Just short of Holborn Circus, a heavy hand closed around her shoulder. Kaederman spun her against the side of a closed shop, snarling and backhanding her brutally. Margo punched and kicked, screaming bloody murder—and a shrill whistle sounded, practically on top of them. A constable pounded down Holborn Hill, straight toward them, shouting at Kaederman to halt immediately. Kaederman swore and ran, instead, vanishing down a side street. Margo staggered and slid down the side of the shop toward the pavement, reeling with the shock of her near escape.
“Are you hurt, boy?” the constable cried.
She sat on the cold stone pavement, shaking violently. “N-no . . . He was going to kill me . . .”
The constable crouched beside her, than said in a surprised voice, “Cor, it’s a girl!”
She glanced down and realized Kaederman had torn her shirt open during the struggles. She blanched and clutched the edges closed, hands shaking violently.
The constable’s eyes widened abruptly. “Dear me, miss, was he—was that the Ripper?”
Margo’s head whirled for just a moment. She found herself giggling shrilly and fought to get herself under control. “I don’t . . . I dunno,” she gulped, deciding she’d better stick with Cockney, given her current appearance. “Said ‘e would give me somefink to eat, but ‘e never. Just tried to kill me. Dragged me into ‘is cab, only I got away an’ run down the steps from ‘igh ‘olborn t’Farringdon. The cab tipped over, y’see, an’ I think the driver’s ‘urt, up there on the Viaduct.”
“You’re all right, then, miss? Truly?”