straight off to the Police Station. Already his excited brain saw
a nurse standing in the witness-box at a trial where he himself
stood in the dock on a charge of murder. So, past the two whispering
women, he hurried out into the darkness.

Even in the grievous state of mental distress in which he now found
himself, Sherston noticed that the street lamps were turned so low
that there only shone out, under their green shades, pallid spots
of light. And as he stumbled across the curb of the pavement, he
told himself, with irritation, that that was really rather absurd!
More accidents proceeded from the absence of light than were ever
likely to be caused by the Zeppelins.

Perforce walking warily, he hastened towards the Strand. There
was less traffic than usual, fewer people, too, on the pavement,
but it was just after nine o'clock, the quietest time of the evening.

Suddenly a huge column of flame shot up some thirty yards in front
of him, and then (it seemed to all to happen in a moment) a line of
men, police, and special constables, spread across the thoroughfare
in which he now was, barring off the Strand.

Sherston quickened his footsteps. For a moment his own disturbed
and fearsome thoughts were banished by the extraordinary and exciting
sight before him. Higher and higher mounted the pillar of fire,
throwing a sinister glare on the buildings, high and low, new and
old, round about it. "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed involuntarily.
"Is that the Lyceum on fire?" A policeman near whom he was now
standing, turned round and said shortly, "Can't say, I'm sure,
sir."