ch was more like a sob, of the men who perished with
it....

Every moment the uproar became more deafening. From all sorts of
unsuspected places and buildings came the lightning quiver of the guns,
followed by the shrieking of the shells. Right on to the tops of the
houses between where he was standing and the Carlton, another aeroplane
fell, smashing the chimneys and the windows and hanging there like a
gigantic black bat. There was not a soul anywhere near him, but by the
occasional flashes of light Thomson could see soldiers and hurrying
people in the Admiralty Square, and along the Strand he could hear the
patter of footsteps upon the pavement. But he himself remained alone,
a silent, spellbound, fascinated witness of this epic of slaughter and
ruin.

Then came what seemed to him to be its culmination. High above his head
he was suddenly conscious of a downward current of air. He looked
up. The shouting voices, apparently from the falling clouds, voices
unfamiliar and guttural, warned him of what was coming. The darkness
which loomed over him, took shape. He turned and ran for his life. Only
a little way above his head a storm of shrapnel now was streaming
from the lowered guns of the Admiralty. Turning back to look, he saw,
scarcely fifty yards above him, the falling of a huge Zeppelin. He felt
himself just outside its range and paused, breathless. With a crash
which seemed to split the air, the huge structure fell. The far end of
it, all buckled up, rested against the back of the Admiralty. The other
end was only a few yards from where Thomson stood, at the bottom of the
steps leading up into Pall Mall. A dozen searchlights played upon it.
Men suddenly appeared as though from underneath. Some of them stood for
a moment and swayed like drunken men, others began to run. Round the
corner from the Admiralty Square a little company of soldiers came with
fixed bayonets. There was a shout. Two of the men ran on.

Thomson heard the crack of a rifle and saw one of them leap into the air
and collapse. The other one staggered and fell on his knees. A dozen of
them were there together with their hands stretched to the skies. Then
Thomson was conscious that one of the oil-clad figures was coming in his
direction, making for the steps, running with swift, stealthy gait. A
flash of light gleamed upon the fugitive for a moment. He wore a hat
like a helmet; only his face, blackened with grease, and his staring
eyes, were visibl