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What should I do now? Wait here at the gate, holding my friend of the fog a prisoner inside? Useless, I reflected; there must be many ways of escape—a neighbor’s yard on either side. Before I had waited five minutes he would be well on his way to safety. No—I must get back to the house as quickly as I could. Since I could not return by way of the garden only one course remained—I must follow the alley until I came to a cross-street, then travel that until I came to the street where Henry Drew’s house stood. But what was the name of the street where it stood? All at once I realized that I hadn’t the faintest idea. No matter, I must get back to that front door somehow. A short distance down an alley lamp made an odd shape in the fog. I hurried toward it. Just beyond I stepped out into the crossstreet, and paused. Left or right? Left, of course.
The clammy yellow fog stuck closer
