The daughter, while nowhere near as large as her brother, was an equally arresting sight. Long skeins of purple and blue false hair hung down around her face. Her make-up was astonishing, and for some reason, a small ring protruded from one nostril, purpose unknown. Luke wondered briefly if perhaps her mother clipped a dog lead to it and took her out for walkies.

She was gazing at Luke with an alarming expression – well, it was alarming him, anyway. Too late he remembered the AI statistics concerning the lack of young men in this area.

‘Are you really a policeman? That must be so exciting.’

Her brother intervened. ‘Kylie, don’t talk to them.’

‘Why – what’s going on?’

‘You don’t talk to the pigs. Remember?’

‘Dear God,’ said Luke, staring around and visibly appalled. ‘Do you actually keep livestock in the house?’

‘I think,’ said Ellis, drily, ‘you’ll find he’s referring to us.’

Luke leaned insolently against the mantelpiece and took his time looking Plimpton junior up and down. ‘They’re calling us pigs? Have you seen the size of them? Have they seen the size of them?’

The younger Plimpton took a hasty step towards him. Luke straightened up. ‘Bring it on, buster.’

‘Enough, Parrish.’

‘So we’re allowed to shoot them but not insult them?’

‘I said, enough.’ He turned to the younger Plimptons. ‘We’ll call you if we need a statement.’

Magic words. Pausing only to heap his plate with a gravity-defying pile of food, Dwayne disappeared upstairs. His sister lingered in the doorway, peered at Luke through her hair, smiled in what she probably imagined was a beguiling manner and returned whence she had come. Ten seconds later, the music started up again. It would seem that if you wanted to kiss the sky, you’d better learn how to kneel. On your knees, boy!

Matthew, who never missed an opportunity to eat everything put in front of him – Jane had no idea how he stayed so skinny – finished everything on the plates and when it was all gone, Mrs Plimpton disappeared back into the kitchen with the tray.

The room seemed to draw a deep breath.

‘Bearing in mind this is a training mission,’ said Ellis, ‘I invite you to submit your reasons for taking Mr Plimpton into custody.’

‘He broke the law,’ said Lockland, red-faced but determined.

‘Illegal time machine,’ said Farrell.

‘His dogs bit me,’ said Parrish.

‘Are there any reasons for not taking him into custody?’

A thoughtful silence fell.

‘Don’t want a pod full of Plimptons,’ said Parrish.

‘He won’t do it again,’ said Jane, quietly.

Matthew looked at the cowed figure in the armchair. ‘Actually . . .’ He stopped.

‘Yes, Farrell?’

‘Actually, sir, I think perhaps we should leave him here.’

‘Because . . . ?’

‘So we can keep an eye on him. Whoever sent him the crate might try to contact him again.’

‘Well done, Farrell. An interesting thought. A word outside, if you please, Parrish.’