She walked into Charing Cross Station and approached the driver of the first vacant taxi that offered. "I want to go to Dulwich Village." The man pulled a wry face. If he undertook that journey it would mean that he would in all probability have to run back empty, and then he would miss the theatre people. "Sorry, miss. But I don't think I've got enough petrol!" "Oh, how tiresome." The American accent, now suddenly pronounced, induced him to change his mind. "Should you want me to bring you back, miss?" "Sure! I don't want to be left there!" "All right, miss. Jump in." "But I thought you hadn't enough petrol?" The man grinned. "I didn't want to be stranded right out there with no chance of a fare, miss!" he confessed. Zoe laughed, good-naturedly, and entered the cab. The man set off, and soon Zoe found herself upon unfamiliar ground. Through slummish localities they passed, and through popular suburbs, where all the activity of the West End prevailed without its fascinating, cosmopolitan glitter. Dulwich Village was reached at last, and the cab was drawn up on a corner bearing a signpost. "Which house did you want, miss?" "I want Laurel Cottage." The taxi-man scratched his head. "You see, some of the houses in the village aren't numbered," he said; "and I don't know this part very well. I never heard of Laurel Cottage. Any idea which way it lies?" "Not the slightest. Do you think you could find out for me?" A policeman was standing on the opposite corner, and, crossing, the taxi-man held some conversation with him. He returned very shortly. "It's round at the back of the College buildings, miss," he reported. Again the cab proceeded onward. This was a curiously lonely spot, more lonely than Zoe could have believed to exist within so short a distance from the ever-throbbing heart of London. She began to wish that she had shared her secret with another; that she had a companion. After all, how little, how very little, she knew of Severac Bablon. With all her romantic and mystic qualities Zoe was at heart a shrewd American girl, and not one to be readily beguiled by any man, however fascinating. She was not afraid, but she admitted to herself that the expedition was compromising, if not dangerous. If she ever had occasion to come again, she would confide in Mary and come in her company. "This road isn't paved, miss. I don't think I can get any further." The cab, after jolting horribly, had come to a stand-still. Zoe got out. "Is Laurel Cottage much farther on?" "It stands all alone, on the left, about a hundred yards along." "Thank you. Please wait here." Zoe walked ahead. It was a very lonely spot. The cab had stopped before some partially-constructed houses. Beyond that lay vacant lots, on either side. In front, showed a clump of trees, and, at the back of them on a slight acclivity, a big house.