There was a sudden crash of shots as he poured its contents deliberately into the nearest of the crowd. The carnage at such short range was terrible, some of the bullets penetrating two or more people apiece in the close packed mass. Kenyon saw them fall right and left, gripping their wounds, vomiting blood, and howling with agony while the unwounded turned on their companions, fighting desperately to get out of range of the murderous weapon.
A temporary lull ensued while the Greyshirts stood, gasping and panting, dabbing at their wounds and trying to staunch the flow of blood.
'Don't waste time!' bawled Harker. 'Get that door shut and make a barricade.' He knew that they had only secured a most doubtful sanctuary. The mob still swayed angry, threatening, dangerous outside. '
The door was slammed and a couple of marble topped tables piled against it.
'Let's use the counter, that looks solid,' suggested Ken yon.
'Can't,' said the youth with the gun. 'It's nailed down.'
'Oh, pull the damned thing up!' Kenyon seized one end of it in his strong arms. The American grabbed the other end. 'Come on now! all together heave!'
The counter came away with a loud splintering of wood. The coffee urn fell to the floor with a ringing thud. Plates, glasses and cake stand crashed and jangled. Pushing and panting they slewed the mighty piece of wood across the window and the door, pulled out the tables and piled them on the top, then the chairs and stools. In an incredibly short space of time they had formed a solid barricade which it would not be easy for the mob to force.
'Wonder if there's a back way out,' gasped Kenyon to the American.
'Good for you! I wish you'd look,' was the terse reply.
Kenyon ran to the rear of the shop, through a door and into a small kitchen. One narrow window looked out on to a dark well, enclosed on three sides by sheer blank walls. No hope in that direction!
He dashed back and up the stairs to the first floor. In the front room overlooking the street he found Veronica quietly making up her face in the central mirror of an ornate overmantel, and Ann dialling away at a telephone.
"What's the idea?' he asked.
'Trying to get help, of course.'
'No good, my dear. The Inspector told us that only official calls were allowed.'
"Well,' she protested, 'the police are official aren't they?'
'Yes, but I shouldn't think there's a policeman within a hundred miles of here.'
'Why not?' asked Veronica, carefully darkening her eyelashes.
'Because they have to concentrate in the West End; what good could they do scattered in twos and threes all over London at a time like this?'
'How too shattering ' Veronica inspected her handiwork with care.
'Hadn't you better cut that out?' Kenyon suggested. 'It only angers the crowd to see you painted up like Jezebel!'
'Darling, I'm sorry, but if we're going to meet God face to face in the next hour I must look decent. Besides it gives me moral support, like boiled shirts to Englishmen in the tropics. Tell me! If there is no chance of help what does A do now?'
'Get out if we possibly can. I'm trying to find a way now; if we can't God knows! Anyhow, keep away from that window both of you or they'll start throwing things in here.' Kenyon slammed the door behind him.
The back room he found was a frowsty bedroom, and the windows only showed the blank walled well again. Above there were two more bedrooms, stale smelling and horrible, the beds unmade, and the tumbled sheets filthy with stains and grease. He had hoped to find a trap door in the ceiling of the top landing, but he was disappointed. After a hasty search he gave it up and hurried below to report to the American.
'That's bad,' nodded Harker. 'We've just beaten off an attack, but how long we'll be able to keep them out, Lord knows!'
'Give me a couple of your men and the next time they rush you we'll chuck things on them from the upstairs windows,' suggested Kenyon.
'That's an idea.' The American tapped two of his Grey shirts on the shoulder. 'Bob Harry get upstairs and lend a hand to Mr. Whatshisname.'
Although all the men round him were sweating and dishevelled, the gigantic Mr. Harker remained as cool and unruffled as if he were seated in his favourite bar playing a game of poker dice.
Kenyon and his assistants collected all the plates and other useful missiles that they could carry and staggered up to the front room. Veronica and Ann were peering cautiously out of the window.
'Oh, look!' cried Ann as he came in. 'They've got a battering ram!' Then he saw that a dozen burly fellows had shouldered the shaft out of a large wagon, and were making ready to stave in the door of the shop.
He threw up the window and seizing a hideous china vase from the mantelpiece, hurled it at the men below.
Bob and Harry took the other window while Veronica and Ann kept all three supplied with plates, and a rain of clattering china descended on the heads of the besiegers forcing them to drop their ram, but the mob on the far pavement were quick to retaliate. Bricks, stones, bottles and potatoes came from all directions, smashing through the windows and thudding into the room. Harry's face was so badly cut that he had to retire, and Veronica stopped half a brick with her elbow, which temporarily put her out of action.
The mob howled and shouted, urged on by a blue chinned man who had climbed on to the Greyshirts' derelict car. He waved a Red flag in one hand and pointed at the windows with the other. Kenyon picked up an aspidistra plant from a nearby table and hurled it at him, but it fell short, the pot obliterating the scared face of an old woman who saw it coming but had no time to get out of the way.
The agitator yelled derisively at the men with the battering ram. They picked it up and came on again. There was a rending crash as the door gave way, Bob staggered to the open windows with an old shiny, black, horse hair covered arm chair. With Ann's help he tipped it out; yells and curses from the street told that it had found at least one mark, but for every casualty the mob sustained there were a hundred infuriated, fight maddened people pressing forward to fill the gap.
'One, two, three.' The battering ram was flung with the weight of twenty men behind it against the barricade. The flimsy shop front had been completely demolished now. In the parlour above, the ammunition was almost exhausted; every ornament had gone, the oleographs and photos from the walls, and most of the furniture. Kenyon turned to fetch more missiles from the bedroom and found Harker behind him.
The big man was grinning but he shook his head. 'We can't keep it up, and they'll be through below stairs in a moment; barricade's half down already.'
Kenyon groaned as he wiped his grimy, bloodstained face. 'Where has that fellow with the gun got to? Can't he pick off the agitator and the other ring leaders?'
'He's run out of shot, but don't worry. I'll bring the boys up here. The crowd will never be able to pass us on those stairs in a month of Sundays.' With his leg of mutton hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets the Greyshirt officer strolled out of the room.
The battering ram found its mark again with a terrific thud, the whole barricade was shifting, chairs and tables tumbling to the floor. With a howl of triumph the mob surged forward, thrusting the remaining obstacles inward through the shattered shop front, and clambering wildly over the top. The Greyshirts retreated to the rooms above and hurriedly erected a new rampart on the landing with beds and bedding; the fight at the windows was renewed with increased vigour.
Suddenly there was a lull. A motor horn was hooting insistently further along the street, and the crowd, scenting fresh and easier prey, began to stream in that direction.
The hooting grew louder, and there were angry cries as a big closed car zigzagged down the street. The people drew hastily back on to the pavement, but one small urchin ran out and threw a broken teacup at the chauffeur. Next second the mudguard caught him, and he fell under the near front wheel. There was a howl of execration, and a dozen men flung themselves in front of the long bonnet. Two, three, four were sent spinning, and then the car pulled up.