But he did not desire it. One only sorrow consumed him at
present. He had, as he felt, attacked Crosbie, but had attacked
him in vain. He had had his opportunity, and had misused it. He
was perfectly unconscious of that happy blow, and was in absolute
ignorance of the great fact that his enemy's eye was already swollen
and closed, and that in another hour it would be as black as his hat.
"He is a con-founded rascal!" ejaculated Eames, as the policemen and
porters hauled him about. "You don't know what he's done."
"No, we don't," said the senior constable; "but we know what you have
done. I say, Bushers, where's that gentleman? He'd better come along
with us."
Crosbie had been picked up from among the newspapers by another
policeman and two or three other porters, and was attended also by
the guard of the train, who knew him, and knew that he had come up
from Courcy Castle. Three or four hangers-on were standing also
around him, together with a benevolent medical man who was proposing
to him an immediate application of leeches. If he could have done
as he wished, he would have gone his way quietly, allowing Eames to
do the same.
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