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Whether this reference to the British Broadcasting Corporation, or the man's glittering Cockney, impressed the Diggers may never be known; but they allowed him to proceed unmolested.

The prevalent scarcity of taxis did not facilitate his plans, however. Just outside a Tube station he was delayed by traffic lights, and before he could utter a word of protest, a girl who wore a chiffon cape over a brief dance frock opened the offside door and got in.

"'Alf a mo!" said the man. "'Alf a bloomin' mo!"

He directed the ray of a lamp into the interior; and he saw there a remarkably pretty brunette whose smiling glance caressed him. Her beauty was confident in its young inexperience, and the velvet brown eyes glowed with conquest: she would have attracted a cultured woman-hunter—or a novice.

"Please don't say you're engaged. I simply must get to the B.B.C."

"Oh! the B.B.C? That's different—" and an appreciative grin spread over the driver's unshaven face, a grin which revealed flashing white teeth. "I'm goin' there."