even in
darkened streets, with a feeling of comparative security. It is not so
much danger as mystery that makes this story remarkable.

There were two of us, and we found ourselves taking tea in the N.W.
district, that is to say in one of those parts (there are millions of
them) which lie about the Abbey Road. One of us had knitted belts for
soldiers; another knew a hero who had received the D.S.O., and all of us
had been brought into close connection with Belgian refugees whose
cheerful courage under terrible suffering formed the burden of our talk.
Not to know a Belgian in these days is a mark of social outlawry, and
you cannot know them without admiring them. The fire was warm, the room
was comfortable, and the minutes ticked themselves away in the usual
place on the mantelpiece.

"How long," said one of us, "will it take us to walk from here to
Paddington?"

"To walk?" said our hostess in a tone of mild surprise.

"Yes," I said, "to walk. We are the ones for adventure. We are country
folk, and we don't get a chance of a walk in St. John's Wood every day."

"I don't want to hurry you," said our hostess, "but if you _really_ want
to walk you must start at once."

We did. We went out, turned to the right, and plunged head-first towards
the brooding darkness of Maida Vale.

"Are you sure," said my companion, "that you know the way?"

"No," I said, "I am not sure. Is one sure of anything in this life? But
Paddington is a big place. We can't miss it. Think of its immense glass
roof and take courage. We are bound to get there sooner or later."

"Yes," she said, "but we want to get there for the 5.50."

"True," I said. "We must limit our wanderings. I will ask this
gentleman. He is standing at a corner. He has leisure and must know the
way to Paddington."

I approached the gentleman and addressed him. "Sir," I said, "can you
tell me the best way to get to Paddington?"

He looked at me suspiciously. "The station?" he said.

"Yes," I said, "Paddington station."

"Are you going to _walk_?"

I said we were.

"Ah," he said, "that makes a difference. If you wanted a bus now I might
help you; but I'm lame, you see--only got one real leg. Run over by a
van a matter of ten years ago, and I don't do much hard walking myself.
Still you can't go far wrong if you take the first on the left."

We tore ourselves away, took the first on the left and walked on, ever
on, through a wilderness of silent and unfamiliar hou