"I'm not sure I entirely follow you, Mr. Carnelian. However, please go on." Mr. Jackson continued to take notes.
"If you publish all this, Mr. Carnelian will be judged thoroughly mad," said Mrs. Underwood quietly.
"If you tell enough people what I have told you — it will send us off into the future again, probably." Jherek offered Mr. Jackson an intelligent stare. "Wouldn't it, Jagged?"
Mr. Jackson said apologetically. "I'm still not quite with you. However, just keep talking and I'll keep taking notes."
"I don't think I'll say anything for a while," said Jherek. "I must think this over."
"Mr. Jackson could help us, if he would accept the truth," said Mrs. Underwood. "But if he is of the same opinion as Mr. Harris…"
"I am a reporter," said Mr. Jackson. "I keep my theories to myself, Mrs. Underwood. All I wish to do is my job. If you had some proof, for instance…"
"Show him that odd-looking gun you have, Mr. Carnelian."
Jherek felt in the pocket of his coat and pulled the deceptor-gun out. "It's hardly proof," he said.
"It is certainly a very bizarre design," said Mr. Jackson, inspecting it.
He was holding it in his hands when there came a knocking on the door and a voice bellowed:
"Open this door! Open in the name of the Law!"
"The police!" Mrs. Underwood's hand went to her mouth. "Mr. Harris has betrayed us!"
The door shook as heavy bodies flung themselves against it.
Mr. Jackson got up slowly, handing back the gun to Jherek. "I think we had better let them in," he said.
"You knew they were coming!" cried Mrs. Underwood accusingly. "Oh, we have been deceived on all sides."
"I doubt if Mr. Harris knew. On the other hand, you were brought here in an ordinary cab. The police could have discovered the address from the cabby. It's rather typical of Frank Harris to forget, as it were, those all-important details."
Mr. Jackson called out: "Wait one moment, please. We are about to unlock the door!" He smiled encouragingly at Mrs. Underwood as he undid the catch and flung the door wide. "Good afternoon, inspector."
A man in a heavy ulster, with a small bowler hat fixed rigidly upon the top of his rocklike head, walked with massive bovine dignity into the room. He looked about him, he sniffed rather as Mrs. Underwood had sniffed; pointedly, he looked neither at Jherek Carnelian nor at Mrs. Underwood. Then he said:
"Herr-um!"
He wheeled, a cunning rhino, his finger jutting forward like a menacing horn, until it was quite close to Jherek's nose. "You 'im?"
"Who?"
"Mayfair Killer?"
"No." Jherek inched backwards.
"Thought not." He fingered a thoroughly well-waxed moustache. "I'm Inspector Springer." He brought bushy brows down over deep, brooding eyes. "Of Scotland Yard," he said. " Heard of me, 'ave you?"
"I'm afraid not," said Jherek.
"I deal with politicals, with aliens, with disruptive forrin' elements — an' I deal with 'em extremely firm ."
"So you believe it, too!" Mrs. Underwood rose. "You are mistaken in your suspicions, inspector."
"We'll see," said Inspector Springer cryptically. He raised a finger and cocked it, ordering four or five uniformed men into the room. "I know my anarchists, lady. All three of yer have that particular look abart yer. We're going' to do some very thorough checkin' indeed. Very thorough."
"You're on the wrong track, I think," said Mr. Jackson. "I'm a journalist. I was interviewing these people and…"
"So you say, sir. Wrong track, eh? Well, we'll soon get on the right one, never fear." He looked at the deceptor-gun and stretched out his hand to receive it. "Give me that there weapon," he said. "It don't look English ter me ."
"I think you'd better fire it, Jherek," said Mr. Jackson softly. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of choice."
"Fire it, Jagged?"
Mr. Jackson shrugged. "I think so."
Jherek pulled the trigger. "There's only about one charge left in it…"
The room in Bloomsbury Square was suddenly occupied by fifteen warriors of the late Cannibal Empire period. Their triangular faces were painted green, their bodies blue, and they were naked save for bangles and necklaces of small skulls and finger-bones. In their hands were long spears with barbed, rusted points, and spiked clubs. They were female. As they grinned, they revealed yellow, filed teeth.
"I knew you was ruddy anarchists!" said Inspector Springer triumphantly.
His men had fallen back to the door, but Inspector Springer held his ground. "Arrest them!" he ordered severely.
The green and blue lady warriors gibbered and seemed to advance upon him. They licked calloused lips.
"This way," whispered Mr. Jackson, leading Jherek and Mrs. Underwood into the bedroom. He opened a window and climbed out onto a small balcony. They joined him as he balanced for a moment on one balustrade and then jumped gracefully to the next. A flight of steps had been built up to this adjoining balcony and it was an easy matter to descend by means of the steps to the ground. Mr. Jackson strolled through a small yard and opened a gate in a wall which led into a secluded, leafy street.
"Jagged — it must be you. You knew what the deceptor-gun would do!"
"My dear fellow," said Mr. Jackson coolly, "I merely realized that you possessed a weapon and that it could be useful to us in our predicament."
"Where do we go now?" Mrs. Underwood asked in a small, pathetic voice.
"Oh, Jagged will help us get back to the future," Jherek told her confidently. "Won't you, Jagged?"
Mr. Jackson seemed faintly amused. "Even if I were this friend of yours, there would be no reason to assume, surely, that I can skip back and forth through time at will, any more than can you!"
"I had not considered that," said Jherek. "You are merely an experimenter, then? An experimenter little further advanced in your investigations than am I?"
Mr. Jackson said nothing.
"And are we part of that experiment, Lord Jagged?" Jherek continued. "Are my experiences proving of help to you?"
Mr. Jackson shrugged. "I could enjoy our conversations better," he said, "if we were in a more secure position. Now we are, all three, 'on the run.' I suggest we repair to my rooms in Soho and there review our situation. I will contact Mr. Harris and get fresh instructions. This, of course, will prove embarrassing for him, too!" He led the way through the back streets. It was evening and the sun was beginning to set.
Mrs. Underwood fell back a step or two, tugging at Jherek's sleeve. "I believe that we are being duped," she whispered. "For some reason, we are being used to further the ends of either Mr. Harris or Mr. Jackson or both. We might stand a better chance on our own, since obviously the police do not believe, any longer, that you are an escaped murderer."
"They believe me an anarchist, instead. Isn't that worse?"
"Luckily, not in the eyes of the Law."
"Then where can we go?"
"Do you know where this Mr. Wells lives?"
"Yes, the Cafe Royale. I saw him there."
"Then we must try to get back to the Cafe Royale. He does not live there, exactly, Mr. Carnelian — but we can hope that he spends a great deal of his time there."
"You must explain the difference to me," he said.
Ahead of them Mr. Jackson was hailing a cab, but when he turned to tell them to get in, they were already in another street and running as fast as their weary legs would carry them.
17. A Particularly Memorable Night at the Cafe Royale