All this time Digory had been trying to get into a position from which he could touch the Witch. This wasn’t at all easy because， on the side nearest to him， there were too many people. And in order to get round to the other side he had to pass between the horse‘s hoofs and the railings of the “area” that surrounded the house； for the Ketterleys’ house had a basement. If you know anything about horses， and especially if you had seen what a state that horse was in at the moment， you will realize that this was a ticklish thing to do. Digory knew lots about horses， but he set his teeth and got ready to make a dash for it as soon as he saw a favourable moment.
A red.faced man in a bowler hat had now shouldered his way to the front of the crowd.
“Hi！ P‘leeceman，” he said， “that’s my ‘orse what she’s sitting on， same as it‘s my cab what she’s made matchwood of.”
“One at a time， please， one at a time，” said the policeman. “But there ain‘t no time，” said the Cabby. “I know that ’orse better‘n you do. ’Tain‘t an ordinary ’orse. ‘Is father was a hofficer’s charger in the cavalry， ‘e was. And if the young woman goes on hexcitin’ ‘im， there’ll be murder done. ‘Ere，let me get at him.”