climbed to his seat, I made the first entry in the little book.

"8.58. W. by S. Start from home. Horse 13 hands."

The first move of the carriage on starting was to turn round as if
heading for Newington Butts, and the second entry accordingly read:

"8.58.30. E. by N."

But this direction was not maintained long. Very soon we turned south
and then west and then south again. I sat with my eyes riveted on the
compass, following with some difficulty its rapid changes. The needle
swung to and fro incessantly but always within a definite arc, the
centre of which was the true direction. But this direction varied from
minute to minute in the most astonishing manner. West, south, east,
north, the carriage turned, "boxing" the compass until I lost all count
of direction. It was an amazing performance. Considering that the man
was driving against time on a mission of life and death urgency, his
carelessness as to direction was astounding. The tortuousness of the
route must have made the journey twice as long as it need have been
with a little more careful selection. At least so it appeared to me,
though, naturally, I was not in a position to offer an authoritative
criticism.

As far as I could judge, we followed the same route as before. Once I
heard a tug's whistle and knew that we were near the river, and we
passed the railway station, apparently at the same time as on the
previous occasion, for I heard a passenger train start and assumed that
it was the same train. We crossed quite a number of thoroughfares with
tram-lines--I had no idea there were so many--and it was a revelation to