The huge electric placards over London had winked out the facts in Esperanto as Oliver stepped into the train at twilight.
"_Oliver Brand wounded....

Catholic assailant....

Indignation of the country....

Well-deserved fate of assassin_." He was pleased, too, that he honestly had done his best to save the man.
Even in that moment of sudden and acute pain he had cried out for a fair trial; but he had been too late.

He had seen the starting eyes roll up in the crimson face, and the horrid grin come and go as the hands had clutched and torn at his throat.