Sir Elphinstone had climbed out of the car, and came striding back demanding to know what was the matter. It stuck in his head that a child had been hurt, perhaps killed. A dozen voices answered-- "The roundabouts!" "Explosion at the roundabouts!" "Engine blown up-- twenty killed an' injured, they say!" "Explosion? . . . Nonsense!" Tilda saw him thrust his way into the gateway, his tall figure towering above the pack there as he halted and gazed down the hill. In the darkness and confusion it was easy enough for her to scramble upon the hedge unobserved, and at the cost of a few scratches only. From the top of the hedge she too gazed. The roundabout had come to a standstill. Around it, at a decent distance, stood a dark circle of folk. But its lights still blazed, its mirrors still twinkled. She could detect nothing amiss. What had happened? Tilda had forgotten Miss Sally, and was anxious now but for Arthur Miles. A dozen fears suggested themselves. She ought never to have left him. . . . She dropped from the hedge into the field, and ran downhill to the platform. It stood deserted, the last few fairy-lamps dying down amid the palms and greenery. In the darkness at its rear there was no need of caution, and she plunged under the vallance boldly. "Arthur! Arthur Miles! Are you all right? . . . Where are you?" A thin squeal answered her, and she drew back, her skin contracting in a shudder, even to the roots of her hair. For, putting out her hand, she had touched flesh--naked, human flesh. "Wh--who are you?" she stammered, drawing back her fingers. "I'm the Fat Lady," quavered a voice. "Oh, help me! I'm wedged here and can't move!" CHAPTER XV. ADVENTURE OF THE FAT LADY. "_Gin a body meet a body._"--BURNS. "But what's 'appened?" demanded Tilda, recovering herself a little. "And ow? And oh! what's become of the boy, Arthur Miles?" "There _is_ a boy, somewhere at the back of me," the Fat Lady answered; "and a dog too. You can talk to them across me; but I couldn't move, not if I was crushin' them ever so." Tilda called softly to the prisoners, and to her relief Arthur Miles answered out of the darkness, assuring her, albeit in a muffled voice, that they were both safe. "But what's the _meanin'_ of it?" Tilda demanded again. "The igsplosion's the meanin' of it." "But there ain't _been_ no explosh'n. And anyway," said Tilda, "you ain't tellin' me you been _blown_ 'ere?" "Igsplosion or no igsplosion," replied the Fat Lady incontestably, "'ere I h'am." "_Sure_ yer can't move?" Tilda coaxed. At this the Fat Lady showed some irritation. "I ought to know what I'm capable of by this time. . . . If you could run along and fetch somebody with a tackle and pulley now--"