II
Victoria Station, still named after the great nineteenth-century Queen,was neither more nor less busy than usual as he came into ithalf-an-hour later. The vast platform, sunk now nearly two hundred feetbelow the ground level, showed the double crowd of passengers enteringand leaving town. Those on the extreme left, towards whom Percy began todescend in the open glazed lift, were by far the most numerous, and thestream at the lift-entrance made it necessary for him to move slowly.
He arrived at last, walking in the soft light on the noiseless ribbedrubber, and stood by the door of the long car that ran straight throughto the Junction. It was the last of a series of a dozen or more, each ofwhich slid off minute by minute. Then, still watching the endlessmovement of the lifts ascending and descending between the entrances ofthe upper end of the station, he stepped in and sat down.
He felt quiet now that he had actually started. He had made hisconfession, just in order to make certain of his own soul, thoughscarcely expecting any definite danger, and sat now, his grey suit andstraw hat in no way distinguishing him as a priest (for a general leavewas given by the authorities to dress so for any adequate reason). Sincethe case was not imminent, he had not brought stocks or pyx--FatherDolan had wired to him that he might fetch them if he wished from St.Joseph's, near the Junction. He had only the violet thread in hispocket, such as was customary for sick calls.
He was sliding along peaceably enough, fixing his eyes on the empty seatopposite, and trying to preserve complete collectedness when the carabruptly stopped. He looked out, astonished, and saw by the whiteenamelled walks twenty feet from the window that they were already inthe tunnel. The stoppage might arise from many causes, and he was notgreatly excited, nor did it seem that others in the carriage took itvery seriously; he could hear, after a moment's silence, the talkingrecommence beyond the partition.
Then there came, echoed by the walls, the sound of shouting from faraway, mingled with hoots and chords; it grew louder. The talking in thecarriage stopped. He heard a window thrown up, and the next instant acar tore past, going back to the station although on the down line. Thismust be looked into, thought Percy: something certainly was happening;so he got up and went across the empty compartment to the furtherwindow. Again came the crying of voices, again the signals, and oncemore a car whirled past, followed almost immediately by another. Therewas a jerk--a smooth movement. Percy staggered and fell into a seat, asthe carriage in which he was seated itself began to move backwards.
There was a clamour now in the next compartment, and Percy made his waythere through the door, only to find half-a-dozen men with their headsthrust from the windows, who paid absolutely no attention to hisinquiries. So he stood there, aware that they knew no more than himself,waiting for an explanation from some one. It was disgraceful, he toldhimself, that any misadventure should so disorganise the line.
Twice the car stopped; each time it moved on again after a hoot or two,and at last drew up at the platform whence it had started, although ahundred yards further out.
Ah! there was no doubt that something had happened! The instant heopened the door a great roar met his ears, and as he sprang on to theplatform and looked up at the end of the station, he began tounderstand.
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From right to left of the huge interior, across the platforms, swellingevery instant, surged an enormous swaying, roaring crowd. The flight ofsteps, twenty yards broad, used only in cases of emergency, resembled agigantic black cataract nearly two hundred feet in height. Each car asit drew up discharged more and more men and women, who ran like antstowards the assembly of their fellows. The noise was indescribable, theshouting of men, the screaming of women, the clang and hoot of the hugemachines, and three or four times the brazen cry of a trumpet, as anemergency door was flung open overhead, and a small swirl of crowdpoured through it towards the streets beyond. But after one look Percylooked no more at the people; for there, high up beneath the clock, onthe Government signal board, flared out monstrous letters of fire,telling in Esperanto and English, the message for which England hadgrown sick. He read it a dozen times before he moved, staring, as at asupernatural sight which might denote the triumph of either heaven orhell.
"EASTERN CONVENTION DISPERSED.
PEACE, NOT WAR.
UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD ESTABLISHED.
FELSENBURGH IN LONDON TO-NIGHT."
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