Back in the pod, Ellis was snorting with laughter and even North looked amused.

Ellis pulled himself together. ‘Parrish, report.’

‘Job done, sir. Henry Plimpton is ready for collection. His time machine has been safely destroyed. Sadly, no radiation cloud is wreaking improvements on Lower Spurting.’

‘Get yourself back here, then.’

Once outside, they handed a visibly terrified Henry Plimpton to the clean-up crew and began to make their way back down the alleyway.

‘Why are you limping?’ demanded Farrell of Parrish. ‘The dog barely broke the skin.’

‘Well, firstly for sympathy and secondly, the dog is from the late 20th century. Have you any idea how dirty these people are? Dirt, decay and death everywhere. Disease is rife, you know. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they go down with. And if you’re really ill, they send you to a hospital so their special germs can finally finish you off.’

Farrell blinked at him. ‘Where do you get all this rubbish from?’

‘Old newspapers. It was a terrible time, you know. The infrastructure was failing. People were eating rats and selling their children.’

Lockland shook her head. ‘None of that’s true.’

‘Well, there was a major civil war some years later so someone must be eating rats and selling their kids. Or possibly the other way around.’

‘Luke, what have you been reading?’

‘Daily Mail.’

‘Isn’t that banned?’

‘That’s why I’m reading it.’

Emerging from the alleyway they found, to their dismay, that the crowd had not dispersed. They were not, however, the same recruits they had been two hours ago.

‘This is an illegal assembly,’ said Luke, sternly. He drew himself up and said commandingly, ‘Disperse. Be about your business.’

‘I think it’s all rather gone to his head, don’t you?’ murmured Ellis.

‘Here,’ said someone. ‘You SWAT?’

‘What is this SWAT?’ whispered Parrish to Farrell. ‘Do you know?’

He shrugged his ignorance. ‘Is that Sealed With A Loving Kiss?’

‘No,’ whispered Jane. ‘That’s SWALK.’

Parrish stared at her. ‘How do you know?’

‘Dunno,’ said Lockland, who all her life had dreamed of receiving a letter marked SWALK.

The crowd hadn’t finished. ‘So what’s with old Henery?’

‘Mr Plimpton is assisting us with our enquiries,’ said Luke, haughtily. And rashly, as it turned out.

‘Wrong thing to say,’ muttered Ellis. He stood up. ‘We may have to go and save the day after all.’

An unmistakeable air of hostility was surrounding Team 236.

‘They’re not going to let us through,’ muttered Lockland.

Luke sighed. ‘Oh, for God’s sake. I just want to go home.’

Neither of his colleagues found anything about that to argue with.

He sighed again. ‘Obviously, once again it’s all up to me.’ He struck a dramatic pose. ‘Lower Spurting is safe. All thanks to Henry Plimpton.’

No one looked impressed. Or even grateful.

‘What?’ said someone. ‘What does that mean?’