Gypo stood out in the blaze of light, on the kerbstone, with the beads of rainwater on his white woollen muffler reflected like dewdrops in the artificial light. The people looked at him in amazement and with that intense satisfaction which the proletariat of the slums always derives from something unexpected and extraordinary happening, at no cost to themselves. A spectacle had presented itself. The crowd began to swell. Gypo had not intended to carry the affair any further. In fact he had not intended to yell at all. But when he saw the crowd he became amused. He pitched on a man who stood near, a tall, thin, respectably dressed man, who had a sour expression on his face. “What are ye lookin’ at me for?” cried Gypo, staring the fellow in the face insolently. “I’m not lookin’ at ye,” snapped the man irritably. “Yer a liar,” bellowed Gypo, “don’t I see ye lookin’ at me?” “Well a cat can look at a king,” cried the stranger, thrusting out his chin and spitting venomously to his left. “What are ye sayin’ about kings?” said Gypo angrily. “Better say nothin’ about kings around here, me lad. I think yer lookin’ for trouble. I’ve got a good mind to give ye a wallop in the jaw.” “Ye would, would ye?” cried the stranger, making a move to take his hands out of his coat pockets. But he was too late. Gypo’s right hand swung around. The man went down like a bag of nails dropped to an iron deck. Somebody cried: “Lord, save us.” Gypo stood over the fallen man with his chest heaving. A policeman appeared from somewhere in the rear. He advanced rapidly, shouldering the people and trying to snatch something from under his cape as he made for Gypo. “Look out, look out,” cried an old woman, through her cupped hands. Gypo looked on either side hurriedly and then he heard the excited breathing of the policeman approaching from behind. He tried to turn about, but the policeman was upon him. The policeman’s hands closed about his biceps and jerked back both his arms to lock them behind his back. The arms were half-way back before Gypo could mobilize his vast strength to arrest their retreat. There was a loud snap of bones being strained taut when Gypo’s strength collided with the policeman’s strength at the point on Gypo’s biceps where the policeman’s hands rested. Both men groaned loudly. The policeman’s boots tore at the wet pavement, making a noise like dry cloth being rent, as he struggled to keep firm. Slowly Gypo leaned forward until the policeman’s body was on his back. Then he thrust back his head with a snarl. His poll collided with the policeman’s chin. There was a dull thud and a snap. Gypo uttered an oath and thrust his head downwards towards his knees, holding his thighs rigid. Before the head had reached the knees, the policeman had hurtled through the air with a scream of terror, right over Gypo’s head.