brought Stuttfield face to face with a flag-seller just as we were
entering the Fitz. She came at him with a determined aspect and began
"The Red Cr----"

It was enough. Poor Stuttfield was across the pavement and into a taxi
before I could stop him. There was nothing for me to do but follow
him.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Waterloo," he answered through blanched lips. I could get nothing
more from him.

At Waterloo he sprang out, leaving me to pay the cab, and disappeared
into the station. I followed as quickly as I could, but he was nowhere
to be seen.

"Where would he go to hide from the Reds?" I asked myself. Suddenly I
had an idea about his destination.

I was right. In the foremost carriage I found him. I tried to persuade
him to come out, but he clung to the rack. So I left him. I have not
seen him since.

I hope he feels safe in the Isle of Wight.

* * * * *

"You can burn your slack cook in oven in our ----
Grate."--_Advt. in Daily Paper._