walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in Greenwich was
concluded at last he had lost his inclination for food. Not accustomed,
as the doctors are, to examine closely the mangled remains of human
beings, he had been shocked by the sight disclosed to his view when a
waterproof sheet had been lifted off a table in a certain apartment of
the hospital.

Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner of a
table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound--a heap of
rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what might have been an
accumulation of raw material for a cannibal feast. It required
considerable firmness of mind not to recoil before that sight. Chief
Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of his department, stood his ground,
but for a whole minute he did not advance. A local constable in uniform
cast a sidelong glance, and said, with stolid simplicity:

"He's all there. Every bit of him. It was a job."

He had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. He mentioned
the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy flash of lightning in
the fog. At that time he was standing at the door of the King William
Street Lodge talking to the keeper. The concussion made him tingle all
over. He ran between the trees towards the Observatory. "As fast as my
legs would carry me," he repeated twice.

Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly and
horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and another man
turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped aside. The Chief
Inspector's eyes searched the gruesome detail of that heap of mixed
things, which seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops.