“Mostly Germans in Charlotte Street now,” he said. “A branch of the East End colony, and just about as bad as their friends. I pity anyone who falls into their hands. Ugh!” He spat on the ground as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Thank goodness, this is only a small colony, for that sort of thing is apt to contaminate everything in its neighbourhood. Down East it’s on a bigger scale. Hark to that!” Across the house-roofs between us and Charlotte Street there came a long quivering cry as of someone in the extremity of physical and mental agony; then it was drowned in a burst of laughter. Glendyne gritted his teeth. “To-morrow night, if the moonlight holds, I’ll have an aeroplane down here and give them a taste. They’re all of a kind, in there; so it’s easy enough to be sure we get the right ones. Loathsome swine!” We cut across into Newman Street. At the door of St. Andrew’s Hall a weird figure was standing--a man dressed as a faun, evidently in a costume which had been looted from some theatrical wardrobe. When he caught sight of us, he ran in our direction, leaping and bounding in an ungainly fashion along the pavement and halting occasionally to blow shrilly upon a reed pipe. “Pan is not dead!” he cried. “I bring the good tidings! All the world awakes again after its long sleep; and the fauns in the forests are pursuing the hamadryads and following the light feet of the oreads once more upon the hills of Arcady. Io! Io! Evohé! Swift be the hunting! “The Old Gods slumbered; but Echo, watching by rock and pool, ever answered our calling through the years. Awake! Awake! O Gods! Hear again the pipes of Pan!” He blew a melancholy air upon his instrument, prancing grotesquely the while. “Syrinx, reed-maiden, men have not forgotten thee! Again they hear the wailings of thy soul in the pipes of Pan.” He danced again, looking up at the moon. “Diana! Long hast thou watched us from thy throne in the skies, but now the nights of thy hunting are come once more. Prepare the bow, gird on thy quiver and come with us again as in the days of old. Dost thou remember the white goat? Join us, O Huntress!” Again he made music with his pipes. “Syrinx, Syrinx! I come to seek thee in the reeds by the river. Awake! The world begins anew.” And crying “Syrinx, O Syrinx!” he ran from us and disappeared into Mortimer Street. Glendyne turned into Castle Street East. I could not see any reason for these continual turnings and windings in our wanderings, but I suppose that he had some definite itinerary in his mind, some route which would give him the best opportunity of exhibiting to me the varied aspects of London at this time. Here again the skeletons lay scattered, though there appeared to be no aggregations of them in any particular localities. Behind us, the Tottenham Court Road district seemed ablaze; and flames leaped above the house-roofs to the east.