René's thoughts were reaching out to Scotland, to his Aunt Janet's, where he had known the best of his boyhood. He walked to a station and found the London express waiting, with little knots of people standing by the carriage doors, and porters bustling with luggage and lamps and pillows, all wearing the stealthy, excited air of importance of travelers by night. Putney was London, or near London. Why Putney? He did not know, but he wanted to go there. He bought a ticket, boarded a train as it was moving, and sat in a corner seat gazing at the lights of the towns and saying to himself: "That's Ockley," because when he had taken his first railway journey by night he had asked what the lights were, and his mother had said: "That's Ockley." BOOK TWO ANN PIDDUCK . . . and make Strange combinations out of common things Like human babes in their brief innocence, And we will search with looks and words of love For hidden thoughts, each lovelier than the last. I ADVENTURE IN LONDON Et quelle est la femme qui ne chercherait pas à vous rendre heureux! HE awoke with a parched mouth and cramped limbs to find himself being shaken and to hear a voice saying: "Hi, mate, time to wake up. Can't leave you no longer." "Eh? Is this London?" "Aye, and London it's been these three hours past. You came in by the five-twenty-five, and I couldn't get you to wake up, I couldn't. You're in the sidings." René shook himself and clambered down with the red-headed railway porter, and walked with him across the rails through several coaches, back to the station. "Been ill, mate?" "No. Why?" "I never see such a face. Got more than your fair share of bones in it. It was that made me leave you." "I'm much obliged." The big clock announced five minutes past eight. "No luggage?" asked the porter. "No. No luggage." "Going to see friends?" "No." "You'll excuse me asking, but I don't like letting you go alone with a face like that. D'you know London?" "No." "You'll want breakfast." René realized that he was hungry. The porter took him to a pull-up in a noisy street, filled with the clang of tramcars and the roar and rattle of heavy drays coming from the goods yard. They had coffee and ham and great hunks of bread. "I never see such a sleeper," said the porter. "I was tired, I think." That struck the porter as a good joke. He kept on chuckling to himself and saying: "Tired? I should think you was. Tired! He says he was tired!" Presently he became solemn and leaned across the deal-topped table. "I can't make you out, mate. I don't know if you're a gent or what. You're from the North. It's easy to see that. What is it? Trouble?" "Not exactly trouble. Nothing unusual, I mean. It's been going on for a long time." "They're not after you, then?" "Oh, no. No one's after me." The porter's expression showed both disappointment and relief. "Is it far to Putney?" asked René.