"Eighty-six. A cageful of men and lads—just them from the shaft-bottom—got up immediately after the explosion. Since then, not a sound from anyone! The uptake shaft is chock-full of damp. Mitchell, in the fan-room, had to run for it at first, it was coming up so fast."
"Good God!" said George, under his breath; and the two men eyed each other painfully.
"Have you sent for the inspector?" said Tressady, after a moment.
"He ought to be here in five minutes now, sir."
"Got some baulks together?"
"The men are piling them by the shaft at this moment."
"Fan uninjured?"
"Yes, sir—and speed increased."
Followed by Madan, Tressady walked up to the shaft, and himself questioned Macgregor and the two hewers.
Then he beckoned to Madan, and the two walked in close converse towards the lamphouse, discussing a plan of action. As they passed slowly along the bank the eyes of the miserable terror-stricken throng to either side followed every movement. But there was not a sound from anyone. Once Tressady looked up and caught the faces of some men near him—dark faces, charged with a meaning that seemed instantly to stiffen his own nerve for what he had to do.