of opposition, but soon after the business had commenced it became
apparent that there was what seemed an organized band of malcontents
in the body of the hall who meant to take every opportunity of
interrupting the speeches. This opposition manifested itself
unmistakably when Herriard rose to give his address, and as he
proceeded the noise and interruptions grew more insistent. The chairman
was powerless to preserve order, and, as the organizers of the meeting
had anticipated no sort of disturbance, they had taken no pains to
provide against such a contingency. There were a number of ill-looking
fellows distributed about the hall who kept a running fire of
interruptions; as soon as one set was silenced, the game was taken up
by others in a different quarter. At last the disturbance reached such
a pitch that Herriard was unable to make himself heard, and to continue
speaking was clearly futile. At this juncture two or three stray
policemen were brought in with the object of ejecting, or, at least,
overawing, the rowdy element. It, however, proved to be the means of
bringing the uproar to a climax. A provincial policeman is usually only
in a limited and constructive sense typical of the Law. These poor
men, received with a derisive roar, stood looking rather foolish and
conspicuously incompetent to deal with the situation. The disturbers of
the meeting rose at them with defiance and threats, also with chaff of
an aggressively personal nature. In the midst of all this the purpose
of the meeting, which was Herriard’s address, became a thing of naught;
so he and his supporters on the platform sat down to await the result
of the row in more or less patient helplessness.
Suddenly a whistle sounded through the hall, and with an ominously
threatening cry the malcontents in all parts of the audience turned and
began to fight their way towards the platform.
“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.