After the lapse of a few minutes, which seemed as long as eternity, the driver stopped the horses of his own accord. The boy jumped out of the ’bus. The conviction was upon him already that he would not be at Trafalgar Square by twelve o’clock. He looked wildly about the dense throng in which he found himself. Where was he? He had lost his bearings completely. If he were not at 24 Trafalgar Square by twelve o’clock his hopes would be shattered for ever. The thought of the little room rendered him desperate. Yet what could he do? He looked up at a clock over a jeweller’s shop. It was already twenty-five minutes past eleven. Only thirty-five minutes more and it would be all over. All his assurance was gone; and he did not know where he was. Yet before he started he had planned everything perfectly. He had looked out the way from Milton Street on a map of the great city; he had committed every street and turning of the route to memory. However, the street in which he stood was not unfamiliar. Yes, he had been in it several times with his father. It was called--it was called the Strand. Yet he did not know what was its proximity to Trafalgar Square. He had now no knowledge of where it lay, now that by entering the omnibus he had wantonly forfeited all the sense of locality he had acquired. Yet he knew that Square so well. It was there that he had spent so many delectable hours lately in a noble building, gazing at the wonderful pictures of the ancient painters. He looked up at a street corner, and saw the name Craven Street, and then he looked again at the remorseless hands of the clock. How was it possible to get from Craven Street to Trafalgar Square in half-an-hour? What could he do? The road was a maze of obscurity. The programme had passed entirely out of his mind. All at once, however, he was touched by inspiration. He knew all about cabs! And they were recalled to his mind by the sight of a number of these vehicles standing a few yards away in a row behind some railings. They were in a place where the traffic made a veritable whirlpool; and he remembered that he had noted that place before, and that his father had told him it was the entrance to Charing Cross railway station. Yes, he knew all about cabs; his father with marvellous foresight had instructed him in that branch of education. And he had said to him, “Whenever you lose your way in the great city, be sure that you ask one of those cab-driver street-persons to take you to your destination.” There and then the boy felt in his pockets, because he knew that this hazardous but necessary undertaking could only be accomplished by the aid of pieces of silver.