Lavina could see perfectly well what was going on around her and knew that she ought not to remain there any longer; but she was now a little tight herself and in one of her pigheaded moods in which she was capable of almost any folly rather than submit to anyone else's dictation.
'Come on,' said Derek. 'If we stay here, we'll get mixed up in some rough-house or other.'
She impatiently shook off the hand he had laid on her arm, and stood up. 'I'm not going I tell you. Let's dance.'
'No,' he said firmly. 'I'm taking you home.'
'All right. I'll dance with Roy, then.' She swung round and held out her arms to her cousin.
Roy was a little unsteady on his legs from the considerable amount of whisky and champagne he had consumed and his mouth hung slackly open, but he pulled himself together. Before Derek could say anything further, the two of them had glided off together into the crush.
Derek wished now that he had begged Lavina to come home instead of trying to order her to do so, and determined to try persuasive methods directly she got back to the table. In the meantime, he followed her golden head with an anxious eye as far as he could among the bobbing jam of people.
She and Roy had very nearly completed the circuit of the restricted dance-floor three times—but were hidden from Derek for the moment—when a dark-complexioned, tight-lipped man jumped up from a table and laid a sinewy hand on her shoulder.
'I want to dance with you,' he said. 'My name's Finnigan and any of the boys'll tell you that I'm an ace-high picker of good-looking women.'
Lavina met his insolent stare with a glance that would have shrivelled most men, but it had no effect whatever on the forceful Mr. Finnigan, With his left hand he gave Roy a violent push in the chest and with his right he wrenched Lavina round to face him.
'Take your hands off me,' she snapped, white with rage; but Finnigan only grinned at her.
'I like a girl with spirit,' he said, and, grabbing her small waist, jerked her to him.
She was not in the least frightened, but absolutely berserk with rage. Her eyes became hooded—mere slits in her pale little face—and the corners of her small mouth turned right down at a sharp angle. Raising her right hand she smacked Mr. Finnigan with all her force across the face.
As he jerked back, surprise gave place to black anger in his dark eyes; but before he could do anything further Roy had recovered and hit him an ineffectual blow which grazed his cheek.
In a second, Finnigan braced himself, swung round, and struck out with deadly precision. His fist took Roy under the chin and he went sprawling to the floor among the dancers.
Someone laughed hysterically, a woman screamed, but Finnigan took no notice. Completely unruffled, he turned back to Lavina and said smoothly:
'Now that's settled, we're going to dance, and I'll teach you how to smack people a bit later on this evening.'
As Finnigan grabbed her again she looked wildly round for Derek but could not see him. Then, on her right, she suddenly caught sight of the big bald man with the horse-shoe tie-pin.
'Half a minute! What's all this?' he exclaimed, advancing on Finnigan.
'You keep out of this, Harris, or I'll put my boys on to you,' snapped the Irishman. 'This little floosie's my pigeon.'
'Oh, no, she's not,' declared Harris. 'As for the boys, there's plenty of mine here, too.'
Finnigan still had hold of Lavina by one wrist but Harris put an arm round her shoulders from behind. Pulling her to him he gave her a sloppy, wet kiss which landed under her right ear.
'Oh, no, she's not,' he repeated. 'We're acquainted already —been neighbours all the evening. I've only been waiting my chance to have a dance with her until the party got going.'
'Stop it, both of you!' Lavina's voice came hoarse and unnatural. 'Let me go! I don't want anything to do with either of you.'
So many quarrels over women were now taking place that the squabble for Lavina had passed almost unnoticed. Everything had happened so quickly that Roy was still sitting on the floor dazedly fingering his injured chin, while the dancers continued to jig all about them.
Suddenly Finnigan released Lavina's wrist, thrust his hand under his arm-pit and withdrew it clutching a razor; the sharp edge uppermost across the back of his knuckles.
He made one slash at Harris but the big man was extraordinarily agile. Thrusting Lavina aside, he ducked; and next second he had also whipped out a razor.
Both men began to shout at the top of their voices and almost immediately their respective adherents came charging through the crowd towards them.
Within a moment a gang battle was in full progress. The dance-floor became a scene of wild confusion. Screaming women fought their way from it between the nearest tables. Bottles and glasses were being hurled; blood was flowing from ugly razor slashes. Lavina missed one right across her face only by inches and another in the neck because she tripped and fell.
Derek had jumped to his feet directly the shouting started. Using his elbows indiscriminately on men and women, he forced his way forward until he saw Lavina. As the floor cleared of non-combatants he made better progress and began to hit out savagely at any of the men who barred his path.
Roy had staggered to his feet again but he was still half dazed. Harris and his men were getting the best of the battle. Finnigan and his boys were being driven back. Derek was still some distance off, fighting with a fleshy, hook-nosed Jew.
In a gallant attempt to save Lavina, Roy plunged into the whirling melee. In doing so, he blundered into Finnigan from behind and threw him off his balance. With a blasphemous curse the Irishman fell to the floor.
Stooping, Roy grabbed Lavina and dragged her to her feet. Finnigan was up again, but in his fall he had dropped his razor. Reaching behind him, he snatched up an empty champagne bottle, and, raising it aloft, he brought it down with all his strength on the back of Roy's head.
At that moment Derek reached them. As the blow fell he lashed out with all his force and, catching Finnigan full under the jaw, sent him flying backwards among the tables.
Whipping round, Derek stared at Lavina. She was kneeling again now and held Roy in her arms. The whole of the back of his head was shattered and blood was pouring from it all over her light summer frock.
The melee of gangsters had swayed away from them. Derek knelt down beside her and saw that she was weeping hysterically.
'He's dead,' she moaned. 'He's dead. And it's all my fault. Oh, how wicked I was to insist on staying here.'
A fresh din of shouting was now coming from the lounge outside. A moment before, the Restaurant doors had been jammed by a solid mass of people trying to escape from the gangsters' razors. Now they had turned and were streaming back into the room, yelling as they came: 'The Police! The Police!'
Derek realised at once that the hotel management had at last succeeded in getting aid from the authorities to clear the place. One drunken man was lying on the floor nearby, apparently oblivious to all that was going on except for the presence of the equally drunken woman in his arms over whom he was slobbering. But others, wounded, unconscious, dead, were strewn about the floor among the broken glass. The rest were clambering over the chairs and tables in a desperate attempt to escape by way of the windows.
A phalanx of police, pressed shoulder to shoulder, burst their way through the crowd in the doorway. Their batons were drawn and they were in no mood to be trifled with. Several had lost their helmets and others had cuts upon their faces from missiles that had been thrown at them as they had fought their way through the hall.
For a moment Derek thought of trying to get Lavina out through one of the windows, but, although poor Roy was dead, his blank eyeballs upturned and protruding, they could not leave him.