There was a new horror. The story of those early special trains gave
the final terror to the situation. Probably they had been blown to
eternity. There was just one chance in a million that anybody had
escaped. All the same, something would have to be done to put the
matter at rest.
Nobody knew what to do; everybody had lost their heads for the moment.
It seemed hopeless from the very start. Naturally, the man that
everybody looked to at the moment was Fergusson of the associated
tubes. With him was Alton Rossiter, representing the County Council.
"But how to make a start?" the latter asked.
"We will start from Deptford," said Fergusson. "We must first ascertain
the exact time that the train left Deptford, and the precise moment
when the first explosion took place. Mind you, I believe there was a
series of explosions. You see, there is always a fair amount of air
in the tubes. When the inflowing gas met the cross currents of air,
it would be diverted, or pocketed, so to speak. We should have a big
pocket of the explosive, followed by a clear space. When the switches
were turned on there would be sparks here and there all along the
tubes. This means that practically simultaneously the mines would be
fired; fired so quickly that the series of reports would sound like
one big bang. That this must be so can be seen by the state of some of
the streets. In some spots the tube has been wrenched bodily from the
earth as easily as if it had been a gaspipe. And then, again, you have
streets that do not show the slightest damage. You must agree with me
that my theory is a correct one."
"I do. But what are you driving at?"
"Well, I am afraid that my theory is a very forlorn one, but I give it
for what it is worth. It's just possible, faintly possible, that those
trains ran into a portion of the tube where there was no explosion at
all. There were explosions behind them and in front of them, and of
course the machinery would have been rendered useless instantly, so
that the trains may be trapped with no ingress or outlet. I'm not in
the least sanguine of finding anything, but the aftermath of a fearful
tragedy. Anyway, our duty is pretty plainly before us--we must go to
Deptford. Come along."
The journey to Deptford was no easy one. There were so many streets
up that locomotion was a difficult matter. And where the streets were
damaged there was danger. It was possible to use cycles, seeing that
the rubber tires formed non-conductors, and indiarubber gloves and
shoes allowed extra protection. But the mere suggestion of a spill was
thrilling. It might mean the tearing of a glove or the loss of a shoe,
and then--well, that did not bear thinking about.
"I never before properly appreciated the feelings of the man that
Blondin used to carry on his back." Rossiter said as the pair pushed
steadily through Bermondsey, "but I can understand his emotions now."
The roads, even where there was no danger, were empty. A man or woman
would venture timidly out and look longingly to the other side of the
road and then give up the idea of moving altogether. As a matter of
fact there was more of it safe than otherwise, but the risks were too
awful.