He looked out of the window. Not so far away he could see a faint
glare in the sky. That was London. He was already in the
suburban chain that ringed the great city. This place -- he did
not know its name, certainly -- was quite a town in itself. And
he was so close to London that there was no real open country.
One town or borough ran right into the next. The houses would
grow fewer, thinning out, but before the gap became real, the
outskirts of the next borough would be reached.

Straight in front of him, looking over the house tops, he could
see the gleam of water. It was a reservoir, he decided. Probably
it constituted the water supply for a considerable section. And
then, as he looked, he saw a flash -- saw a great column of water
rise in the air, and descend, like pictures of a cloudburst. A
moment after the explosion, he heard a dull roar. And after the
roar another sound. He saw the water fade out and disappear, and
it was a moment before he realized what was happening. The
reservoir had been blown up! And that meant more than the danger
and the discomfort of an interrupted water supply. It meant an
immediate catastrophe -- the flooding of all the streets nearby.
In England, as he knew, such reservoirs were higher than the
surrounding country, as a rule. They were contained within high
walls, and, after a rainy summer, such as this had been, would be
full to overflowing. He was hammering at his door in a moment,
and a sleepy policeman, aroused by the sudden alarm, flung it open
as he passed on his way to the floor below.

Harry rushed down, and mingled, unnoticed, with the policemen who
had been off duty, but summoned now to deal with this disaster.
The inspector who had received him paid no attention to him at