Even as he said the words the space in front of the Police Station
was suddenly filled with a surging mass of people, men, women,
even children, making their way Strandward, to see all that there
was to see, now that the immediate danger was past.

"If I were you, sir, I think I'd stay here quietly a bit, till
the crowd has thinned, and been driven back. I take it you can't
do that poor woman of whom you spoke just now any good--I take it
she's dead, sir?" the Inspector spoke very feelingly.

"Yes, she certainly is dead," said Sherston dully.

"Well, I must be going now, but if you like to stay here a while,
I'm sure you're welcome, sir."

"No," said Sherston. "I think I'll go out and see whether I can
do anything to help."

The two passed out into the roadway, and took their place among the
slowly moving people there, the Inspector make a way for himself
and his companion through the excited, talkative, good-humored
Cockney crowd. "There it is! Can't you see it? Up there just
like a little yellow worm." "There's naught at all! You've got
the cobble-wobbles!" and then a ripple of laughter.

Sherston was borne along with the human stream, and with that stream
he suddenly found himself stopped at the westward end of Wellington
Street. Over the heads of the people before him--they were, oddly
enough, mostly women--he could see the column of flame still burning
steadily upwards, and scarcely affected at all by the huge jets of