“HO! Her-ipress, are you? We'll see about that, ” said a voice. Then another voice said, “Three cheers for the Hempress of Colney 'Atch”and quite a number joined in. A flush of color came into the Witch's face and she bowed ever so slightly. But the cheers died away into roars of laughter and she saw that they had only been making fun of her: A change came over her expression and she changed the knife to her left hand. Then, without warning, she did a thing that was dreadful to see. Lightly, easily, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, she stretched up her right arm and wrenched off one of the cross-bars of the lamp-post. If she had lost some magical powers in our world, she had not lost her strength; she could break an iron bar as if it were a stick of barleysugar. She tossed her new weapon up in the air, caught it again, brandished it, and urged the horse forward.
“Now's my chance, ” thought Digory. He darted between the horse and the railings and began going forward. If only the brute would stay still for a moment he might catch the Witch's heel. As he rushed, he heard a sickening crash and a thud. The Witch had brought the bar down on the chief policeman's helmet: the man fell like a nine-pin.
“Quick, Digory. This must be stopped, ” said a voice beside him.It was Polly, who had rushed down the moment she was allowed out of bed.
“You are a brick, ” said Digory. “Hold on to me tight. You'd have to manage the ring. Yellow, remember. And don't put it on till I shout.”
There was a second crash and another policeman crumpled up. There came an angry roar from the crowd: “Pull her down. Get a few paving-stones. Call out the Military.” But most of them were getting as far away as they could. The Cabby, however, obviously the bravest as well as the kindest person present, was keeping close to the horse, dodging this way and that to avoid the bar, but still trying to catch Strawberry's head.