The Man Without a Memory by Arthur W. Marchmont (good summer reads txt) 📖

The police interfered then; but it was too late, and there were too few of them. Moreover, the mob had tasted blood, or rather smelt food; and soon afterwards there was another smash; this time a provision shop. The crowd had been allowed to get out of hand; and I saw some of the police rush away, presumably to telephone for more men.

I was standing in the road at that moment and had to skip aside to avoid an open car which came rattling down the street toward the mob. An old lady and a girl were in the car, and as they passed me, the latter stood up and called excitedly to the chauffeur to stop.

If it hadn't been a German he would never have been fool enough to have attempted to enter the street at all; but I suppose he had been told to take that route, and his instinct of slavish obedience to orders did the rest. The result was what any one might have foreseen.

He was too late to turn back, and his one chance to get through was to have driven bang into the crowd and trusted to luck to clear a way. As it was, he came to a halt on the very verge of the crowd; and in less time than it takes to tell it, the car was the centre of a yelping, hungry mob of viragos to whom the sight of rich people in a costly car was like a good meal spread before a lot of famished wild beasts.

Worse than this, moreover, was the fact that some ruffians who had been hanging back began to push their way toward the car, whose occupants were calling for the police. They might as well have cried for the moon; and every cry was greeted with jeers and yells of anger from the women around. The trouble soon thickened.

One woman more reckless than the rest started a shout to have the two out of the car, and herself jumped on the step, grabbed the chauffeur, who seemed about paralyzed with fright, lugged him off his seat, and the crowd hustled and jabbed and cuffed him, till he was lost in the throng. Then some one opened the door of the car, and made a snatch at the dress of the girl, who set up screaming.

This was too much; so I shoved and shouldered my way through, pushed aside the woman who had tried to grab the girl, and urged the two panic-stricken ladies to come out. They hesitated, however, and a filthy hooligan with a long iron-shod bludgeon barked curses at me for a Junker and aimed a vicious blow at my head. I managed to dodge it, and jabbed him one in return on the mouth which sent him staggering back and enabled me to snatch his stick away.

Armed with this, I soon cleared a space about the car and again urged the two frightened occupants to leave it. The girl jumped out at once and had to help her mother, while I kept the mob at bay, and then fought a sort of rearguard action in miniature.

But we hadn't a dog's chance of escape. The mother was half an invalid, and could only move very slowly, while the women round, furious at being baulked of their prey and led by the brute I had hit and a couple of his cronies who had come up meanwhile, surged round us like a lot of devils gone mad.

We reached the pavement, however, and as I spied a deepish doorway, I changed my tactics and made for it, treating some of those who stood in the way pretty roughly. We were able to gain the doorway all right, and I hustled my two charges into momentary safety behind me and told the girl to keep hammering at the door till some one opened it, while I tried to keep the crowd back.

It was no picnic; but I reckoned on being able to stem the rush for the minute or so until some one came in reply to the girl's knocking. It was in our favour that the fight we had already put up had rendered some of those in the front of the crowd a little chary about coming too close; and as the doorway was very narrow and the stick I had captured a long one, I put it across the outside, thus forming a useful barrier, and was able to hold it in position by standing back at arm's length, and thus almost out of reach of both the hands and feet of those in front.

To my dismay, however, no attempt was made to let us enter the house, although the girl had kept up an incessant knocking. The mob soon tumbled to this and things began to look ugly. The old lady, scared to death and ill, was on the verge of collapse; the daughter, almost equally panicky and alarmed by her mother's condition, stopped hammering at the door and bent over her; the crowd was getting more furious every moment; those at the back began to push those in front forward, the brute I had struck first came on with the rest, and I came in for some pretty hot smacks and kicks.

But the little barrier of the stick kept off the worst, and, as every second was of vital importance, since help might come from a reinforcement of the police, I took the gruelling and just held on.

A couple more invaluable minutes were gained in this way when another of the men, a dirty little red-haired beggar, more wary than the others, tumbled to the weak spot in my defence—my hold on the stick. He tried his fists on my hands first, and finding that was no good he whipped out a pocket knife and jabbed me with it.

