Shea turned on the instant, saw the hand stretched back to fling the stone. He seized the chair behind him--the very chair which, while an appearance of politeness was still possible, Mr. O’Rourke had offered to Augusta Goold--and flung it with all his force at the man with the stone. One of the legs grazed Hyacinth’s cheek, scraping the skin off. The corner of the seat struck the man beside him full across the forehead just above his eyes. The blood poured out, blinding, and then, as he gasped, choking him. He reeled and huddled together helplessly. He could not fall, for the pressure of the crowd round him held him up. Hyacinth felt his hands groping wildly as if for support, and reached out his own to grasp him. But the man wanted no help for himself. As soon as he felt another hand touch his he pressed the stone into it. ‘I can’t see,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Take it, you, and kill him, kill him, kill him! smash his skull!’ Hyacinth took the stone. The feel of the man’s blood warm on it and the fierce yelling and stamping of the crowd filled him with a mad lust of hate against Shea, who stood as if suddenly paralyzed within a few feet of him. He wrenched his hand free, and with a mighty effort flung the stone. He saw it strike Shea fair on the forehead. In spite of the tumult around him, he fancied he heard the dull thud of its impact. He saw Shea fling up his hands and pitch forward. He saw Augusta Goold gather her skirts in her hand, and sweep them swiftly aside lest the man should fall on them. Then the crowd pressing towards the platform swept him off his feet, and he was tossed helplessly forward. A giddy sickness seized him. The pressure slackened for an instant, and he fell. Someone’s boot struck him on the head. He felt without any keen regret that he was likely to be trampled to death. Then he lost consciousness. CHAPTER VI