"'Well, I don't know,' said I. 'If we go straight on until we find a turning to the left. . . . And look here,' I put in, grabbing him again, for he was starting to run. 'Since there's no one in chase apparently, I suggest that we walk. It looks better, if we meet a constable: though there seems to be none about ... so far.' "'Scand'lous!' said Farrell. "'What's scandalous?' I asked. "'Lax'ty Metr'pl't'n P'lice.' He took me by a buttonhole, finger and thumb. 'Dish--district notorious. One-worst-Lond'n. Dish--damn the word--distr'ck like this, anything might happen any moment. Mus' speak about it. . . . You just wait till I'm on County Counshle.' "I took him by the arm and steered him. I did it beautifully, though it's undeniable that I had taken wine to excess. I did it so beautifully that we met not a living soul--or if we did, Otty, I failed to remark it. . . . I don't suppose it was really happening as I felt it was happening. I just tell how it felt. . . . Farrell and I were ranging arm-in-arm through a quarter that had mysteriously hushed and hidden itself at our approach. There were pianos tinkling from upper storeys: there were muffled choruses with banjo or guitar accompaniments humming up from the bowels of the earth: there were chinks of light between blinds, under doorways, down areas. There was even a flare of light, now and again, blaring to gramophone accompaniment across the street from a gin-palace or a corner public. But the glass of these places of entertainment was all opaque, and there were no loungers on the kerb in front of any. . . . I held Farrell tightly beneath the elbow, and steered through this enchanted purlieu. "'S'pose you know where you're heading?' said Farrell after a while. "'On these occasions,' said I, 'one steers by the pole-star.' "'Where is it?' he demanded. "'At this moment, so far as I can judge,' I assured him, 'it is shining accurately on the back of your neck.' "Of a sudden we found ourselves at the head of a pavement lined with the red stern-lights of a rank of cabs and taxis. I had not the vaguest notion of its name: but the street was obviously one of those curious ones, unsuspected, and probably non-existent by day, in which lurk the vehicles that can't be discovered when it's raining and you want to get home from a theatre. 'Glow-worms!' announced Farrell. "I tightened my grip under his funny-bone, and hailed the first vehicle. It was a hansom. 'Engaged?' I asked. "'All depends where you're going, sir,' said the cabby. "'Wimbledon,' shouted Farrell, and broke away from me. 'Wimbledon for pleasure and the simple life! . . . You'll excuse me--' he dodged towards the back of the cab: 'on these occasions-- always make a point take number.' "'It's all right,' I spoke up to the cabman. 'My friend means the Ritz. I'm taking him there.' "'I shouldn't, if I was you,' said the man sourly; 'not unless he's an American.'