"The men in it are just mad--they don't know what they've done, nor why they've done it.

But the soldiers will be there directly.

There's far too few police, and I'm afraid there's some people hurt.

I wouldn't take ladies into the town if I was you, Sir." He glanced at Helena.
Buntingford nodded, and returned to the car.
"You see that farm-house down there on the right ?" he said to Helena as they started again.

"We'll stop there." They ran down the long slope to the town, the smoke carried towards them by a westerly wind beginning to beat in their faces,--the roar of the great bonfire in their ears.
Helena drew up at the entrance of a short lane leading to a farm on the outskirts of the small country town--the centre of an active furniture-making industry, for which the material lay handy in the large beechwoods which covered the districts round it.