After the death of the revivalist, his followers disappeared. The meetings at street corners no longer took place; the wild skin-clad figures ran no more through the city. I believe that Nordenholt took steps to arrest those of the inner circle who escaped the machine-guns in the Park; but many of them seem to have slipped through his fingers in spite of the efficiency of his Secret Service. Probably they were kept in concealment by sympathisers, of whom there were still a number in spite of the general disillusionment. On the surface, the whole movement appeared to have been arrested completely; but, as we were to learn, it was not blotted out. I can still remember the first news of the disaster. A trill on my telephone bell, and then the voice of Nordenholt speaking: “Hullo!... That you, Jack?... Come over here, will you?... At my office. I may need you.... It’s a bad affair.... What?... Two of the pit-shafts have been destroyed. No way of reaching the crowd underground. I’m afraid it’s a bad business.” When I reached his office he was still at the telephone, evidently speaking to the scene of the catastrophe. “Yes?... Shaft closed completely?... How long do you think it will take to reopen it?... Permanent? Mean to say you can’t reopen it?... Months?... How many men below just now?... Six hundred, you think?... That’s taking the number of lamps missing, I suppose.... Well, find out exactly as soon as you can.” He rang off and was just about to call up another number, the second pit, I suppose, when the telephone bell sounded an inward call. “Yes?... What’s that? Numbers what?... Three, seven, eight, ten, thirteen, fourteen.... Ring off! I’ll speak to you again.” He rang furiously for the exchange. “Put me through to the Coal Control. Quick, now.... Hullo! Is that you, Sinclair?... Nordenholt.... Send out a general call. Bring every man to the surface at once.... Yes, every pit in the Area. Hurry! It’s life or death.... Report when you get news.” Without leaving the instrument he called up another number. “Go on. No. 14 was the last.... Take down these numbers, Jack.... 3, 7, 8, 10, 13, 14, 17, 18, 19.... That all?... Good. Get me the figures of losses as soon as you can. Also a note of the damage. Good-bye.” Behind this disjointed sequence of phrases I had caught hints of the magnitude of the calamity; and I was to some extent prepared for what I heard when he had time to turn to me at last. “Eleven pits have been destroyed almost simultaneously, Jack. No. 23 and No. 27 went first; and then that list I gave you just now. There are no details yet; but it’s quite evidently malicious. Dynamite, I think, to judge from the few facts I’ve got. The shafts are completely blocked, as far as we know; and every man underground is done for.” “How many does that amount to?” “There are no figures yet; but it will run into more than three figures anyway.” Again the shrill call of the telephone bell sounded. He took up the receiver.