It was already high day and the sun was shining brightly.  Out of their tall caverns of blue electric light came the swift ways crowded with multitudes of people, who poured off them and gathered ever denser over the wreckage and confusion of the ruins.  The air was full of their shouting, and they were pressing and swaying towards the central building.  For the most part that shouting mass consisted of shapeless swarms, but here and there Graham could see that a rude discipline struggled to establish itself.  And every voice clamoured for order in the chaos.  “To your wards!  Every man to his ward!”

The cable carried them into a hall which Graham recognised as the ante-chamber to the Hall of the Atlas, about the gallery of which he had walked days ago with Howard to show himself to the Vanished Council, an hour from his awakening.  Now the place was empty except for two cable attendants.  These men seemed hugely astonished to recognise the Sleeper in the man who swung down from the cross seat.

“Where is Ostrog?” he demanded.  “I must see Ostrog forthwith.  He has disobeyed me.  I have come back to take things out of his hands.”  Without waiting for Asano, he went straight across the place, ascended the steps at the further end, and, pulling the curtain aside, found himself facing the perpetually labouring Titan.

The hall was empty.  Its appearance had changed very greatly since his first sight of it.  It had suffered serious injury in the violent struggle of the first outbreak.  On the right hand side of the great figure the upper half of the wall had been torn away for nearly two hundred feet of its length, and a sheet of the same glassy film that had enclosed Graham at his awakening had been drawn across the gap.  This deadened, but did not altogether exclude the roar of the people outside.  “Wards!  Wards!  Wards!” they seemed to be saying.  Through it there were visible the beams and supports of metal scaffoldings that rose and fell according to the requirements of a great crowd of workmen.  An idle building machine, with lank arms of red painted metal stretched gauntly across this green tinted picture.  On it were still a number of workmen staring at the crowd below.  For a moment he stood regarding these things, and Asano overtook him.

“Ostrog,” said Asano, “will be in the small offices beyond there.”  The little man looked livid now and his eyes searched Graham’s face.

They had scarcely advanced ten paces from the curtain before a little panel to the left of the Atlas rolled up, and Ostrog, accompanied by Lincoln and followed by two black and yellow clad negroes, appeared crossing the remote corner of the hall, towards a second panel that was raised and open.  “Ostrog,” shouted Graham, and at the sound of his voice the little party turned astonished.

Ostrog said something to Lincoln and advanced alone.

Graham was the first to speak.  His voice was loud and dictatorial.  “What is this I hear?” he asked.  “Are you bringing negroes here—­to keep the people down?”