Waking up six hours later, Drake looked out upon a brown curtain of
London fog. The lamps were lit at the crossings in Trafalgar
Square--half-a-mile distant they seemed, opaque haloes about a pin's
point of flame, and people passing in the light of them loomed and
vanished like the figures of a galanty-show. From beneath rose the bustle
of the streets, perceptible only to Drake, upon the fourth floor, as a
subterranean rumble. 'London,' he said to himself, 'I live here,' and
laughed unappalled. Listening to the clamour, he remembered a map, seen
somewhere in a railway guide, a map of England with the foreign cables,
tiny spider-threads spun to the four quarters and thickening to a solid
column at Falmouth and Cromer, the world's arteries, he liked to think,
converging to its heart.

The notion of messages flashing hourly along these wires brought to mind
the existence of the _Meteor_. He sent out for a copy of each number
which had appeared since he had begun his voyage, and commencing on the
task whilst he was still at breakfast, read through every article written
concerning the Boruwimi expedition. He finished the last in the
smoking-room shortly after one o'clock, and rose from his investigation
with every appearance of relief. From the first to the final paragraph,
not so much as a mention of Gorley's name!

The reason for his relief lay in a promise which he had sent to Gorley's
father, that he would suppress the trouble as far as he could; and Drake
liked to keep his promises.

Gorley had come out to Matanga with a cloudy reputation winging close at
his heels. There were rumours of dishonesty in the office of a private