Storm led them briskly to the corner of the block and halted. "Now," he ordered, "you can get in a taxi and go home, and thank your gods you're going to bed alive!" "There's a tunnel," Joe began excitedly, but Storm cut him short. "I know all about the tunnel, and about the synthetic mosque, and about the power plant, _and_ about the doss-house crew, and about the arsenal," was his categorical retort. "I also know that there isn't going to be a second Battle of Sidney Street if I can help it. Our separate bluffs may be shown up at any moment, and then there'll be Hell to pay! I've got to get busy, and you'll hinder me. Step on it!" "But can't I stay and see the----" "Nope! Vamos!" Joe looked hurt. "This is the first time I've ever been near any excitement," he protested weakly. "_Get--in--a--taxi--and--beat it_," snarled Storm, and Blaythwayt moved aggrievedly away. The girl had watched this brief encounter in amusement blended with annoyance. After all, it was only luck that had put Storm on the spot at the same time as herself, and it wasn't fair. She had taken exactly the same risks as if he had been a hundred miles away, and she wasn't going to be cheated out of her reward. "All right--we'll beat it," she said defiantly. "But we'll come back!" "Let me see you, and you'll spend the night in a police station!" Storm flung at them over his shoulder as he strode away. From the Custom House he phoned the nearest Division and rapped out his requirements in terse, staccato sentences. Then he got through to the Yard, and tried to get Inspector Teal, but Teal, tired of waiting, had gone home to bed. Storm called a third number, and presently the detective's drowsy grumble answered him. "Come right down to the Sud-Scandinavia Sawmill in Lower Thames Street," he directed. "There's going to be fun!" "Is that Raegenssen's place?" Teal's voice took on a more alert note. "Yeh! I've sent a man round to take him, though I doubt if Olaf's still rooted in Finchley. Flying Squad and all divisional reserves are on their way. Bring a gun. The mill's like a fort, and there's over a hundred roughnecks inside. Now burn the roads!" In less than half an hour the first detachment of urgently summoned men had arrived, and thereafter reinforcements kept coming in batches--broad-shouldered, phlegmatic men who took the unusual circumstances with great philosophy, as though it were merely a slight deviation from routine. Some were in uniform--these had been hurriedly called in from minor duties--the rest were in plain clothes. All were armed, in accordance with Storm's telephoned warning.