‘Yes,’ Constance said, after a moment. ‘We don’t have any guns; we’ve never had the need to use them, but we are equipped to damage property on a large scale. But the ordnance isn’t to be used for⁠ —’

‘Near here?’

‘Very.’

There came a harsh, official knock on the door. ‘Come on,’ said Benny. ‘You show me the way. We’ll go across the fields. I’m getting used to ditches.’

Joan carefully lifted the lid from one of the saucepans on the stove and peeped inside. ‘Perfect.’ She replaced it, and, humming a ragtime tune to herself, popped to the mirror in the lounge to check her make-up.

Well, it would have to do. She didn’t look too much of a ruin for a woman in her forties. Like one of those duchesses that surrounded themselves with an army of handsome young men. She’d like to have had her hair done, but her invitation to John had been on such an impulse that there hadn’t been time. That was the thing about her job, no time to get anything else done, what with preparation and marking and all that. No time to really live.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, chided herself and dashed back into the kitchen.

Dr Smith wandered jauntily along the lane, glancing up at the darkening sky from time to time. He was dressed in white tie and tails, with a top hat, gloves and a white gardenia in his buttonhole. He was whistling a tune he couldn’t place, and wondering about all manner of things he didn’t understand. In his pocket was the second part of his story:

The tribe of Gallifrey thought that the inventor was a god, and started to worship him, but then he told them not to.

‘I have brought new ideas for you,’ he said. ‘I want to help you.’

And so he told them about travelling through time and space, and about the police.

He taught them how to build police boxes, and he taught them about law and books and civilization.

It was progressing, but he still didn’t know where it was going.

He stopped beside a tree and doffed his hat to it. ‘I wonder, could I have this dance?’

He took the tree by its lower branches and stepped carefully back, moving his feet as if the thing were following his lead. No, his ability to foxtrot hadn’t deserted him, so Joan’s gramophone wouldn’t be a tremendous obstacle; though if she wanted to bunny hug or chicken scramble, he’d be at a loss.

She wouldn’t though, would she? Not in private, anyway.

But there was something else. He looked left and right along the road. There was nobody about.