The gangsters had ceased their fighting and turned upon their common enemy. Those who had not already fled began to hurl bottles and chairs at the advancing police, but scores of Specials were now pouring into the room behind the shock column of hardened regulars.
At a sharp word of command, their formation broke into two wings, each of which swept sideways, encircling great batches of the riotous crew. People were now stumbling back through the windows, driven in by more squadrons of police who were lining the pavements outside. The gangsters were being forced into corners and beaten to their knees.
Suddenly a big Sergeant, with an angry eye, charged across the floor and, seizing Derek by the scruff of the neck, shouted:
'Come on, you!'
At the same moment a young Special grabbed Lavina with a yell of 'Keep your claws down or I'll have to hurt you.'
Before they had time to exchange a word they were hauled to their feet and dragged in opposite directions.
Derek Does His Damnedest
'Steady on, Sergeant!' gasped Derek. 'I haven't been throwing any bottles.'
'You can tell that to the magistrate in the morning,' the big man panted. He had an ugly bruise over one eye and no cause whatever to feel tolerant towards the rioters.
'I didn't assault you and I'm not drunk. You've got no right to arrest me.' Derek struggled to free himself from the iron grip of his captor.
'Oh, yes, I have—participating in riotous assembly; and I'll add "resisting arrest" to that if you're not careful.'
"All right, then. But hang on a minute.'
Lavina had been pulled a dozen yards away by the young Special. She was still weeping hysterically and making little resistance, but Derek pointed with his free hand anxiously towards her.
'Listen, Sergeant. That lady I was with—she's Lady Curry. For goodness' sake don't separate me from her at a time like this.'
'I don't care if she's the Duchess of Dartmoor,' grunted the Sergeant with heavy humour. 'Men one way and women the other. That's the order.' He gave Derek a violent shove towards two constables. 'Here! Keep your eye on this one. I found him kneeling, beside a chap who'd had his head bashed in.'
A number of the police had now formed two lines. Behind one they had penned a large number of their male captives and behind the other, at the far side of the room, the women. They were rapidly sorting out the rest of the mob and clearing the centre of the ballroom.
Derek found himself among a motley crowd that now looked less than ever like regular patrons of the Dorchester. Most of them were drunk, many had cuts and bruises, torn clothes, ruffled hair and blood upon their faces.
On glancing down he saw that his own hands and shirt-cuffs were bloodstained from having raised poor Roy's battered head off Lavina's lap. He peered anxiously between the shoulders of two stalwart Specials but could see nothing of her.
A few moments later the police began to march their prisoners off in batches. Craning his neck, Derek caught one glimpse of Lavina. She was being hustled along in the midst of a group of drunk and cursing women. At that moment she looked across and, with a shrill cry of 'Derek! Derek!' made a desperate attempt to run towards him; but a policeman firmly thrust her back and she was forced to leave the ballroom with the others.
When the women had all gone, the men were shepherded out in groups of about a dozen. The lounge was now clear except for little knots of police and some harassed-looking members of the hotel staff. Outside the entrance of the hotel a line of small Ford vans was drawn up. Derek and his companions were hustled into one. The doors were slammed, locked, and the van drove off.
It was completely dark inside. Some of the drunks were jolted off their feet and the others were badly jostled, but their drive was a short one. When the van came to a halt, and its doors were unlocked, Derek tumbled out of it to find himself standing on grass in the fresh night air. After a second he recognised the lights of Grosvenor House and the skyline of Park Lane, above the trees in the distance, and realised that he was in Hyde Park.
On looking round he saw that they were outside a barbed-wire encampment, which was guarded by soldiers in khaki. There were many police and military about, but Derek did not have long to observe them as he and his companions were hurried into a large wooden hut just by the entrance of the barbed-wire enclosure.
Inside it a Guards Captain was seated behind a trestle table. Beside him was a Corporal, busily writing upon a stack of forms. Two or three orderlies stood near, besides a double row of policemen who had participated in the raid on the Dorchester.
One by one the men in Derek's group were pushed forward, and when particulars of each had been taken down by the Corporal, they were handed over to the military and marched outside again.
When it came to Derek's turn, the Captain asked: 'Name?'
'Derek Burroughs.'
'Address?'
'The Old Mill, Stapleton, Surrey.'
'Charge?' The Captain looked interrogatively towards the group of policemen, and the big Sergeant stepped forward.
'Riotous assembly, sir. And would you add to that—when arrested, was kneeling beside the body of a fair man, aged about thirty, who had had his head bashed in.'
The Officer nodded and signed to Derek to move away so that the next prisoner could come forward, but Derek stood his ground and said quickly:
'Look here, this is all an awful mistake. I was in the Dorchester having supper.'
'I know,' interrupted the Captain wearily. 'They're all saying that.'
'But listen,' Derek insisted. 'I'm not drunk. I was with Lady Curry but we were separated and I've simply got to find her.'
'Sorry.' The Guards Captain fingered his small, dark moustache. 'I'm afraid I can't release you because, you see. you've been charged. We'll have to hold you with the rest until the morning.'
'But I'm not a rioter. We got mixed up in this affair,' Derek protested.
'Well, that's your fault, isn't it? The Government has appealed to everybody to stay indoors so as to prevent this sort of thing happening. Anyhow, you've no need to worry. They'll probably let you off with a caution tomorrow.'
'But, don't you see, it's not myself I'm worried about,' Derek cried in desperation. 'It's Lady Curry. God knows where they've taken her and she was lugged off among a lot of drunken women.'
The Officer shrugged. 'I can't imagine how any decent woman got mixed up in a show like this and, for all I know, you're just trying to put one over me. Any number of people are tonight. I'm really very sorry but I can't give you any more time. Take him away.'
The wretched Derek was pulled from the table, thrust out of the hut and handed over to a Corporal, who passed him in through the iron gates of the barbed-wire prisoners' cage.
He looked gloomily round him. There was no moon but it was a fine night and the stars gave enough light to see by. In the big encampment there were hundreds of men standing, sitting or lying on the grass. On speaking to some of them he soon discovered that comparatively few had been brought in from the Dorchester. Most of them had been rounded up from other hotels, restaurants and bars, as, apparently, the riot in the Dorchester was only symptomatic of the sort of thing that was happening all over London that night wherever supplies of drink could be got for the tak'ng; and the police were now systematically clearing and closing down such places.
There were no troops in the encampment but plenty of sentries outside it and, after walking a little way round its rim, Derek saw that he would not stand the least chance of getting away even if he could have wriggled through the eight-foot-high mesh of barbed-wire which fenced in himself and his fellow prisoners.
He was acutely worried about Lavina. The shock of seeing Roy killed before her eyes was quite enough to have sent such a highly-strung girl out of her mind. Again and again he cursed himself for having allowed her to remain there among such a crowd when they were so clearly boiling up for trouble. Yet so strong a personality animated her slender body that he doubted if anyone else would have succeeded, where he had failed, in persuading her to go home before she wanted to.