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 housetops, 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 all. "Out with you, men!" he cried. "There’ll be trouble over this–no telling but what people may be drowned. Double quick, now!" They rushed out, under command of a sergeant. The inspector stayed behind, and now he looked at Harry. "Hullo!" he said. "How did you get out?" "I want to help!" said Harry, inspired. "I haven’t done anything really wrong, have I? Oughtn’t I be allowed to do whatever I can, now that something like this has happened?" "Go along with you!" said the inspector. "All right! But you’d better come back–because we’ve got your motorcycle, and we’ll keep that until you come back for it."