I loosed the right hand and dropped him with a tap on the nose which brought the blood in a stream and gave him something else to think about. But his two companions had seen his little dodge and made ready to flatter it with imitation, so I had to adopt other tactics.

I was pretty reckless by that time, and in no mood to be man-handled by a set of German roughs; so I changed the barrier into a weapon of offence; it made a fine sort of pike with its ironshod end; and I used it without scruple or mercy. I drove it slap into the face of the man who had struck me first, then into the chest of the fellow next him, and lastly downed a third with a crack on the skull.

That accounted for all the men and took off a lot of the edge of the crowd's appetite for more. They fell back a pace or two and I stepped in front of the archway, swung the bludgeon over my head and swore that I'd brain the first person, man or woman, who moved a single foot forward.

Nobody in the front ranks seemed in any hurry to accept the invitation; but again those at the back, who had no knowledge of the happenings, began to shove forward, and slowly the people in front were pushed forward against their will and despite their efforts to resist the pressure.

The result was plain. I couldn't break every head in sight, of course, and I was at my wit's end what to do, when a really happy thought occurred to me. I had a lot of small money in my pocket, whipped it out, and sent it scattering into the street.

"If it's money you want, there it is," I shouted at the top of my lung power, and sent a second lot after the first.

It was a truly gorgeous scheme. I yelled loud enough for nearly all to hear, and the flash of the coins did the rest; the pressure round the mouth of our shelter was relieved instantly, and both back and front rows joined in a fearsome scramble in the middle of the road, where I had been careful to shy the money. I never saw a finer scrimmage in my life.

"We can go," I called to the couple behind me, seeing that the pavement was clear enough for us to get away. But the elder woman had fallen and was incapable of any effort whatever.

"Have you any small money?" I asked the girl. "My own's all gone."

She felt her own pockets and in the handbag on her mother's arm and gave all she could find.

It was enough to keep the crowd busy for another minute or two, and I stepped out, and just as the people were easing off from the first diversion of the scramble, I yelled out that there was more to come, and flung the whole lot broadcast among the tossing heads, taking care to shy it as far down the street as possible. There was an instant rush for it.

I slipped back into the doorway, picked up the old lady and made a dash for it, telling the girl to bring the stick with her and keep close to the houses, which by that time were all shut and barred.

We managed to get some yards toward the street corner when two of the men who had given us trouble spied us, and, thinking that I was now unarmed, came rushing in pursuit, calling to a lot of the others to follow.

They soon overtook us, and there was nothing for it but to put up another fight, this time without the friendly help of a doorway. I laid my burden on the pavement, took the stick from the girl, and turned to face the oncomers. The instant they saw I was still armed, they pulled up in surprise and hesitated. I promptly seized the moment of their consternation and went straight at them, clubbed the nearest and was making for the next when I heard a whoop behind me, suggesting an attack from the rear.

I turned to meet it, and to my intense relief saw Hans standing by the two ladies. "Come on, Hans," I called, and he was by my side in a jiffy. We had a rough and tumble for a few seconds in which he joined like a brick, and then relief arrived. We heard the sound of horses, with the jingle of accoutrements, and the next moment a small troop of cavalry turned the corner of the street, and we left the rest of the proceedings to them. They soon scattered the mob, who fled in all directions except ours, and the street was quickly cleared, leaving the car the one conspicuous feature in the foreground.

As the chauffeur was nowhere to be seen and the old lady couldn't walk, I sent Hans back to her and went to see if the car had been much damaged. It had certainly been in the wars; stripped of everything, even to the cushions, but the engine was all right, so I started it, climbed in, and backed to the spot where the ladies were.

Then it flashed suddenly on me what an ass I was making of myself to let any one see that I knew anything about cars; but it was too late to make a pretence now, and I consoled myself with the reflection that there was no need to let the people know who I was.

But there I reckoned without Hans. The mother had sufficiently recovered to get up, and was speaking to him when I reached them, while Hans and the daughter were casting sheep's eyes at each other in a fashion which told tales. They were evidently old friends, and a little bit more; and I wasn't, therefore, surprised when the mother knew me as Lassen, Hans' cousin.

She was awfully sweet and grateful and the tears trembled in her eyes as she thanked me, holding my hand in both of hers,