Not knowing what to do he put on his hat and, walking across the station yard, took his stand by a gateway pillar and watched the tide of London life roll by. There he remained for nearly an hour, since the strange sight fascinated him who had never been in town before, the object of some attention from a policeman, although of this he was unaware. Also some rather odd ladies spoke to him from time to time which he thought kind of them, although they smelt so peculiar and seemed to have paint upon their faces. In answer to the inquiries of two of them as to his health he told them that he was very well. Also he agreed cordially with a third as to the extreme fineness of the night, and assured a fourth that he had no wish to take a walk as he was shortly going to bed, a statement which caused her to break into uncalled-for laughter. It was at this point that the doubting policeman suggested that he should move on. “Where to?” asked Godfrey of that officer of the law. “To ’ell if you like,” he replied. Then struck with curiosity, he inquired, “Where do you want to go to? This pillar ain’t a leaning post.” Godfrey considered the matter and said with the verve of slight intoxication: “Only two places appeal to me at present, heaven (not hell as you suggested), and Grosvenor Square. Perhaps, however, they are the same; at any rate, there is an angel in both of them.” The policeman stared at him but could find no fault with the perfect sobriety of his appearance. “Young luny, I suspect,” he muttered to himself, then said aloud: “Well, the Strand doesn’t lead to ’eaven so far as I have noticed, rather t’other way indeed. But if you want Grosvenor Square, it’s over there,” and he waved his hand vaguely towards the west. “Thank you,” said Godfrey, taking off his hat with much politeness. “If that is so, I will leave heaven to itself for the present and content myself with Grosvenor Square.” Off he started in the direction indicated, and, as it seemed to him, walked for many miles through a long and bewildering series of brilliant streets, continually seeking new information as to his goal. The end of it was that at about a quarter to eleven he found himself somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Edgware Road, utterly stranded as it were, since his mind seemed incapable of appreciating further indications of locality. “Look here, young man,” said a breezy costermonger to whom he had appealed, “I think you had better take a ’ansom for the ’orse will know more about London than you seem to do. There’s one ’andy.” “That is an idea,” said Godfrey, and entered the cab, giving the address of Grosvenor Square. “What number?” asked the driver. “I don’t know,” replied Godfrey, “the Ball, Grosvenor Square.” Off they went, and in due course, reaching the square, drove round it until they came to a great house where there were signs of festivity in the shape of an awning above the entrance and a carpet on the pavement.