It was all over in the twinkling of an eye, with just one lightning flicker of Birdie's slim, trained fingers. And then Birdie had ducked down a dark side street and was running for dear life, gasping painfully with the reaction from tension. The copper vessel in his pocket held nothing more dangerous than some clinking chips of ice. With a cry that was rather like a strangled sob, he dragged it out and flung it far from him, and ran on. And the tiny tube of death reposed in John Cardan's pocket, the warmth of his body slowly thawing out the oily fluid to the temperature at which it would detonate.... Birdie found himself abruptly faced by a solid brick wall. He stopped in horror, and looked around him. He had taken the wrong turning--fear had deadened his judgment--he, who in the pursuit of his craft had long ago familiarised himself with all the back streets which would provide a sound prospect of shaking off his pursuers if he were ever spotted and forced to cut and run. There was nothing for it; he must retrace his steps, go back to the vicinity of the Thing! He hurried through the darkness, stumbling, panting with apprehension. Birdie had run fast; as he reëntered Fleet Street, he looked in the direction of the Strand and saw that Cardan had not gone more than fifty paces. And while Birdie looked, the last essential fraction of a degree centigrade percolated through the thin glass to the charge of nitrogen trichloride.... Five ghastly seconds later he was racing up Fleet Street, careless of who saw his headlong flight, reckless of the inquisitive glance of any busies who might be prowling the neighbourhood. His breath came in harsh wheezing groans; his eyes were dilated with unspeakable terror; in his face was the ashen pallor of death. He didn't mind where he went--he scarcely knew where his feet were taking him. All that mattered was the placing of leagues and leagues between himself and the awful thing he had seen; for every devil and fury from the Pit was shrieking at his heels.... "They've done it! Blast 'em--they've done it!" said Teal muzzily. Already people were rushing up towards Piccadilly Circus, and from Piccadilly Circus itself others were fleeing in all directions as though expecting a second explosion. High and shrill above the tumult of shouting came the scream of a man in mortal agony.... Storm set off at a run, Teal lumbered along close behind him, and Blaythwayt tagged short-windedly in the rear. Storm covered that quarter-mile in something close to record time, and Teal was not very far behind when he fetched up almost on the rim of the huge crater which had been blown into the heart of the Circus. Ezra Surcon had had a good return from his property in Great Windmill Street.