Box estimated their strength at over 200 desperate souls, all driven by the single desire to get their deposits back in gold. The traffic in the Strand had ground to a halt. Passengers on the open top decks of omnibuses were standing up to get a better view of the frightening scene. ‘Blimey! It’s a run on the bank, Sergeant,’ said Box. ‘There have been rumours about Peto’s for weeks. Look, here’s a crowd of our lads pouring out of Southampton Street. Let’s join them, and see what we can do.’ ‘What about Portman, sir?’ ‘He’s probably in need of being rescued at the moment, Sergeant Knollys. His connection with the Temple of Light can keep for the moment. Look at that!’ The tall double doors of the main entrance to the bank were heaving to and fro as the incensed crowd tried to pull them open, and terrified members of staff inside the bank attempted to keep them closed. A dozen police officers, their minds intent on their duty to restore public order, had begun to restrain parts of the crowd, and to corral them in the gardens adjoining the stricken bank.
