Inspector Springer paused in his stride and stared thoughtfully down at the seven small aliens. With the air of a man who is on the brink of discovering a profound truth, he murmured: "Ho!"
"Smakfrub, glex mibix cue?" said one of Captain Mubbers' crewmembers. And with his instrument he feinted at Inspector Springer's legs. Evidently they had the same problem, in that their weapons could not work at this distance from their power source, or else the charges had run out.
The Lat's three pupils crossed alarmingly and then fell apart. He mumbled to himself, turning his back on Inspector Springer. His ears shrugged.
"The rest of your anarchist gang, eh?" said Inspector Springer. "And even more desperate-looking than the last lot. What's the lingo? Some kind a' Roossian, is it?"
"They are the Lat," said Jherek. "They must have got caught in the field Nurse set up. Now we do have a paradox. They're space-travellers," he explained to Mrs. Underwood, "from my own time…"
"Any of you speak English?" enquired Inspector Springer of Captain Mubbers.
"Hawtyard!" Captain Mubbers growled.
" 'Ere, I say, steady on!" expostulated Inspector Springer. "Ladies," he said, "at least of sorts, are in the company."
One of his men, indicating the striped flannel suits which each of the Lat wore, suggested that they might have escaped from prison — for all that the suits resembled pyjamas.
"Those are not their normal clothes," said Jherek. "Nurse put them into those when…"
"Nobody arsked you, sir, if you don't mind," said Inspector Springer haughtily. "We'll take your statement in a moment."
"Those are the ones you must arrest, officer!" insisted Harold Underwood, still shaking with rage. He indicated his wife and Jherek.
"It's astonishing," said Mrs. Underwood half to herself, "how you can live with someone for such a long time without realizing the heights of passion to which they are capable of rising."
Inspector Springer reached towards Captain Mubbers. The Lat's bulbous nose seemed to pulse with rage. Captain Mubbers looked up at Inspector Springer and glared. The policeman tried to lay his hand on Captain Mubber's shoulder. Then he withdrew the hand sharply.
"Eouw!" he exclaimed, nursing the injured limb. "Little beggar bit me!" He turned in desperation to Jherek. "Can you talk their lingo?"
"I'm afraid not," said Jherek. "Translation pills are only good for one language at a time and currently I am talking and hearing yours…"
Inspector Springer appeared to dismiss Jherek from his mind for the moment. "The others just vanished," he said, aggrievedly, convinced that someone had deliberately deceived him.
" They were illusions," Jherek told him. " These are real — space-travellers…"
Again Inspector Springer made a movement towards Captain Mubbers. "Jillip goff!" Captain Mubbers demanded. And he kicked Inspector Springer sharply in the shins with one of his hoof-like feet.
"Eouw!" said Inspector Springer again. "All right! Yer arsked fer it!" And his expression became ugly.
Captain Mubbers pushed aside a table. Silverware clattered to the floor. Two of his crew, their attention drawn to the knives and forks, fell upon their knees and began to gather the implements up, chattering excitedly as if they had just discovered buried treasure.
"Leave that cutlery alone!" bellowed Inspector Springer. "All right, men! Charge 'em!"
To a man, the constables produced their truncheons, and were upon the Lat, who fought back with the tableware as well as their powerless instrument-weapons.
Mr. Jackson came strolling in. There were now no waiters to be seen. He hung up his own hat and coat, taking only a mild interest in the melee at the centre of the restaurant, and crossed to where Frank Harris sat moaning softly to himself, Donna Isobella sat clapping her hands and giggling, and Jherek Carnelian and Mrs. Underwood stood wondering what to do. Harold Underwood was waving his fists, leaping around the periphery of the fight shouting at Inspector Springer to do his duty (he did not seem to believe that the inspector's duty had much to do with arresting three-foot-high brigand-musicians from a distant galaxy).
"Good evening to you," said Mr. Jackson affably. He opened a slender gold case and extracted an Egyptian cigarette. Inserting it into a holder, he lit it with a match and, leaning against a pillar, proceeded to watch the fight. "I thought I'd find you here," he added.
Jherek was quite enjoying himself. "And I might have guessed that you would come, Jagged. Who would want to miss this?"
It seemed that none of his friends wished to do so, for now, their costumes blazing and putting to shame the opulence of the Cafe Royale, the Iron Orchid, the Duke of Queens, Bishop Castle and My Lady Charlotina appeared.
The Iron Orchid, in particular, was delighted to see her son, but when she spoke he discovered that he could not understand her. Feeling in his pockets, he produced the rest of his translation pills and handed them to the four newcomers. They were quick to realize the situation and each swallowed a pill.
"I thought at first it was another illusion from your deceptor-gun," the Iron Orchid told him, "but actually we are back in the Dawn Age, are we not, with you?"
"You are, indeed, tenderest of blooms. You see, I am reunited with Mrs. Underwood."
"Good evening," said Mrs. Underwood to Jherek's mother in a tone which might have contained a hint of coolness.
"Good evening, my dear. Your costume is beautiful. It is contemporary, I suppose?" The Iron Orchid turned in a swirl of fiery drapery. "And Jagged is here, too! Greetings to you, languid Lord of Canaria!"
Mr. Jackson smiled faintly in acknowledgement.
Bishop Castle gathered his blue gown about him and sat down next to Mr. Harris and Donna Isobella. "I am glad to be out of that wood, at any rate," he said. "Are you residents of this age, or visitors like myself?"
Donna Isobella beamed at him. "I am from Spain," she said. "I dance. Exotically, you know."
"How delightful. Are the Lat causing you much trouble?"
"The little beast-men? Oh, no. They and the police are entertaining themselves quite cheerfully, I think."
With a shaking hand, Mr. Harris poured himself a large glass of champagne. He did not offer any to the others. He drank rapidly.
My Lady Charlotina kissed Mrs. Underwood upon the cheek. "Oh, you can scarcely know the excitement you have caused us all, pretty ancestress. But your own age seems not without its diversions!" She went to join Bishop Castle at the table.
The Duke of Queens was exclaiming with great pleasure about the plush and gilt decor of the restaurant. "I am determined to make one," he announced. "What did you say it was called, Jherek?"
"The Cafe Royale."
"It shall flourish again, five times the size, at the End of Time!" proclaimed the Duke.
From the middle of the room came muffled cries of "Ferkit!" and "Eouw!" Neither Inspector Springer's team, nor Captain Mubbers', seemed to be getting the upper hand. More tables were turned over.
The Duke of Queens took careful note of the police uniforms. "Does this happen every evening? Presumably the Lat are a new addition to the programme?"
"I think the best they've done in the past are drunken revels of the conventional sort," said Mr. Jackson. "Though they are not so very different in essence, I suppose."
"The Cafe is well known," Donna Isobella was explaining to an intensely interested Bishop Castle, "for its Bohemian clientele. It is rather less formal than most restaurants of its class."
There came a queer whizzing noise now and a flash of light which blinded them all, then Brannart Morphail was hanging near the ceiling in a harness of pulsing yellow, with what appeared to be two rapidly spinning discs upon his back, threatening to collide with a large crystal chandelier. His medical boot waved back and forth in an agitated way as he slapped at part of the harness near his shoulder, evidently finding difficulty in controlling the machine.