Broadway as far as Hyde Park Corner.

As I stepped off the 'bus rain began to fall, so turning up the collar
of my coat I hurried up Park Lane, at that hour half deserted.

When half-way up to Oxford Street I turned into one of the small,
highly aristocratic streets leading into Park Street as a short cut to
Orchard Street. The houses were all of them fine town mansions of the
aristocracy, most of them with deep porticos and deeper areas.

Stretton Street was essentially one inhabited by the highest in London
society. I had passed through it many times--as a Londoner does in
making short cuts--without even noticing the name. The Londoner's
geography is usually only by the landmarks of street corners and
"tube" stations.

As I hurried along through the rain, I suddenly heard a man's voice
behind me say:

"Excuse me, sir! But may I speak to you for just one second?"

I turned, and as I halted, a bare-headed young man-servant in livery,
with waistcoat of striped black-and-yellow, faced me.

"I'm sorry, sir," he exclaimed breathlessly, "but will you wait just a
moment?"

"What do you want?" I asked, surprised at being thus accosted.

"Would you oblige my master, sir?" inquired the young man eagerly. "He
is in some very great trouble. Only a moment, sir. Just come in and
see him. Do. Poor fellow! he's in great trouble. Do come in and see
him, sir," he begged.

Amazed at this appeal, and my curiosity aroused, I consented, and
followed the man back to a great stone-built mansion about fifty yards
away. The front door in its deep portico stood open, just as the
servant had left it when, apparently, he had dashed out into the
street to accost the first passer-by.

"I'm sure my master will be most grateful to you, sir," the young
footman said as I crossed the threshold.

We passed through a large square hall and up a great flight of
softly-carpeted stairs to the library on the first floor--a big,
sombre room, lined with books from floor to ceiling--evidently the den
of a studious man.

In the grate there burned a bright log fire, and on either side stood
two deep leather arm-chairs. It was a room possessing the acme of
cosiness and comfort. Over the fireplace was set a large circular
painting of the Madonna and Child--evidently the work of some Italian
master of the seventeenth century--while here and there stood several
exquisite bronzes.

In the window on the left was set a great carved Renaissance
writing-ta