The procession reformed in haste, gathering length as it went; and the Dancers began again to move eastward along Oxford Street. I watched them go, still feeling the attraction long after they were past; and only some minutes later I realised that Glendyne was still gripping my arm. “Perhaps you understand now the way in which those two girls were lost,” he said. “A slight weakening of control, eh? Not so bad for a man; but when a girl gives in to it!... Let’s go up Rathbone Place, now. I expect we may meet something interesting in that direction.” Interesting! I had had enough of interest these last few minutes. I was still quivering with the rhythm of that doggerel song. However, I followed him across Oxford Street, into Rathbone Place. Here the clothed skeletons lay more thickly about our path. Between Oxford Street and Black Horse Yard I counted thirty-seven. Many of them lay in the road; but the majority were huddled in corners and doorways, as though the poor wretches had sought a quiet place in which to die. In the distance I heard wild shouting and the sound of something like a tom-tom being beaten intermittently; whilst in the silences between these outbursts, the roar of the flames somewhere in the neighbourhood came to me over the roofs. At the corner of Gresse Street, a gaunt creature sidled up to us furtively; looked us up and down for a moment; and whispered to me: “Are _you_ one of us?” Then, catching sight of the Red Cross on my arm, he fled into the darkness of the side-street without waiting for an answer. In Percy Street, the _petroleuses_ were at work, methodically drenching houses with oil and setting them alight. One side of the street was already ablaze; and the light wind was blowing clouds of sparks broadcast over the neighbouring roofs. London was clearly doomed. Nothing could save it now, even had anyone wished to do so. As we stood at the street-corner, one of the hags passed us and snarled as she went by: “We’ll roast you out of the West End soon, you ---- burjwaw! There’ll be lights enough for you and yer women to dance by when Molly comes with her pail. You’ve trod us down and starved us long enough. It’s our turn now. It’s our turn now, d’yer hear? I could burn ye as ye stand”--she drew back her bucket as though to drench us with petrol--“but I want ye to dance with the rest to make it complete. We’ll fix ye before long, we will.” At the southern end of Charlotte Street a rough cross had been erected in the middle of the road and to it clung the remains of a skeleton. Most of the bones had fallen to the ground, but enough remained to show that a body--dead or alive--had been crucified there at one time. Over the head of the cross was nailed a placard with the inscription: ACHTUNG! EINGANG VERBOTEN. WIR SIND HIER ZU HAUSE STÖREN UNS NICHT. Glendyne was evidently acquainted with the placard, for he did not come forward to read it. He turned to the left and led me into Upper Rathbone Place.