Gowerstone rounded the corner just in time to see Tom and Sarah advance down Watling Road and onto Cannon Street. He continued after them, signaling other officers to follow.

          The detective quickly gained.

          He was close behind when Tom and Sarah ran right in front of a double-decker bus.

          Gowerstone froze, inches from hitting it.

          As the bus whisked by, they vanished into a crowd of people. Frustrated, Gowerstone motioned two police cars to pursue while four officers continued on foot.

          Skillfully evading the police, Tom and Sarah ran to a neighborhood park and hid in some overgrown shrubs. Nearby, the Tower Bridge hovered over the Thames, its two gigantic towers overshadowing the river. It was late, damp and cold. Three miles from St. James and their hotel, they had no idea what to do.

          Tom and Sarah both felt responsible for Hainsworth’s capture. What started as an escape from Weatherly and a journey to London had escalated into a crisis, and their newfound friend had been arrested.

          After trudging through St. James Park, they safely made it to the hotel. Too exhausted to care, they marched in, got their key and went directly upstairs.

          Tom tapped on the professor’s door, hoping against hope that he was in. There was no answer.

          “Maybe he’ll be here tomorrow,” suggested Sarah, her tone encouraging yet mixed with doubt.

          “He better be.”

* * * *

          After finishing breakfast, Tom and Sarah decided to wait for Hainsworth. They wandered down to the lobby and asked Brandon if he had heard from the professor or received any messages. He said no. Brandon realized there must be something going on, but his loyalty to Hainsworth was unwavering: An Oxford creed practiced among the graduates.

          Tom and Sarah stayed in their room for another hour but began to lose hope. They both felt it was only a matter of time before someone found them at the hotel, and it was too risky to stay in the city any longer. Although London had always been their main objective, things had drastically changed over the last few days.

          “We can’t wait here forever,” said Sarah apprehensively, staring out the window.

          “What do you think the professor would want us to do?” asked Tom, pondering the question himself.

          She thought for a moment. “Probably continue on. He’s helped us this far. We can make it on our own the rest of the way.”

          “You mean to Canterbury?”

          “Yes.”

          “But aren’t you worried . . . or even scared?”

          “Of course I am,” she replied in a serious tone. “But we’ve managed on our own before, and we’re still together.”

          Tom smiled, amazed at her resolve. “Okay, how do we get there?”

          “By train.”

* * * *

          Over the loud speaker a repetitive voice kept mumbling: “Mind the gap . . . Mind the gap . . .”

          “Why does he keep saying that?” inquired Tom, irritated by the repetitive announcement.

          Sarah motioned to the ground. “It’s the gap between the train and the platform. They don’t want anyone to fall in.”

          “I’ll remember that,” he murmured, suddenly envisioning what that might look like and shivering at the thought.

          A long silver train screeched to a stop. Multiple doors flung open, and a stampede of passengers tumbled out.

          Sarah took Tom’s hand and fought through the swarm, finally getting inside. They stood in the jam-packed crowd, waiting by the door and hoping to get off first.

          The train bolted forward. People shifted backwards then settled. The odd routine and experience reminded Tom of the orphanage: cramped quarters, stale smell and an unfriendly atmosphere. The compartment shook and rattled as the train motored along, then abruptly stopped: Leicester Square.

          When the next train stopped, a torrent of exiting passengers knocked Tom back while Sarah was carried into the compartment with the crowd.

          The doors closed. Sarah was locked inside.

          Tom smacked the window, hoping the doors would open — they didn’t

          As the trained started moving, Tom ran along the outside platform waving his arms in a feeble attempt to make it stop. Sarah was glued to the window silently mouthing, “Tom! Tom!” The train disappeared down the track and into a dark tunnel.

* * * *

          Sarah didn’t know where to begin. She ran over to every boy who resembled Tom only to have the child give her a puzzled look. After countless attempts to find him, she spotted a British Transport policewoman scouting the area and quickly moved behind a postcard stand. It didn’t take Sarah long to remember that half of London was looking for them.

          Meanwhile, at the other end of the terminal, Tom desperately hunted for Sarah. Keeping clear of the authorities, he filtered through the crowd and scurried in and out of the shops. While he tried to stay optimistic, he was worried he might never see her again.

          Suddenly, he spotted a familiar figure in the distance and sprinted toward her. As she turned, he lunged forward and hugged her.

          “Thank goodness,” he gasped, his anxiety turning to relief.

          She squeezed him back, laughing and sniffling at the same time.

          “How on earth did you get here?” she asked, perplexed.

          “A cab.”

          “With only a pound?”

          “I got lucky.”