He stumbled on a figure that leaned toward the window in the dark
passageway.  With reluctant civility he apologized; a lady stood
up to let him pass, and for an instant in the half light their
eyes met, and that is why the miles rushed by with incredible
speed. 

Mr.  Lorry had been dawdling away the months in Mexico and
California.  For years he had felt, together with many other
people, that a sea-voyage was the essential beginning of every
journey; he had started round the world soon after leaving
Cambridge; he had fished through Norway and hunted in India, and
shot everything from grouse on the Scottish moors to the rapids
above Assouan.  He had run in and out of countless towns and
countries on the coast of South America; he had done Russia and
the Rhone valley and Brittany and Damascus; he had seen them all
--but not until then did it occur to him that there might be
something of interest nearer home.  True he had thought of
joining some Englishmen on a hunting tour in the Rockies, but
that had fallen through.  When the idea of Mexico did occur to