one of which I purchased, after a hard-driven bargain, for two shillings
and a stud from the shirt-front of my evening dress, which was beginning
to show signs of ennui. I leaned against the wall of the Highgate
Literary and Scientific Institute, to read it. The news was
catastrophic. Commander Wells of the Fire Brigade had, it stated,
visited Kensington Gardens with two manuals, one steam engine, and a
mile of hose, in order to play upon the Crinoline and its occupants.
Presuming on the immunity of persons bearing his name during the Martian
invasion, the gallant Commander had approached too near and was in a
moment reduced to salvage.

Pondering on this news, I made for Parliament Hill, by way of West Hill
and Milfield Lane. On the top I paused to survey London at my feet, and,
to get the fullest benefit of the invigorating breeze, removed my hat.
But the instant I did so, I was aware of a sharp pain on my scalp and
the aroma of singed hair. Lifting my hand to the wounded place, I
discovered that I had been shaved perfectly clean, as with a Heat Razor.
The truth rushed upon me: I had come within the range of the
Mash-Glance, and had been saved from total dissolution only by
intervening masonry protecting my face and body.

To leave the Hill was the work of an instant. I passed through John
Street to Hampstead Road, along Belsize Avenue and Buckland Crescent to
Belsize Road, and so to Canterbury Road and Kilburn Lane. Here I met a
fourth newspaper boy loaded with copies of the _St. James' Gazette_. He
offered me one for seven-and-sixpence, or two for half a sovereign, but
it seemed to me I had read enough.

Turning into Ladbroke Grove Road I quickly reached Notting Hill, and
stealthily entered my house in Campden Hill Gardens ten minutes later.