Outside, the pavements were lined by policemen, standing like sentries about half-a-dozen yards apart.

The tented entrance to the house was guarded by a solid phalanx of men in uniform.

A mounted inspector was riding slowly up and down in the middle of the road.

At the entrance to the street, barely fifty yards away, a moving mass of people, white-faced, almost spectral, were passing slowly beneath the pale gas-lamps.
"The people!" Maraton murmured, with a curious note in his tone, half of reverence, half of pity.
"The mob!" Mr.Foley echoed bitterly.

"They brawl before the houses of those who do their best to serve them.