"I don't know what's amiss with me," continued Austin, staggering to his feet. "I expect I came over queer when I was hosing her down. I seem to remember flopping over by the step. But I'll swear I never left those lubricator taps on." In a condensed narrative the astonished Austin was told what had happened to himself and the world. The mystery of the dripping lubricators was also explained to him. He listened with an air of deep distrust when told how an amateur had driven his car and with absorbed interest to the few sentences in which our experiences of the sleeping city were recorded. I can remember his comment when the story was concluded. "Was you outside the Bank of England, sir?" "Yes, Austin." "With all them millions inside and everybody asleep?" "That was so." "And I not there!" he groaned, and turned dismally once more to the hosing of his car. There was a sudden grinding of wheels upon gravel. The old cab had actually pulled up at Challenger's door. I saw the young occupant step out from it. An instant later the maid, who looked as tousled and bewildered as if she had that instant been aroused from the deepest sleep, appeared with a card upon a tray. Challenger snorted ferociously as he looked at it, and his thick black hair seemed to bristle up in his wrath. "A pressman!" he growled. Then with a deprecating smile: "After all, it is natural that the whole world should hasten to know what I think of such an episode." "That can hardly be his errand," said Summerlee, "for he was on the road in his cab before ever the crisis came." I looked at the card: "James Baxter, London Correspondent, New York Monitor." "You'll see him?" said I. "Not I." "Oh, George! You should be kinder and more considerate to others. Surely you have learned something from what we have undergone." He tut-tutted and shook his big, obstinate head. "A poisonous breed! Eh, Malone? The worst weed in modern civilization, the ready tool of the quack and the hindrance of the self-respecting man! When did they ever say a good word for me?" "When did you ever say a good word to them?" I answered. "Come, sir, this is a stranger who has made a journey to see you. I am sure that you won't be rude to him." "Well, well," he grumbled, "you come with me and do the talking. I protest in advance against any such outrageous invasion of my private life." Muttering and mumbling, he came rolling after me like an angry and rather ill-conditioned mastiff. The dapper young American pulled out his notebook and plunged instantly into his subject. "I came down, sir," said he, "because our people in America would very much like to hear more about this danger which is, in your opinion, pressing upon the world." "I know of no danger which is now pressing upon the world," Challenger answered gruffly. The pressman looked at him in mild surprise. "I meant, sir, the chances that the world might run into a belt of poisonous ether."