They were fighting--positively fighting--their way
into the field. The police could not stop them, but were driven in with
a rush; and in the centre of this rush Tilda caught sight of Gavel
again. His back was turned to her. He was struggling for admission,
and like a maniac. Glasson she could not see.

Sir Elphinstone had climbed out of the car, and came striding back
demanding to know what was the matter. It stuck in his head that a
child had been hurt, perhaps killed.

A dozen voices answered--

"The roundabouts!" "Explosion at the roundabouts!" "Engine blown up--
twenty killed an' injured, they say!"

"Explosion? . . . Nonsense!"

Tilda saw him thrust his way into the gateway, his tall figure towering
above the pack there as he halted and gazed down the hill. In the
darkness and confusion it was easy enough for her to scramble upon the
hedge unobserved, and at the cost of a few scratches only. From the top
of the hedge she too gazed.

The roundabout had come to a standstill. Around it, at a decent
distance, stood a dark circle of folk. But its lights still blazed, its
mirrors still twinkled. She could detect nothing amiss.

What had happened? Tilda had forgotten Miss Sally, and was anxious now
but for Arthur Miles. A dozen fears suggested themselves. She ought
never to have left him. . . .

She dropped from the hedge into the field, and ran downhill to the
platform. It stood deserted, the last few fairy-lamps dying down amid
the palms and greenery. In the darkness at its rear there was no need
of caution, and she plunged under the vallance boldly.

"Arthur! Arthur Miles! Are you all right? . . . Where are you?"

A thin squeal answered her, and she drew back, her skin contracting in a
shudder, even to the roots of her hair. For, putting out her hand, she
had touched flesh--naked, human flesh.

"Wh--who are you?" she stammered, drawing back her fingers.

"I'm the Fat Lady," quavered a voice. "Oh, help me! I'm wedged here and
can't move!"

CHAPTER XV.

ADVENTURE OF THE FAT LADY.

"_Gin a body meet a body._"--BURNS.

"But what's 'appened?" demanded Tilda, recovering herself a little.
"And ow? And oh! what's become of the boy, Arthur Miles?"

"There _is_ a boy, somewhere at the back of me," the Fat Lady answered;
"and a dog too. You can talk to them across me; but I couldn't move,
not if I was crushin' them ever so."

Tilda called softly to the prisoners, and to her r