"So-called."
"There does not seem much in the way of food here," he told her, "but there are lots of bottles. Would you like something to drink?"
"No thank you, Mr. Carnelian. Unless there is some mineral water."
"You had better look for yourself, Mrs. Underwood. I don't know which is which."
Hesitantly, she entered the bedroom and surveyed the wide selection on a small sideboard set against the wall. "Mrs. Harris appears to have a distaste for Adam's Ale," she said. Her head lifted as there came a knocking upon the outer door. "Who could that be?"
"Mr. Harris returning earlier than expected?"
"Possibly. Open the door, Mr. Carnelian, but have a care. I do not entirely trust your journalist friend."
Jherek had some difficulty with the catch and the light knocking sounded again before he had the door open. When he saw who stood there, he grinned with relief and pleasure. "Oh, Jagged, dear Jagged! At last! It is you!"
The handsome man in the doorway removed his hat. "The name," he said, "is Jackson. I believe I saw you briefly last night at the Cafe Royale? You would be Mr. Carnelian."
"Come in, devious Jagged!"
With a slight bow to Mrs. Underwood, who stood now in the centre of the sitting room, Lord Jagged of Canaria entered. "You would be Mrs. Underwood? My name is Jackson. I work for the Saturday Review . Mr. Harris sent me to take some shorthand notes. He will join us later."
"You are the judge!" she exclaimed. "You are Lord Jagger, who sentenced Mr. Carnelian to death!"
The man who claimed to be Mr. Jackson raised his eyebrows as, with a delicate movement, he divested himself of his top-coat and laid it, together with his hat, gloves and stick, upon the table. "Mr. Harris warned me that you would still be a little agitated. It is understandable, madam, in the circumstances. I assure you that I am neither of the two men so far mentioned. I am merely Jackson — a journalist. My job is to put some basic questions to you. Mr. Harris sent his regards and said that he is doing everything in his power to contact someone in high places — who must for the moment be nameless — in the hope that they will be able to assist you."
"You bear a remarkable resemblance to the Lord Chief Justice," she said.
"So I have been told. But I am neither as eminent nor as talented as that gentleman to my regret."
Jherek was laughing. "Listen to him! Isn't he perfect!"
"Mr. Carnelian," she said, "I think you are making a mistake. You will embarrass Mr. Jackson."
"No, no!" Mr. Jackson dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his slender hand. "We journalists are pretty hardy fellows, you know."
Jherek shrugged. "If you are not Jagged — and Jagged was not Jagger — then I must assume there are a number of Jaggeds, each playing different roles, perhaps throughout history…"
Mr. Jackson smiled and produced a notebook and a pencil. "That's the stuff," he said. "We seem to have a rival to your friend Mr. Wells, eh, Mrs. Underwood?"
"Mr. Wells is not my friend," she said.
"You know him, however, don't you — Mr. Jackson?" asked Jherek.
"Only slightly. We've had the odd conversation in the past. I've read a good many of his books, however. If your story is up to The Wonderful Visit and can be presented in the right way, then our circulation's assured!" He settled himself comfortably in a deep armchair. Jherek and Mrs. Underwood sat on the edge of the ottoman opposite him. "Now, I gather you're claiming to be the Mayfair Killer returned from the dead…"
"Not at all!" exclaimed Mrs. Underwood. "Mr. Carnelian would not kill anyone."
"Unfairly accused, then? Returned to vindicate the claim? Oh, this is splendid stuff!"
"I haven't been dead," said Jherek. "Not recently at any rate. And I don't understand about the rest."
"You are on the wrong tack, I fear, Mr. Jackson," said Mrs. Underwood primly.
"Where have you been, then, Mr. Carnelian?"
"In my own time — in Jagged's time — in the distant future, of course. I am a time traveller, just as Mrs. Underwood is." He touched her hand, but she removed it quickly. "That is how we met."
"You honestly believe that you have travelled through time, Mr. Carnelian?"
"Of course. Oh, Jagged, is there any point to this? You've already played this game once before!"
Mr. Jackson turned his attention to Mrs. Underwood. "And you say that you visited the future? That you met Mr. Carnelian there? You fell in love?"
"Mr. Carnelian was kind to me. He rescued me from imprisonment."
"Aha! And you were able to do the same for him here?"
"No. I am still not sure how he escaped death on the gallows, but escape he did — went back to his own time — then returned. Was it only last night? To Bromley."
"Your husband then called the police."
"Inadvertently, the police must have been called, yes. My husband was overexcited. Have you heard how he is, by the way?"
"I have only read the papers. He is quoted, in the more sensational sheets, as claiming that you have been leading a double-life — by day a respectable, God-fearing Bromley housewife — by night, an accomplice of thieves — 'A Female Charlie Peace' I believe you were termed in today's Police Gazette ."
"Oh, no! Then my reputation is gone for good."
Mr. Jackson inspected the cuff of his shirt. "It would seem that it would take much, Mrs. Underwood, to restore it. You know how the odour of scandal clings, long after the scandal itself is proved unfounded."
She straightened her shoulders. "It remains my duty to try to convince Harold that I am not the wanton creature he now believes me to be. It will cause him much grief if he thinks that I have been deceiving him over a period of time. I can still attempt to put his mind at rest on the issue."
"Doubtless…" murmured Mr. Jackson, and his pencil moved rapidly across the page of his notebook. "Now, could we have a description of the future?" He returned his attention to Jherek. "An Anarchist Utopia, is it, perhaps? You are an anarchist, are you not, sir?"
"I don't know what one is," said Jherek.
"He certainly is not!" cried Mrs. Underwood. "A degree of anarchy might have resulted from his actions…"
"A Socialist Utopia, then?"
"I think I follow your meaning now, Mr. Jackson," said Mrs. Underwood. "You believe Mr. Carnelian to be some kind of mad political assassin, claiming to be from an ideal future in the hope of propagating his message?"
"Well, I wondered…"
"Was this idea original to you?"
"Mr. Harris suggested —"
"I suspected as much. He did not believe a word of our story!"
"He considered it a trifle over-coloured, Mrs. Underwood. Would you not think so, if you heard it, say, from my lips!"
"I wouldn't!" smiled Jherek. "Because I know who you are."
"Do be quiet, please, Mr. Carnelian," said Mrs. Underwood. "You are in danger of confusing matters again."
"You are beginning to confuse me , I fear," said Mr. Jackson equably.
"Then we are only reciprocating, joking Jagged, the confusion you have created in us!" Jherek Carnelian got up and strode across the room. "You know that the Morphail Effect is supposed to apply in all cases of time travel to the past, whether by travellers who are returning to their own time, or those merely visiting the past from some future age."
"I'm afraid that I have not heard of this 'Morphail Effect'? Some new theory?"
Ignoring him, Jherek continued. "I now suspect that the Morphail Effect only applies in the case of those who produce a sufficient number of paradoxes to 'register' as it were upon the fabric of Time. Those who are careful to disguise their origins, to do little to make use of any information they might have of the future, are allowed to exist in the past for as long as they wish!"