The small sandy-haired man unscrewed the ebony and glass object from his right eye and sucked somewhat noisily at his teeth. "Funny," he said. "It's a cut above yer usual paste. I'll give ya that much.
But it's no more a real ruby than the kind ya kin by fer a shillin' in the market. Settin's nice, though, I can't recognize the metal. Well, 'ow much d'yer wanna borrow on it?" He held out Jherek's power ring on the palm of his hand.
Mrs. Underwood stood nervously beside Jherek at the counter. "A sovereign?"
"I dunno." He looked at it again. "It's a curiosity, an' beautiful workmanship, I'll grant … But what do I risk? Fifteen bob?"
"Very well," said Mrs. Underwood. She accepted the money on Jherek's behalf. He was half-stupefied by the negotiations, having no clear idea of what was taking place. He didn't mind losing a power ring, for he could easily get another on his return and they were useless here, but he could not quite understand why Mrs. Underwood was giving it to this man and why the man was giving her something in exchange. She accepted a ticket and tucked it into his top pocket.
They left the shop and entered a busy street. "Luckily it's market day and we shan't be too noticeable," said Mrs. Underwood. "Gypsies and so on will be about, as well." Carts and carriages jammed the narrow roadway and a couple of motor cars added to the confusion, their fumes giving rise to a great deal of pointed coughing and loud complaints from those on foot. "We'll have something to eat at the station buffet, while we are waiting for the train. Once in London, we'll go straight to the Café Royale and hope that one of your friends is there. It is our only chance." She walked as rapidly as possible up the winding pavement of the country street, turning into an alley blocked by two posts; the alley became a series of stone steps. They climbed them and found themselves in a much quieter road.
"The station's this way, I believe," she said. "It is a stroke of luck that we were so close to Orpington."
They approached a green and red building. It was indeed, the railway station and Mrs. Underwood marched boldly to the ticket office and bought them two Second Class single tickets to Charing Cross.
"We have twenty minutes to wait," she said, glancing at the clock over the ticket office, "ample time for refreshments. And," she added in an undertone, "there are no police in evidence. We appear for the moment to have made good our escape."
It was Jherek's first encounter with the cheese sandwich. He found it rather hard going, but he made the most of the experience, telling himself that, after all, he might not have the chance again. He enjoyed the tea, finding it rather nicer than the beverage he had had at Mrs. Underwood's, and when, at last, the train came steaming into the station he cried out in delight: "It is just like my own little engine at home!"
Mrs. Underwood seemed embarrassed. Some of the other people in the refreshment room were looking at Jherek and whispering among themselves. But Jherek hardly noticed.
He was dragging Mrs. Underwood eagerly through the doors and onto the platform.
"Orping ton," called a thin man in a dark uniform. " Or pington!"
Jherek waited impatiently for some passengers to leave their carriage and he climbed in, nodding and smiling to those who were already seated.
"Isn't it splendid?" he said to her as they sat down. "Ancient transport has always been one of my chief enthusiasms — as you know."
"Please try to say as little as possible," she begged him in a whisper. She had already warned him that the newspapers would have published reports of their adventures of the previous night. He apologized and settled back, but he could not resist peering animatedly out of the windows at the scenery as it went past.
Mrs. Underwood seemed particularly distraught by the time they reached Charing Cross. Before leaving the carriage, she leaned out of the open window and then waited until all the other passengers had gone before saying to Jherek: "I cannot see any sign that the police are waiting for us. But we must hurry."
They joined the crowds making their way towards the barriers at the far end of the platforms and here even Jherek was conscious that they did not quite look the same as the others. Mrs. Underwood's dress was muddy, crumpled and torn in a couple of places; also she wore no hat, whereas all the other ladies had hats, veils, sunshades and coats. Jherek's black coat was stained and as battered as Mrs.
Underwood's dress and he had a large hole in the knee of his left trouser leg. As they reached the gate and handed their tickets to the collector, they attracted some comment as well as disapproving glances.
And it was Jherek who saw the policeman come walking ponderously towards them, his tongue thoughtfully stroking his lower lip, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Run, Mrs. Underwood!" he shouted urgently.
And then it was too late for her to brazen out the confrontation for the policeman was saying: "By Golly, it is them!" and was beginning to pull a whistle from his pocket.
They dashed for the exit, blundering first into a very large woman carrying a basket and leading a very small black and white dog on a piece of string, who cried " 'ere, watch it!" rather too late; then into two maiden ladies who cackled like startled hens and said a great deal concerning the manners of the young; and lastly into a stout stockbroker in a hat of exaggerated height and sleekness, who grunted
"Bless my soul!" and sat down on a fruitstall so that the fruitstall collapsed and sent apples, grapefruit, oranges and pineapples rolling about in all directions, causing the policeman to interrupt his attempts to blow his whistle as he dodged a veritable Niagara of pears, calling after them: "Stop there! Stop, I say, in the name of the Law!"
