I went into the slums towards Great Portland Street, and found

myself at the end of the street in which I had lodged. I did not

go that way, because of the crowd halfway down it opposite to the

still smoking ruins of the house I had fired. My most immediate

problem was to get clothing. What to do with my face puzzled me.

Then I saw in one of those little miscellaneous shops--news,

sweets, toys, stationery, belated Christmas tomfoolery, and so

forth--an array of masks and noses. I realised that problem was

solved. In a flash I saw my course. I turned about, no longer

aimless, and went--circuitously in order to avoid the busy ways,

towards the back streets north of the Strand; for I remembered,

though not very distinctly where, that some theatrical costumiers

had shops in that district.

"The day was cold, with a nipping wind down the northward running

streets. I walked fast to avoid being overtaken. Every crossing was

a danger, every passenger a thing to watch alertly. One man as I

was about to pass him at the top of Bedford Street, turned upon

me abruptly and came into me, sending me into the road and almost

under the wheel of a passing hansom. The verdict of the cab-rank

was that he had had some sort of stroke. I was so unnerved by this

encounter that I went into Covent Garden Market and sat down for

some time in a quiet corner by a stall of violets, panting and

trembling. I found I had caught a fresh cold, and had to turn out

after a time lest my sneezes should attract attention.

183

The Invisible Man