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Screams were heard above the thunder of falling masonry—the screams of the trapped, and the screams of those who fled in every direction.

For a brief moment panic seized him, then he remembered his uniform and his mission in life. While shop verandahs still crashed upon the pavements, while fragments of masonry still bounced into the roadway shedding dust like smoke, he was shouting orders and directing the work of rescue.

When he found Grace he was tattered, black with dust and sweat, and bruised in many places. He had crawled upon his stomach beneath a chaos of shattered masonry and twisted girders interlaced with streaming dress materials, through which light percolated thinly, and his lungs ached with the continual coughing which the eternal dust induced.

He swore softly when he found her, for her clothing was wet with blood, and he thought her dead. In the dim light he could just make out her crouching form. He wormed his way into the wider space which she occupied and rose to his knees, stooping his head beneath the hanging girder. Very gently he felt for her heart-beats.

“Over here!” he yelled, twisting his head and shouting into the debris above him. “Over here, some of you.”

A muffled response came immediately.

“Where?”

“Over here!”

There was a short silence, then the enquiring voice sounded a little louder.

“Where are you?”

“Over here!” he yelled.

After a little while there came the sound of sliding debris, and a shower of dust set him spluttering as it fell full upon his upturned face.

“Here?” asked the muffled voice.

“You’re right!” shouted the constable. “Carefully, now! This one’s badly injured, I think.”

“Hang on! We’re coming!”