lmost every nationality on earth, watched the coming of
the Invader, brightening now with every second and over-arching the
firmament with its wide-spreading wings. There were no sceptics now. No
one could look upon that appalling Shape and not believe, and if
absolute confirmation of Lennard's prophecy had been wanted it would
have been found in the fact that the temperature began to rise _after_
sunset. That had never happened before within the memory of man.

The crowning height of the moors which make a semicircle to the
north-west of Bolton is Winter Hill, which stands about half-way between
Bolton and Chorley, and, roughly speaking, would make the centre of a
circle including Bolton, Wigan, Chorley and Blackburn. It rises to a
height of nearly fifteen hundred feet and dominates the surrounding
country for fully fifteen miles, and on the summit of this rugged,
heather-clad moor was pitched what might be called without exaggeration
the headquarters of the forces which were to do battle for humanity. A
huge marquee had been erected in an ancient quarry just below the
summit; from the centre pole of this flew the Royal Standard of England,
and from the other poles the standards of every civilised nation in the
world.

The front of the marquee opened to the south eastward, and by the
unearthly light of the comet the mill chimneys of Bolton, dominated by
the great stack of Dobson & Barlow's, could be seen pointing like black
fingers up to the approaching terror. In the centre of the opening were
two plain deal tables. There was an instrument on each of them, and from
these separate wires ran on two series of poles and buried themselves at
last in the heart of the charge of the great cannon. Beside the
instruments were two chronometers synchronised from Greenwich and
beating time together to the thousandth part of a second, counting out
what might perhaps be the last seconds of human life on earth.

Grouped about the two tables were the five sovereigns of Europe and the
President of the French Republic, and with them stood the greatest
soldiers, sailors and scientists, statesmen and diplomatists between
east and west.

On a long deck chair beside one of the tables lay Lord Westerham with
his left arm bound across his breast and looking little better than the
ghost of the man he had been a month ago. Beside him stood Lady Margaret
and Norah Castellan, and with them were the two men who had done so much
to change defea