Keeping close to each other, they strolled up the Strand toward Aldwych Circle and Kingsway. They took their time, which was the best thing to do in London's blackout. Time and time again they almost bumped into persons coming their way. And more than once their teeth clicked as they went down off a curbstone they didn't see until too late. Eventually, though, they turned into Kingsway and started along toward High Holborn where the theater was located. After a couple of blocks, however, they ran into a detour. And after a block or so the detour ran into another detour. And some ten minutes after that Dawson nudged his shoulder against Freddy Farmer's. "I don't want to imply anything, kind sir," he said, "but you do happen to know where the heck we are, don't you?" "Of course!" the English youth snapped. "This is Serle Street close by Lincoln's Fields. Second right and then first left will bring us right out on High Holborn at Chancery Lane." "Well, all those names make it _sound_ as if you knew what you're talking about," Dawson murmured. "Don't be silly!" Freddy snapped. "Would you get lost in a blackout in your precious New York?" "Could happen, could happen," Dawson grunted. "But I'm just hoping it isn't happening here." "No fear of that, my little man," Freddy assured him. "Take hold of Pater's hand, and he'll lead you." However, Dawson refused to do that. Fifteen minutes later, as the pair came to a cross street, Freddy Farmer paused and rubbed a hand down the side of his face. "Blast it, there shouldn't be a cross street here!" he muttered. "Oh, oh!" Dawson groaned. "And my mother warned me, too!" "Oh, shut up!" Farmer growled. "It's probably a new one they've made since I was here last." Dawson didn't say anything. A small metal plate on the step post of the first building of the cross street caught his eye. He moved closer and snapped on his small pocket flashlight for an instant. When he came back to Freddy his voice was brittle. "And how were things in 1810 when you were here last, pal?" he snapped. "That's when that post plate says that building was built. Made the street since the blitz, huh? Or was there a blitz in 1810?" "Oh, good grief, Dave, I'm afraid--!" Freddy Farmer began. "I'm not _afraid_ we're lost!" Dawson cut in. "I'm dead certain, dope. Give me a shilling!" "Why?" Freddy demanded. "I'm going to toss it," Dawson said. "Heads we go to the right, tails we go to the left." "But what about straight ahead?" Farmer asked. "I've had enough of going straight ahead on this street!" Dawson growled. "For all you know it may go right off the edge of a cliff. But okay. If the shilling lands edge up we go straight ahead. Flash your beam on the sidewalk, Freddy." Young Farmer did that. Dawson flipped the coin, which made a tinkling sound as it hit the sidewalk and bounced around. Finally it came to rest with the King's head showing.