It was dark by the time Mrs. Underwood had managed to find her way to the Cafe Royale. They had kept to the back streets after she had, in a second-hand clothing shop near the British Museum, purchased a large, tattered shawl for herself and a moth-eaten raglan to cover Jherek's ruined suit. Now, she had assured him, they looked like any other couple belonging to the London poor. It was true that they no longer attracted any attention. It was not until they tried to go through the doors of the Cafe Royale that they found themselves once again in difficulties. As they entered a waiter came rushing up. He spoke in a quiet, urgent and commanding voice. "Shove off, the pair of yer! My word, I never thought I'd see the day beggars got so bloomin' bold!"
There were not many customers in the restaurant, but those who were there had begun to comment.
"Shove off, will yer!" said the waiter in a louder voice. "I'll git the peelers on yer…" He had gone quite red in the face.
Jherek Carnelian ignored him, for he had seen Frank Harris sitting at a small table in the company of a lady of exotic appearance. She wore a bright carmine dress, trimmed with black lace, a black mantilla, and had several silver combs in her raven hair. She was laughing in a rather high-pitched, artificial way at something Mr. Harris had just said.
"Mr. Harris!" called Jherek Carnelian.
"Mr. Harris !" Mrs. Underwood said fiercely. Undaunted by the agitated waiters, she began to stalk towards the table. "I should appreciate a word with you, sir!"
"Oh, my God!" Mr. Harris groaned. "I thought you were still … How? Oh, my God!"
The lady in carmine turned to see what was happening. Her lips matched her dress. In a rather frigid tone she said: "This lady is a friend of yours, Mr. Harris?"
He clutched for his companion's hand. "Donna Isobella, I assure you — two people I gave my protection to — um…"
"Your protection , Mr. Harris, seems worth very little." Mrs. Underwood looked Donna Isobella up and down. "Is this, then, the highly placed person with whom I understood you to be in conference?"
There came a chorus of complaints from other tables. The waiter seized Jherek Carnelian by the arm. Jherek, mildly surprised, stared down at him. "Yes?"
"You must leave, sir. I can see now that you are a gentleman — but you are improperly dressed…"
"It is all I have," said Jherek. "My power rings, you see, are useless here."
"I don't understand…"
Kindly, Jherek showed the waiter his remaining rings. "They all have slightly different functions. This one is chiefly used for biological restructuring. This one…"
"Oh, my God!" said Mr. Harris again.
A new voice interrupted. It was excited and loud. "There they are! I told you we should find them in this sinkhole of iniquity!"
Mr. Underwood did not appear to have slept for some time. He still wore the suit Jherek had seen him in the previous night. His hay-coloured hair was still in disarray. His pince-nez clung lopsidedly to his nose.
Behind Mr. Underwood stood Inspector Springer and his men. They looked a little dazed.
Several customers got up and called for their hats and coats. Only Mr. Harris and Donna Isobella remained seated. Mr. Harris had his head in his hands. Donna Isobella was staring brightly around her smiling at everyone now. Silver flashed; carmine rustled. She seemed pleased by the interruption.
"Seize them!" demanded Mr. Underwood.
"Harold," began Mrs. Underwood, "there has been a terrible mistake! I am not the woman you believe me to be!"
"To be sure, madam! To be sure!"
"I mean that I am innocent of the sins with which you charge me, my dear!"
"Ha!"
Inspector Springer and his men began to weave their way somewhat warily towards the small group on the far side of the restaurant, while Harold Underwood brought up the rear.
Mr. Harris was trying to recover his position with Donna Isobella. "My connection with these people is only of the most slender, Donna Isobella."
"No matter how slender, I wish to meet them," she said. "Introduce us, please, Frank!"
It was when the Lat brigand-musicians materialized that many of the waiters left with the few customers who had remained.
Captain Mubbers, his instrument at the ready, stared distractedly around him. The pupils of his single eye began slowly to focus. "Ferkit!" he growled belligerently, at no one in particular. "Kroofrudi!"
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!"