We turned a corner sharp, going now at a tearing pace, and I saw before us a length of street wrapped in fog, and blurred at regular intervals by the lights of lamps. It looked ghostlike--so white, so noiseless, lined on either side by dim house fronts blotted with an indistinct sputter of lights. There was not a sound but our own horse’s hoof-beats, and far off, like a noise muffled by cotton wool, the echo of our pursuer’s. Through the opaque, motionless atmosphere I saw that the vista into which I stared was deserted. There was not a human figure or a vehicle in sight. It was a lull, a brief respite, a moment of incalculable value to us! My mind was as clear as crystal, and I felt a sense of cool, high exhilaration. I have only felt this way in desperate moments, and this was a truly desperate moment--a pursuer on our heels and the diamonds in my possession! I leaned over the doors, and looked up the line of houses. It was Farley Street. Who lived in Farley Street? Suddenly I remembered that I knew all about the people who lived in No. 15. They were Americans named Kennedy--a man, his wife, and a little girl. He was manager of the London branch of a Chicago concern called the “Colonial Box, Tub, and Cordage Company,” that I had often heard of in America. We had marked the house, and made extensive investigations before I left, intending to add it to our list, as Mrs. Kennedy had some handsome jewelry and silver. Since my return I had seen her name in the papers at various entertainments, and Maud had told me a lot about her social successes. She was pretty, and people were taking her up. All this--that it takes me some minutes to tell--flashed through my mind in a revolution of the wheels. I could see now that the windows of No. 15 were lit up. The Kennedys were evidently at home, perhaps had a dinner on. They, along with the rest of the world, would in a minute be sitting down to soup. They might be sitting down now; it was close on to half-past eight. Why could not we sit down with them? I lifted the top, and said to Harry: “Is the hansom round the corner yet?” “No,” he answered, “it’s our only chance. They’re still a bit behind us. I can tell by the sound.” “Drive to No. 15, second from the corner,” I said, “and go as if the devil was after you.” I dropped the trap, and as we tore down to No. 15 I spoke in a series of broken sentences to Tom. “We’re going in here to dinner. You must look as if it was all right. If we carry it off well, they won’t dare to question. We’re Major and Mrs. Thatcher, of the Lancers, that arrived Saturday from India. They’re Americans, and won’t know anything, so you can say about what you like. Give them India hot from the pan. I’ve been living in London while you’ve been away. That’s how I come to know them and you don’t. My Christian name’s Ethel. Do the dull, heavy, haw-haw style. Americans expect it.”