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 living in the ruins of houses, but, alas, hardly living, such was the acute state of affairs. Daily the enemy distributed soup, but only in meagre quantities, for, truth to tell, the portion of the Metropolis under German rule was quite as badly off for food as the huge fortress across the Thames.

"Courage" was everywhere the Londoners' watchword. A band of adventurous spirits, having captured a small party of German engineers in Pentonville Road as they were about to demolish some unsafe houses with explosives, seized the latter, and got safely away. The next day, the 26th, with great daring they made an attempt to blow up Von Kronhelm's apartments in the new War Office.

The manner in which it was accomplished, it appears, was by two of the number obtaining German infantry uniforms—exactly how it is not stated, but probably from dead soldiers—of the regiment who were mounting guard in Whitehall. Thus disguised, they were enabled to pass the sentries, obtain access to the long corridor leading past the big room of the Commander-in-Chief, and there place the explosive already prepared in the form of a bomb fired by clockwork, just beside the door. They ran for their lives, and just succeeded in escaping when there was a terrific explosion, and the whole front behind those columns of the façade on the principal floor was blown, with its furniture, etc., out into Whitehall.

Four German clerks and a secretary were killed; but Von Kronhelm himself, who was believed to have been at work there, had, half an hour before, gone across the road to the Horse Guards.

The sensation caused among Londoners was enormous, for it was at first rumoured that Von Kronhelm had really been killed. Upon this there were wild demonstrations on the part of the more lawless section of the public, a section which was indeed increasing hourly. Even quiet, respectable citizens found their blood boiling when they gazed upon their wrecked homes and realised that their fortunes were ruined.