Between us and Leatherhead, however, lay the third cylinder, with
its guarding giants.  Had I been alone, I think I should have taken my
chance and struck across country.  But the artilleryman dissuaded me:
"It's no kindness to the right sort of wife," he said, "to make her a
widow"; and in the end I agreed to go with him, under cover of the
woods, northward as far as Street Cobham before I parted with him.
Thence I would make a big detour by Epsom to reach Leatherhead.