The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis by Michael de Larrabeiti

passing through a gate in the wire fence, went to a large iron door that stood in the square section of this bizarre building. There came the rattle of a key and the sound of a lock opening. The door was pulled outwards, a light was switched on and the prisoners saw a rectangular, unfriendly-looking hallway, quite large and made from concrete blocks.
    ‘Right men,’ said Sussworth. ‘Bring the prisoners inside; look snappy, we don’t want to be noticed.’
    The inspector stood by the entrance and watched while his orders were obeyed. ‘I want twenty men to lead the way in here,’ he said. ‘The prisoners will walk in the middle, and twenty more men will bring up the rear with Sergeant Hanks. I also want a guard of six constables on the caravan, and I want two more to take the horse to Wandsworth Prison where it will be incarcerated until the knacker’s yard is ready for it. The rest of you will return to headquarters, but report here tomorrow, early. Is that perfectly clear?’
    The men saluted and Hanks lost no time in deciding which of them
would stay and which would go. These arrangements made, Sussworth ordered the great iron door closed and as the noise of its closing died he locked it with a great key and then put the key in his overcoat pocket, patting it afterwards in self-satisfaction.
    Next Sussworth crouched to the ground and took another, smaller key from a different pocket and unlocked a steel flap in a manhole which had been cemented into the floor at the far end of the hallway. He fiddled with a combination lock and when the tumblers had fallen into place he commanded six of his officers to lift the trap. It was not an easy task. The manhole was thick and heavy, but after a great deal of panting and puffing by the policemen it swung back on its hinges.
    Sussworth then reached into the hole that had been revealed and pulled a switch. Hundreds of lights came on and an air-conditioning plant began to hum as if from many miles away. The men of the SBG crowded round the opening and stared down. They gasped. They could see a stairway and it seemed to spiral away for ever and ever, disappearing only when it was too small to be seen.
    ‘Yes,’ said Sussworth proudly, as if he’d built it all himself, ‘this is the eighth wonder of the world. What used to be, during the last war, a mere air raid shelter for the ordinary populace, has been excavated deeper and wider until it stretches halfway under Clapham Common. What we have here is a veritable city that contains all the things that our civilization needs to preserve in the event of a thermo-nuclear homocost: government offices, command posts, food, water, lavatories … and a jail, a very large one. If there is total destruction we have to ensure that our administrators survive, and that whatever happens law and order will continue beyond the day of doom. There is always a need for law and order, men, as you know. Sadly, even a thoroughgoing nuclear war won’t extinguish villainy.’
    ‘Is it a good strong jail, sir?’ asked Sergeant Hanks.
    ‘The best,’ answered the inspector, ‘that is why we are here tonight. No Borrible, however bright a burglar, can wangle his way out of this one. No clown, however comical, can laugh this off. Now, men,’ said Sussworth, bringing his little speech to a close by jumping on to the first step below the trap, ‘follow me. It’s a long, long way to go, so best foot forward.’
    With a flick of his moustache the inspector went out of sight and
was followed immediately by the first contingent of his men and then the prisoners. They were followed in turn by Sergeant Hanks and his twenty officers, the very last one of them closing the manhole and locking it from the inside. As Sussworth had said: there was to be no escape.
     
    Every step the Borribles took increased their despair. Worse than no escape there was not even the slightest hope of any. There was only one way out and that carefully guarded, and the