These youths weren’t maddened by the accident, as the woman was; they had come to set upon him when his car had smashed against the truck, in case the job needed finishing. They had lain in wait. Now they had a perfect excuse for going wild, the excuse that they had turned on a motorist for killing one of their friends. No one could argue. No one could support Rollison’s story, for any who would speak for him were too far behind. Before they could come to his aid, it would be all over.

So he could face it out and end up in hospital, like Jimmy Jones; unless he ended up in a morgue.

The first woman was spitting her spite at him, others were joining in, the youths were drawing nearer. They weren’t coming quickly. They were wary, of course, there was a kind of cloak about the Toff, the protecting shield of his reputation. In the East End the name Toff was a byword, and many were frightened of him.

If he ran away, none would ever be frightened again. A reputation built up over twenty years, and which had survived challenge upon challenge, could fade away like a wisp of steam if he turned his back on this mob of youths.

All these things passed through his mind in flashes, like electric sparks. The shrill voices of the women made a background of sound, as did the shuffling of the feet of the youths who were drawing nearer. He saw three youths quicken their pace, and go behind him; they were to cut off his retreat. If he was going to run, this was his last chance.

He needed a means of attack. Not with fists and not with weapons, not even with words. He turned with swift decisiveness upon the woman near the fallen motor-cyclist, and those who were supporting her. His face was set and bleak, and she got up and backed away, as if afraid that he would strike her. He went down on one knee beside the motor-cyclist, a man in his twenties. His forehead was raw and bleeding, the back of his right hand was lacerated, and blood was trickling down his lips. Rollison grasped his left wrist, feeling for the pulse, and stared down into the pallid face, as if he had no other thought in the world and it did not even occur to him that this mob would attack him.