To the west the Tower Bridge spanned the river with its formidable arch, and above that its suspended footpath--a hundred and fifty feet from earth.
Down towards the east and the Pool of London a forest of funnels and masts was dimly outlined against the sinister sky.

Huge barges, each steered by a single man at the end of a pair of giant oars, lumbered and swirled down-stream at all angles.

Occasionally a tug snorted busily past, flashing its red and green signals and dragging an unwieldy tail of barges in its wake.

Then a Margate passenger steamer, its electric lights gleaming from every porthole, swerved round to anchor, with its load of two thousand fatigued excursionists.

Over everything brooded an air of mystery--a spirit and feeling of strangeness, remoteness, and the inexplicable.