together makes a sound of rushing wind like bellows as enormous as
houses, blowing steadily in the darkness.

'Keep your seats!' yelled Schreiermeyer desperately.

He had been in many accidents, and understood the meaning of the
noises he heard. There was death in them, death for the weak by
squeezing, and smothering, and trampling underfoot. It was a grim
moment, and no one who was there has forgotten it, the manager least
of all.

'It's only a fuse gone!' he shouted. 'Only a plug burnt out!'

But the terrified throng did not believe, and the people pressed upon
each other with the weight of hundreds of bodies, thronging from
behind, towards the little red lights. There were groans now, besides
the strained breathing and the soft shuffling of many feet on the
thick carpets. Each time some one went down there was a groan, stifled
as instantly and surely as though the lips from which it came were
quickly thrust under water.

Schreiermeyer knew well enough that if nothing could be done within
the next two minutes there would be an awful catastrophe; but he was
helpless. No doubt the electricians were at work; in ten minutes the
damage would be repaired and the lights would be up again; but the
house would be empty then, except for the dead and the dying.

Another groan was heard, and another quickly after it. The wretched
manager yelled, stormed, stamped, entreated, and promised, but with no
effect. In the very faint red light from the doors he saw a moving