“Then what would you call that?” asked Phoebe, pointing to the tunnel wall. Following her lantern beam, I saw the section of wall we were passing had been solidly but crudely welded together out of irregular plates of metal, differing in shape, colour and texture. One of them bore a legend, in flaking white paint, which I could just make out as R.S. STEADFAST. Dr. Alcott drew a deep, shocked breath.
“That ship vanished ten years ago,” she declared, somewhere between amazement and horror, then began sweeping the walls with her own lantern. “And look here: some of these aren’t even proper plates. There are chains, girders... those bits over there look like train wheels, all hammered and melted together. The whole place seems to be made out of looted scrap. Oh dear,” she added, as her search
