He passed behind the Victoria Memorial and entered Buckingham Gate. The residence of which he was the proud landlord stood only a short distance down the road--a gaunt and grimy affair having about it that indescribable air of forbidding unkemptness which is a seal upon the seats of the mighty. The blinds in all the downstairs windows were drawn, and there was no sign of life about the place. For a moment he stood at the foot of the steps, and if the suggestion had not been so palpably incongruous one would have said he was listening intently for a sound he half expected to come from beneath his feet. Then he inserted his latchkey in the lock and passed inside. The panelled hall was in twilight, and his footsteps rang out hollowly on the uncarpeted parquet. The soles of his shoes gritted on strewn earth, and sporadic cakes of dirt disfigured the rest of the floor. Peering into one room, he found it filled almost to the ceiling with a great mound of soil and clay. A door at the back opened suddenly, and he was confronted by a burly man, stripped to the waist. "Getting on, Torino?" queried Mr. Surcon shortly, and the giant nodded. "Very well, _signor_." From head to foot the man was stippled and plastered with mud, and the streaming perspiration had cut eccentric patterns in the mess. He led the way through the kitchen and opened a second door. Before them yawned a flight of stairs which led down into the earth, shrouded in a half-light in which danced the beam of the Italian's flashlight as he guided his employer towards the cellars. The steps themselves were inches deep in trodden clay, and down one side ran two heavy insulated cables. From below them came a muffled thud and clatter. Presently they met another man, half-naked like the guide, who bore on his shoulders a huge basket of earth, and almost on his heels came a second. Surcon passed them with a brief word of greeting. They reached the cellars and made their way with difficulty across the layer of soil which cloyed their feet. At the far end of the vault yawned a circular hole, and it was from this that the sounds they heard came. "We have done eighty yards," said Torino. "Another twenty will be sufficient. That engine is a marvel. To-night we finish." "There's been no difficulty?" "None, _signor_. We have many men, and they are relieved before they tire. There are no complaints, for the pay is good." They stumbled down the tunnel towards the bobbing light that showed in the distance. The roof was low, and they had to bow their heads; even so, Surcon cracked his head once on a buttress and swore softly. A third man, similarly laden with a muddy basket, passed them, and they caught the heavy tread of the two they had passed on the stairs returning. At length they reached the end.