pg ANGEL PAVEMENT

now, Adventure-in high heels and silk stockings-
might be moving his way. He was making for the West
End, for on Saturdays, especially the alternate Satur-
days when he received his pay, he despised Camdcn
Town and Islington and Finsbury Park, those little
centres that broke the desert of North London with
oases of flashing lights and places of entertainment.
These were good enough in their way, but if you had a
few shillings to spend, the West was a great deal better,
offering you the real thing in giant teashops and picture
theatres. For this was his usual Saturday night pro-
gramme, if he had the money: first, tea at one of the big
teashops, which were always crowded with girls and
always offered a chance of a pick-up; then a visit to one
of the great West End cinemas, in which, once inside, he
could spin out the whole evening, perhaps on the edge
of adventure all the time, And this was his programme
for this night, too, though, of course, he was always
ready to modify it if anything happened in the teashop,
if he found the right sort of girl there and she wanted
to do something else.

At the very time he was setting out, hundreds and
hundreds of girls, girls with little powdered snub noses,
wet crimson mouths, shrill voices, and gleaming calves,
were also setting out-nearly all of them, unfortunately,
in pairs-to carry out the very same programme.
Turgis knew this, or perhaps only a hunter's instinct led
him to where the game were thickest; but he did not
visualise them, luckily for him, for the tantalising image
would have driven him nearly to madness. But there
they were, tripping down innumerable dark steps, chirp-
ing and laughing together in buses and trams without
end, and making for the same small area, the verv same