h thought as to what he would do
now that chance had brought his enemy within his reach. He had been
made quite wretched by the intensity of his thinking; and yet, when
the carriages stopped, he had not made up his mind. His face had been
covered with perspiration ever since Crosbie had come across him, and
his limbs had hardly been under his own command. Here had come to him
a great opportunity, and he felt so little confidence in himself that
he almost knew that he would not use it properly. Twice and thrice
he had almost flown at Crosbie's throat in the carriage, but he was
restrained by an idea that the world and the police would be against
him if he did such a thing in the presence of that old lady.

But when Crosbie turned his back upon him, and walked out, it was
absolutely necessary that he should do something. He was not going to
let the man escape, after all that he had said as to the expediency
of thrashing him. Any other disgrace would be preferable to that.
Fearing, therefore, lest his enemy should be too quick for him, he
hurried out after him, and only just gave Crosbie time to turn round
and face the carriages, before he was upon him. "You confounded
scoundrel!" he screamed out. "You confounded scoundrel!" and seized
him by the throat, throwing himself upon him, and almost devouring
him by the fury of his eyes.

The crowd upon the platform was not very dense, but there were quite
enough of people to make a very respectable audience for this little
play. Crosbie, in his dismay, retreated a step or two, and his
retreat was much accelerated by the weight of Eames's attack. He
endeavoured to free his throat from his foe's grasp; but in that he
failed entirely. For the minute, however, he did manage to escape any
positive blow, owing his safety in that respect rather to Eames's
awkwardness than to his own efforts. Something about the police he
was just able to utter, and there was, as a matter of course, an
immediate call for a supply of those functionaries. In about three
minutes three policemen, assisted by six porters, had captured our
poor friend Johnny; but this had not been done quick enough for
Crosbie's purposes. The bystanders, taken by surprise, had allowed
the combatants to fall back upon Mr Smith's book-stall, and there
Eames laid his foe prostrate among the newspapers, falling himself
into the yellow shilling-novel depot by the over fury of his own
energy; but as he fell, he contrived to lodge