A lad and two women had broken heads,
and he had smashed a man's wrist; a little child had been knocked
insensible, and for a time he had driven every one before him,
so furious and resolute had his behaviour been. Then he made a raid
upon a coffee stall, hurled its paraffin flare through the window
of the post office, and fled laughing, after stunning the foremost
of the two policemen who had the pluck to charge him.
Mr. Vincey's first impulse was naturally to join in the pursuit
of his friend, in order if possible to save him from the violence
of the indignant people. But his action was slow, the blow had
half stunned him, and while this was still no more than a resolution
came the news, shouted through the crowd, that Mr. Bessel had eluded
his pursuers. At first Mr. Vincey could scarcely credit this, but
the universality of the report, and presently the dignified return
of two futile policemen, convinced him. After some aimless inquiries
he returned towards Staple Inn, padding a handkerchief to a now
very painful nose.
He was angry and astonished and perplexed. It appeared to him
indisputable that Mr. Bessel must have gone violently mad in the midst
of his experiment in thought transference, but why that should make
him appear with a sad white face in Mr.
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