"No. He was on some business of his father's at the Rose and Crown . He was telling me that he invented time machines. A hobby, I gather. He does not manufacture them, but leaves that to others. I had meant to ask him for the name of a craftsman who could build one for us. It will make our return much easier."
"Mr. Carnelian, I have returned — for good. This is my home."
He looked critically about him. "It is smaller than our home. It has a trace or two more authenticity, I'll grant you, but it lacks a certain life, wouldn't you say? Perhaps I should not mention Mr. Underwood's failings, but it would seem to me he could have given you a little more." He lost interest in the subject and began to feel in his pockets, to see if he had brought something which could be a gift, but all he had was the deceptor-gun Nurse had handed back to him shortly before he had begun his journey. "I know that you like bunches of flowers and water closets and so forth (you see, I have remembered every detail of what you told me) but I forgot to make some flowers, and a water closet, of course, might have proved too bulky an object to carry through time. However," and he had a revelation as he began to tug off his nicest power ring, a ruby, "if you would accept this, I would be more than happy."
"I cannot accept gifts of any sort from you, Mr. Carnelian. How should I explain it to my husband?"
"Explain that I had given you something? Would that be necessary?"
"Oh, please, please go!" She started as she heard a movement in the passage outside. "It is he!" She stared wildly around the room. "Remember," she said in an urgent whisper, "what I told you."
"I will try, but I don't understand…"
The door of the sitting room opened and a man of average height entered.
Mr. Underwood wore a pair of pince-nez upon his nose. His hay-coloured hair was parted firmly in the middle. His high, white collar pressed mercilessly into his pink neck and the knot of his tie was so tight and small as to be almost microscopic. He was unbuttoning his jacket with the air of a man removing protective clothing in an environment which might not be altogether safe. Precisely, he put down a black book he had carried in with him. Precisely, he raised his eyebrows and, with precision, brushed back a hair which had strayed loose from his perfectly symmetrical moustache. "Good evening," he said with only a hint of enquiry. He acknowledged the presence of his wife. "My dear."
"Good evening, Harold. Harold, this is Mr. Carnelian. He has just come from the Antipodes, where his father and mine, as you might recall, were missionaries."
"Carnelian? An unusual name, sir. Yet, as I remember, the same as that felon's who…"
"His brother," said Mrs. Underwood. "I was commiserating with him as you entered."
"A dreadful business," Mr. Underwood glanced at a newspaper on the sideboard with the eye of a hunter who sees his quarry disappearing from bowshot. He sighed and perhaps he smiled. "My wife was very brave, you know, in offering to speak for the defence. Great risk of scandal. I was only telling Mr. Griggs, at the Bible Meeting tonight, that if we all had such courage in following the teachings of our conscience we might come considerably closer to the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven."
"Ha, ha," said Mrs. Underwood. "You are very kind, Harold. I only did my duty."
"We do not all have your fortitude, my dear. She is an admirable woman, is she not, Mr. Carnelian?"
"Without doubt," said Jherek feelingly. He stared with unashamed curiosity at his rival. "The most wonderful woman in your world — in any world, Mr. Underwood."
"Um, yes," said Mr. Underwood. "You are, of course, grateful for the sacrifice she made. Your enthusiasm is understandable…"
"Sacrifice?" Jherek turned to Mrs. Underwood. "I was not aware that this society practised such rites? Whom did you…?"
"You have been away from England a long time, sir?" asked Mr. Underwood.
"This is my second visit," Jherek told him.
"Aha!" Mr. Underwood seemed satisfied by the explanation. "In the darkest depths of the jungle, eh? Bringing light to the savage mind."
"I was in a forest…" said Jherek.
"He only recently heard of his brother's sad fate," broke in Mrs. Underwood.
Jherek could not understand why she kept interrupting them. He felt he was getting on quite well with Mr. Underwood; getting on rather better, in truth, than he had expected.
"Have you offered Mr. Carnelian some refreshment, my dear?" Mr. Underwood's pince-nez glinted as he looked about the room. "We are, needless to say, teetotallers here, Mr. Carnelian. But if you would care for some tea…?"
Mrs. Underwood pulled enthusiastically at a bell-rope. "What a good idea!" she cried.
Maude Emily appeared almost immediately and was instructed to bring tea and biscuits for the three of them. She looked from Mr. Underwood to Jherek Carnelian and back again. The look was significant and cause the faintest expression of panic in Mrs. Underwood's otherwise resolutely set features.
"Tea!" said Jherek as Maude Emily left. "I don't believe I've ever had it. Or did we —"
This time, inadvertently, Mr. Underwood came to his wife's rescue. "Never had tea, what? Oh, then this is a treat you cannot miss! You must spend most of your time away from civilization, Mr. Carnelian."
"From this one, yes."
Mr. Underwood removed his pince-nez. From his pocket he took a large, white handkerchief. He polished the pince-nez. "I take your meaning, sir," he said gravely. "Who are we to accuse the poor savage of his lack of culture, when we live in such Godless times ourselves?"
"Godless? I was under the impression that this was a Religious Age."
"Mr. Carnelian, you are misinformed, I fear. Your faith is allowed to blossom unchecked, no doubt, as you sit in some far-off native hut, with only your Bible and Our Lord for company. But the distractions one has to contend with in this England of ours are enough to make one give up altogether and look to the consolations of the High Church. Why," his voice dropped, "I knew a man, a resident of Bromley, who came very close once to turning towards Rome ."
"He could not find Bromley?" Jherek laughed, glad that he and Mr. Underwood were getting on so well. "I had a great deal of trouble myself. If I had not met a Mr. Wells at a place called, as I remember, the Cafe Royale, I should still be looking for it!"
" The Cafe Royale! " hissed Mr. Underwood, in much the same tone as he had said "Rome." He replaced his pince-nez and stared hard at Jherek Carnelian.
"I had become lost…" Jherek began to explain.
"Who has not, before he enters the door of that gateway to the underworld?"
"…and met someone who had lived in Bromley."
"No longer, I trust?"
"So I gathered."
Mr. Underwood breathed a sigh of relief. "Mr. Carnelian," he said, "you would do well to remember the fate of your poor brother. Doubtless he was as innocent as you when he first came to London. I beg you to remember that not for nothing has it been called Satan's Own City!"
"Who would this Mr. Satan be?" asked Jherek conversationally. "You see, I was re-creating the city and it would be useful to have the advice of one who…"
"Maude Emily!" sang Mrs. Underwood, as if greeting the sight of land after many days in an open boat. "The tea!" She turned to them. "The tea is here!"
"Ah, the tea," said Mr. Underwood, but he was frowning as he mulled over Jherek's latest words. Even Jherek had the idea that he had somehow said the wrong thing, in spite of being so careful — not that he felt there was very much point in Mrs. Underwood's deception. All he needed to do, really, was to explain the problem to Mr. Underwood (who plainly did not share his passion for Mrs. Underwood) and Mr. Underwood would accept that he, Jherek, was likely to be far happier with Mrs. Underwood. Mr. Underwood could remain here (with Maude Emily, perhaps) and Mrs. Underwood would leave with him, Jherek.