Then the light at the man-hole appeared again, shining now no longer on the floor, but on a man's head, bristling, and with huge ears. Some one was squatting in the drain. His heart that had been racing brought up bump. "Any one there, Toadie?" came a voice through the man-hole. "Only the boy," rumbled the man in the drain. The words woke Kit to his position. With a ghastly effort he confirmed his mind and faced the situation. There was one thing for it--to make for the opening, and trust his heels. Better to be shot down in the open, anyway, than killed in the drain like a rabbit. He turned round. As he did so, a hand appeared at the opening, and swept back the tamarisk. A smiling face showed at the mouth of the drain. "Tiger, Tiger, burning bright In the forest of the night," came the voice of a playful ogre. "Did you ever hear of a man called Blake, Little Chap? One of God's own." As he said it, a door slammed violently; a great gust of wind rushed past the boy down the drain. Blob, the faithful, had obeyed his orders. The boy was alone in Hell, and the Devil was stalking him. II Kit turned round. Under the man-hole squatted old Toadie. The light bathed his hunched shoulders, his receding forehead, his projecting teeth. The horror of it, the darkness, here in the bowels of the earth, hidden from sun and wind and light of heaven, undid the boy. He tried to scream and could not. He battered madly at the bricks, caging him like an iron destiny, and only hurt his hands. Surely, surely God would hear him! Toadie began to hop towards him--hop--hop--hop. The boy was breathing stertorously through his nose, almost snorting. The saliva was dribbling down his chin. He sank in a heap against the bricks and said, "Hullo!" _"Ello!"_ came a deep voice. _"Feel sick?"_ "I don't know," giggled the boy, crouching limp on the brick-floor. He knew now what those rabbits he and Gwen had ferreted with glee felt, old Yellow Jack worming down the burrow after them. Yes: it was nicer to ferret than to be ferreted. Nicest of all perhaps to be the ferret and suck blood, suck blood, suck blood, glued between the eyes of your victim. Again the boy giggled. The horror was passing. It was only a nightmare now, too terrible to be true, and a familiar nightmare. To be hemmed in thus in darkness, an ogre creeping in upon him, he just a throbbing heart and breathing nostrils.... Often before ... in life, in death, in dreams.... He didn't know, and didn't greatly care.... Time to wake soon.... Mother or old Nan would knock in a minute.... This sort of dream always ended in that knock. He beckoned to the hopping toad, smiling. They might just as well be friends. Mother's knock would disturb them soon enough. A noise roused him from his waking death. It was the shuffling of feet. Old Toadie heard it too, and snarled across his shoulder. "Who the hell's that?" In the darkness there was a falling flash.