The police knew that I was there and would watch the stations and hunt me down if I lingered in the place.

I knew no one there and had no chance of getting an effective disguise.

Indeed I very soon began to wonder if I should get even as far as the streets.

For at the moment when I had got a lift on the back of a fishmonger's cart and was screened by its flapping canvas, two figures passed on motor-bicycles, and one of them was the inquisitive boy scout.

The main road from the aerodrome was probably now being patrolled by motor-cars.
It looked as if there would be a degrading arrest in one of the suburbs.
The fish-cart, helped by half a crown to the driver, took me past the outlying small-villadom, between long lines of workmen's houses, to narrow cobbled lanes and the purlieus of great factories.