"We hate dying," said Turnbull, with composure, "but we hate you
even more. This is a successful revolution."

In the roof above their heads a panel shot back, showing a strip
of star-lit sky and a huge thing made of white metal, with the
shape and fins of a fish, swinging as if at anchor. At the same
moment a steel ladder slid down from the opening and struck the
floor, and the cleft chin of the mysterious Master was thrust
into the opening. "Quayle, Hutton," he said, "you will escape
with me." And they went up the ladder like automata of lead.

Long after they had clambered into the car, the creature with the
cloven face continued to leer down upon the smoke-stung crowd
below. Then at last he said in a silken voice and with a smile of
final satisfaction:

"By the way, I fear I am very absent minded. There is one man
specially whom, somehow, I always forget. I always leave him
lying about. Once I mislaid him on the Cross of St. Paul's. So
silly of me; and now I've forgotten him in one of those little
cells where your fire is burning. Very unfortunate--especially
for him." And nodding genially, he climbed into his flying ship.

MacIan stood motionless for two minutes, and then rushed down one
of the suffocating corridors till he found the flames. Turnbull
looked once at Madeleine, and followed.

* * *