Eagerly in search of the place from which I had so narrowly escaped with my life I wandered in the night up and down those narrow thoroughfares, that puzzling maze of streets that lie between Regent Street and Soho Square--Brewer Street, Bridle Lane, Lexington Street, Poland Street and Berwick Street. I could not, however, find any house answering to the very vague impression I retained of it, though I went on and on until far into the night. Fearing to return to Bolton Street, I took a bed at an obscure hotel in the Euston Road, and next morning went over to Camberwell, where Tibbie warmly welcomed me. I attributed the cut on my head to a fall on the kerb, and when we sat together I saw how thoroughly resigned she had become to her strange surroundings. With womanly enthusiasm she told me of the kindness of the landlady, who would not allow her to mope there alone. She had taken her out to see her friends, wives of working-men like herself, and they had gossiped, had high tea and discussed the affairs of the neighbourhood. "Tibbie," I said, presently, after we had been chatting some time, "I am compelled to leave London, and I confess I am very apprehensive on your behalf." "Leave London!" she exclaimed. "Why?" "It is imperative. Winsloe is watching me, and is doing all he can to discover you. Every time I come here I run a great risk." "I know," she said, frowning. "His spies are no doubt dogging your footsteps everywhere." "Then your position here is unsafe. You would do better to escape from London now, and hide in the country--say in one of the larger towns in the north." "Yes; but the police are in search of me, remember. The mater and Jack have raised a hue and cry. They think I've met with foul play." "Then all the more reason why you should slip out of London. The country police are slower, and you will stand less chance of recognition." She sighed, exclaiming,-- "Ah, Wilfrid! It is cruel--cruel of them to hunt me down as they are now doing. Where shall I go? Where do you intend going?" "Anywhere--out of London. What about Leeds? Neither of us know anyone there." She was silent a moment. Then said, "I am in your hands entirely, Wilfrid, and will go to Leeds if you think I can travel without being recognised." "If I anticipated any risk I would not allow you to undertake it," I said. "We will go this evening by the 5:45 from King's Cross--`Oswin's train,' as they call it, because he is the caterer for the dining-car." "Very well," she answered. "As you wish. But before we go will you do me a favour? Go to the _Daily Telegraph_ office and put in an advertisement for me." "An advertisement!" I exclaimed, in surprise. "Yes," she laughed, rather nervously. "I want to--I mean it is necessary that I should communicate with a friend."