“Cocaine and morphia, of course,” Glendyne replied, “or ether to get drunk on, if they aren’t very sophisticated. They’ll do anything to keep down hunger pangs nowadays, you know.” We crossed the south side of Russell Square, making for Montague Street, when my attention was attracted by the sound of singing which I had previously heard in Tottenham Court Road. The voices were nearer this time; and I was able to make out one line of the song: “_Here we go dancing, under the Moon...._” “What’s that?” I asked Glendyne. “What? Oh, that? Some of the Dancers, I expect. We’ll come across them later on, no doubt. Nothing to be alarmed about. Come along!” Just as we were moving on, however, at the turning into Montague Street there came a soft whirring behind us; a great limousine car drew up at the kerb; and from its interior descended a tall figure which approached us. As he drew near, I saw in the moonlight that it was a thin and white-haired man, showing no signs of the usual grime. He seemed a gentle old man, out of place in this city of nightmare; but as I looked more closely into his face I could see something abnormal in his eyes. “You will excuse me for interrupting you, gentlemen; but I wish to put an important question to you. What is Truth?” Glendyne gave an impatient snarl in reply. Probably he was completely _blasé_ by this time; and took little interest in the vagaries of the human mind. As for myself, I was so taken aback by this latest comer that I could only stare without answering. The old man looked at us eagerly for a moment; then disappointment clouded his face and he turned back to his car. We watched him without speaking as he stepped into it. The chauffeur drove on, leaving us as silently as he had come. When we reached the great gates of the British Museum, I was somewhat surprised to find them standing wide. I suppose that even amid the abnormalities of this new London my memory was working upon its old lines, and it seemed strange to see this entrance open at that time of night. To my astonishment, Glendyne turned into the court. “I just want to show you a curious survival in the Reading Room here.” Inside the building, all was dark; but by the light of an electric torch we found our way to the back of the premises. The Reading Room was dotted here and there with tiny lights like stars in the gloom; and within each nimbus I saw a face bent in the study of a volume. “Still reading, you see,” said Glendyne. “Even in the last crash some of them are eager for knowledge. How they find the books they want passes my comprehension; for, of course, there is no one left to give them out. But they seem able to pick out what they need from the shelves.”