Sergeant Sherwood returned with a stately-looking middle-aged man in a black tailcoat and a tall black hat. Recognizing him, Inspector Springer saluted. " 'Ere they are for you, sir. I don't mind admitting it took some doing to nab 'em, but nabbed they are!"
The stately man nodded and cast a cold eye, on Lat, on Jherek, heaving a sigh. He allowed no expression to come to his face as he inspected the Iron Orchid, the Duke of Queens, Bishop Castle, My Lady Charlotina, Donna Isobella and Mrs. Underwood. It was only when he took a close glance at Mr. Jackson's face that he breathed a barely heard: "Good heavens!"
"Good evening, Munroe — or is it morning, yet?" Jagged seemed amused. "How's the Minister?"
"Is it you, Jagger?"
"I'm afraid so."
"But, how —?"
"Ask the inspector here, my dear chap."
"Inspector?"
"A friend of yours, sir?"
"You do not recognize Lord Charles Jagger?"
"But…" said Inspector Springer.
"I told you it was," said Jherek in triumph to Mrs. Underwood, but she silenced him.
"Did you explain anything to the inspector, Jagger?"
"It's not really his fault, but he was so convinced we were all mixed up in this business that there was no point in trying to get through to him. I thought it best to wait."
Munroe smiled sourly. "And got me from my bed."
"There's the Latvians, sir," said Inspector Springer eagerly, "at least."
Munroe made a stately turn and looked sternly at the Lat. "Ah, yes. Not friends of yours, are they Jagger?"
"Not at all. Inspector Springer has done a good job there. The rest of us — all my guests — were dining at the Cafe Royale. As you know, I take an interest in the arts…"
"Of course. There is no more to be said."
"So you're not even a bloomin' anarchist?" complained Inspector Springer moodily to Jherek. "Just a well-connected loony." And he uttered a deep sigh.
"Inspector!" admonished the stately gentleman.
"Sorry, sir."
"Ferkit!" said Captain Mubbers from his corner. He seemed to be addressing Munroe. "Gloo, mibix?"
"Ugh," said Munroe.
None of the Lat seemed to have taken their imprisonment well. They sat in a sad little group on the floor of the cell, picking their huge noses, scratching their oddly shaped heads.
"Did you have any reason to suspect Lord Jagger and his friends, inspector?" asked Munroe distantly.
"Well, no, sir, except — well, even that wasn't … these green and blue women, sir —" Inspector Springer subsided. "No, sir."
"They have not been charged?"
"Not yet — er, no, sir."
"They can go?"
"Yes, sir."
"There you are, Jagger."
"Thank you, Munroe."
"This other business," said Munroe, waving his stick at the disconsolate aliens, "can wait until morning. I hope you have plenty of evidence for me, inspector."
"Oh, yes, sir," said Inspector Springer. In his eyes there was no light of pleasurable anticipation in the future. He stared hopelessly at the Lat. "They're definitely forrin', sir, for a start."
As they all entered the wide avenue of Whitehall, Lord Jagger's friend Munroe lifted his hat to the ladies. "My compliments on your costumes," he said. "It must have been a marvellous ball if they were all as fine. See you at the club, perhaps, Jagger?"
"Perhaps tomorrow," said Jagged.
Munroe made his stately way up Whitehall.
Light began to touch the tall buildings.
"Oh, look!" cried My Lady Charlotina. "It's a proper old-fashioned dawn. A real one!"
The Duke of Queens clapped Jherek on the shoulder. "Beautiful!"
Jherek still felt he had earned the Duke's esteem rather cheaply, considering that he had done nothing at all to produce the sunrise, but he could not help indulging an immensely satisfying sense of identification with the wonders of the 19th century world, so again he shook his head modestly, but allowed the Duke to continue with his praise.
"Smell that air!" exclaimed the Duke of Queens. "A thousand rich scents mingle in it! Ah!" He strode ahead of the others who followed him as he turned along the embankment, admiring the river with its flotsam, its barges, its sheen of oil, all grey in the early dawn.
Jherek said to Mrs. Underwood. "Will you now admit that you love me, Mrs. Underwood? I gather that your connection with Mr. Underwood is at an end?"
"He seems to think so." She sighed. "I did my best."
"Your singing was marvellous."
"He must have been fairly unstable to begin with," she said. "However, I must blame myself for what happened."
She seemed unwilling to speak further and, tactfully, Jherek shared her silence.
A tug-boat hooted from the river. Some gulls flapped upwards into a sky of soft and glowing gold, the trees lining the embankment rustled as if awakening to the new day. The others, some distance in front of Jherek and Mrs. Underwood, commented on this aspect and that of the city.
"What a perfect ending to our picnic," said the Iron Orchid to Lord Jagged. "When shall we be going back, do you know?"
"Soon," he said, "I would think."
Eventually, they left the embankment and turned into a street Jherek knew. He touched Mrs. Underwood's arm. "Do you recognize the building?"
"Yes," she murmured, her mind evidently on other things, "it is the Old Bailey, where they tried you."
"Look, Jagged!" called Jherek. "Remember?"
Lord Jagged, too, seemed abstracted. He nodded.
Laughing and chattering, the party passed the Old Bailey and paused to wonder at the next aspect of the period which had caught their fancy.
"St. Paul's Cathedral," said Donna Isobella, clinging to Bishop Castle's arm. "Haven't you seen it before?"
"Oh, we must go in!"
It was then that Lord Jagged lifted his sensitive head and paused, like a fox catching wind of its hunters. He raised a hand, and Jherek and Mrs. Underwood hesitated, watching as the others ran up the steps.
"A remarkable —" Bishop Castle vanished. The Iron Orchid began to laugh and then she, too, vanished. My Lady Charlotina took a step backward, and vanished. And then the Duke of Queens, his expression amused and expectant, vanished.
Donna Isobella sat down on the steps and screamed.
They could hear Donna Isobella's screams from several streets away as Lord Jagged led them hurriedly into a maze of little cobbled alleys. "We'll be next, if we're not lucky," he said. "Morphail Effect bound to manifest itself. My own fault — absolutely my own fault. Quickly…"
"Where are we going, Jagged?"
"Time machine. The one you originally came in. Repaired. Ready to go. But the fluctuations caused by recent comings and goings could have produced serious consequences. Brannart knew what he was talking about. Hurry!"
"I am not sure," said Mrs. Underwood, "that I wish to accompany either of you. You have caused me considerable pain, you know, not to mention…"
"Mrs. Underwood," said Lord Jagged of Canaria softly, "you have no choice. The alternative is dreadful, I assure you."
Convinced by his tone, she said nothing further for the moment.
They came to an alley full of bleak, festering buildings close to the river. At the far end of the alley, a few men were beginning to move boxes onto a cart. They could see the glint of the dirty Thames water.
"I feel faint," complained Mrs. Underwood. "I cannot keep us this pace, Mr. Jackson. I have had no sleep to speak of in two nights."
"We are there," he said. He took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock of a door of mouldering oak. The door creaked as he pushed it inward. Lord Jagged closed the door, reached up to take an oil lamp from a hook. He struck a match and lit the lamp.