As we came into Soho Square, I was reminded of the fact that even in this city of the dying, human passions still remained. From Greek Street came the sound of revolver shots: three in rapid succession, evidently a duel, and then a gasping cry, followed by a final shot. Then silence for a moment; and at last the noise of heavy foot-falls dying away in the direction of Old Compton Street. “What’s that?” “How should I know?” Glendyne retorted. “Probably some of the foreign scum settling a difference among themselves. We never bother about this district. Too dangerous to poke one’s nose into. If I were to go and try to help, I’d most probably get shot for my pains. One gets to know one’s way about, after a time. A few weeks ago I tried the Good Samaritan on one of these foreigners and he almost succeeded in knifing me for my pains. I suppose he thought I was one of his friends come to finish the job. He was shot through the lung anyway, so I don’t suppose I could have helped much, even if I had persisted.” Soho Square was deserted. The mingled red and silver light from the burning houses and the moon lay across it; but nothing moved. We turned northward into Soho Street. It also was empty when we entered it; but while we walked up it a figure entered it from the Oxford Street end. As it approached, Glendyne made a gesture of recognition, and when the two met it was evident that they were well acquainted with one another. “That you, Glendyne? Glad to see you again. It’s a week since we met, I think.” It was a tall thin clergyman with a clear-cut ascetic face, clean-shaven in spite of the prevailing lack of soap. For the first time that night I saw that the city had thrown up a man who was definitely sane. His keen glance, his air of competence and his matter-of-fact mode of speech were in strong contrast to what I had become accustomed to expect from the inhabitants of this Inferno. Glendyne introduced me with some perfunctory words which left my presence unexplained; and the clergyman seemed to accept me without comment. “Things are going from bad to worse, Glendyne,” he said. “I’m sometimes tempted to take advantage of your offer and clear out some of these places with a bomb or two.” “What’s wrong now?” Glendyne inquired, without much apparent interest. “Well, I can stand a good deal--have had to, you know. But when it comes to open idolatry in the West End, I must say I begin to draw the line.” “Remember two can play at that game, if you _do_ begin. If you interfere with them, they will interfere with you.”