It was an amazing cavern. The charge must have been placed below the deepest Tube cuttings, and experts calculated that to blast a hole of that size must have taken nearly five gallons of NCl3. The crater measured roughly fifty yards across, and in its depths was laid bare the whole warren of subways that had taken years to construct--there were even scraps of twisted wreckage from the higher level lines tangled up among the debris of escalators and elevators. Also, the Tube had been open at the time.... People had been in those subways, had been walking upon the ground that had been blown away, and omnibuses and cars had been driving over it.... There were things in that trough which had once been human, living, sensate.... In it, too, and around it, were things which had once been living and were not yet dead.... "My God!" muttered Teal hoarsely. "Why can't they _die_?" His ruddy face had blenched, and Storm himself had gone grey under the tan. The only man who seemed unaffected was Blaythwayt, who stood a little to one side, staring about him in wide-eyed curiosity. Already ambulances were careering through the streets with their right-of-way bells clanging, and constables were pouring on to the scene to attend to the injured and hold back the crowd of morbid, pale-faced sightseers. Storm and Teal went through the cordon and did what they could for the sufferers. It was a horrible and often hopeless task, but both had had their baptism of blood, and had learned to steel themselves against sights and sounds which would have made many men helpless with nausea. Doctors were soon on the scene to help both voluntary and official workers, and the first two of these that Storm saw he sent hastening back to fetch hypodermic syringes and--morphia. These he commandeered, and then constituted a panel of himself and their owners. And when they saw what he proposed to do, they said nothing. "I shall ask you to give me your opinions on the less certain cases," he said steadily. "There are some which you don't have to be a doc. to diagnose. I shall give the shot myself, and I take full responsibility..." It was an hour before all the human scath which could ever hope to live had been removed in the ambulances, and the dead decently laid out. Storm was weary of body and soul by that time, and when he found Inspector Teal he saw that, husky as the detective was, he was in no better case. "I've killed seven men to-night," said Storm heavily. "It was God's blessing to 'em. But I'm--sick! This is worse than war." Teal was silent. Then: "What do we do now, Chief?" he asked. "Go home, I suppose. We can't do any more here. Where's Joe?" "Somewhere round--I saw him lending a hand with the best of 'em, soon as he'd got over rubbering. He's taken it better than either of us. He must have nerves of ice!"