inter-city express was nearing King's Cross. It was runningbetween the high tenement buildings that did not endear thissection of the city to its planners. More contemporary were thesoaring skyscrapers, as ugly in their way as the tenements: slabsof concrete and glass, stark and impersonal. At least the tenementshad lines of grimy washing outside to advertise human habitation.The skyscraper flats could have been some kind of monolithictemples to the gods.Jake Howard glanced up from the papers strewn on the table infront of him and registered his whereabouts with a faint flicker of surprise. London; only two and a half hours after leaving York.How easy it was to get about these days! He could have flowndown, of course, but he enjoyed the train journey. It reminded himof his youth, of his first impressions of the big city, of the young,inexperienced fool he had been then.A steward tapped on the window of his private compartment andwith an imperative gesture Jake indicated that the man couldenter.'Only five minutes to King's Cross, Mr. Howard.' he said, politely,deferentially. "ls there anything else you need, sir? Another drink,perhaps?"Jake shook his head, and sliding his hand into his trousers' pocketdrew out a five-pound note. 'Nothing else, thank you.' he replied,handing the man the note. 'But you can arrange for the luggage tobe taken to my car when we arrive.'