There was a general
scrimmage; shouts of rage mingled with wild laughter; the throng
crushed this way and that. Grappling in his own defence with a big
brute who had clutched his throat, Gammon saw Polperro go down. It
was his last glimpse of the unfortunate man. Fighting savagely he
found himself borne far away by an irresistible rush, and when he
had lost sight of his foe he tried vainly to return to the place
where Polperro had fallen. The police were now interfering, the
crowd swayed more violently than ever, and began to scatter itself
in off-streets.
From church towers of east and west chimes rang merrily for the New
Year. Softly fell the snow from a black sky, and was forthwith
trodden into slush.
Though he was badly mauled and felt sick Gammon would not abandon
the hope of discovering his friend. After resting for a few minutes
against the front of a shop he moved again into the crowd, now much
thinner, and soon to be altogether dispersed. The helmets of
policemen drew him in a certain direction; two constables were
clearing the way, and he addressed them, asking whether they had
seen a bareheaded man recently damaged in a fight.
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