Outside the station they found themselves in the Strand and now Jherek saw something leaning against a wall on the corner of Villiers Street.
"Look!, Mrs. Underwood — we are saved. A time machine!"
"That, Mr. Carnelian, is a tandem bicycle."
He already had his hands on it and was trying to straddle it as he had seen the others do.
"We would do better to hail a cab," she said.
"Get aboard quickly. Can you see any controls?"
With a sigh, she took the remaining saddle, in the front. "We had best head for Regent Street. It is not far, happily. The other side of Piccadilly. At least this will prove to you, once and for all, that…"
Her voice was lost as they hurtled into the press of the traffic, weaving between trams and omnibuses, between horses and motor cars and causing both to come to sudden stops and stand stock still in the middle of the road, panting and shuddering.
Jherek, expecting to see the scene vanish at any moment, paid little attention to the confusion happening around them. He was having a great deal of trouble keeping his balance upon the time machine.
"It will be soon!" he cried into her ear, "it must be soon!" And he pedalled harder. All that happened was that the machine lurched onto the pavement, shot across Trafalgar Square at considerable speed, up the Haymarket, and was in Leicester Square almost before they had realized it. Here Jherek fell off the tandem, to the vast entertainment of a crowd of street urchins hanging about outside the doors of the Empire Theatre of Varieties.
"It doesn't seem to work," he said.
Mrs. Underwood informed him that she had told him so. She now had a large tear in the hem of her dress where it had caught in the chain. However, for the moment, they did not appear to have the police on their trail.
"Quickly," she said, "and let us pray to heaven that someone who knows you is in the Café Royale!"
Heads turned as they ran across Piccadilly Circus and arrived at last at the doors of the Café Royale which Jherek had last visited less than twenty-four hours before. Mrs. Underwood pushed at the doors, but they would not budge. "Oh goodness!" she said in despair. "It's closed!"
"Closed?" said Jherek. He pressed his face to the glass. He could see people inside. He signed to them, but they shook their hands from side to side and pointed at the clock.
"Closed," sighed Mrs. Underwood. She uttered a funny, toneless laugh. "Well, that's it! We're finished!"
"Hey!" called someone. They turned, ready to run, but it was not the police. From the great tide of traffic converging upon Piccadilly Circus they distinguished a hansom cab, its driver seated high in the rear of the vehicle, his face expressionless. "Hi!" said a voice from within the cab.
"Mr. Harris!" called Jherek, recognizing the face. "We were hoping you would be in the Café Royale."
"Get in!" hissed Harris. "Hurry. Both of you."
Mrs. Underwood lost no time in accepting his offer and soon the three of them were crammed in the cab and it was jogging around the Circus and back towards Leicester Square.
"You are the young man I saw yesterday," said Harris in triumph. "I thought so. This is a bit of luck."
"Luck for us, Mr. Harris," said Mrs. Underwood, "but not for you if your part in this is discovered."
"Oh, I've bluffed my way out of worse situations," he said. He laughed easily. "Besides, I'm a journalist first and foremost — and we newshounds are permitted a certain amount of leeway when obtaining a really tip-top story. I'm not just helping you out of altruism, you know. I read the papers today. They're saying that you're the Mayfair Killer come back from the dead to be reunited with your — um — paramour!" Mr. Harris's eyes gleamed. "What's your version? You certainly bear a striking resemblance to the Killer. I saw a drawing in one of the papers when the trial was taking place. And you, young lady, were a witness for the defence at the trial, were you not?"
She looked at Mr. Harris a little suspiciously. It seemed to Jherek that she did not altogether like the bluff, rapid-speaking editor of the Saturday Review.
He saw that she hesitated and raised his hand. "Say no more at this stage! What reason, after all, have you to trust me." With his stick he opened a hatch at the top of the cab. "I have changed my mind, cabby. Take us, instead to Bloomsbury Square." He let the flap fall back and turning to them said, "I have rooms there where you will be safe for the moment."
"Why are you helping us, Mr. Harris?"
"I want an exclusive of your story, ma'am, for one thing. Also, there were facts about the Mayfair case which never seemed to fit right. I am curious to know what you can tell me."
"You could help us with the Law?" Hope now overcame her caution.
"I have many friends," said Mr. Harris, stroking his chin with the head of his cane, "in the Law. I am on intimate terms with several High Court Judges, Queen's Counsels — eminent lawyers of all descriptions. I think you could call me a man of influence, ma'am."
"Then we may yet be saved," said Mrs. Underwood.