In a little while the civil contest that had convulsed London was no longer a mystery to Graham.

It was no tumultuous revolt had occurred that night, no equal warfare, but a splendidly organised _coup d'etat_.

Ostrog's grasp of details was astonishing; he seemed to know the business of even the smallest knot of black and red specks that crawled amidst these places.
He stretched a huge black arm across the luminous picture, and showed the room whence Graham had escaped, and across the chasm of ruins the course of his flight.

Graham recognised the gulf across which the gutter ran, and the wind-wheels where he had crouched from the flying machine.

The rest of his path had succumbed to the explosion.