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Tompkins looked at the Doctor stolidly for a moment as if he expected him to elaborate on his extraordinary claim. Eventually he said,'Well, that's all very impressive, I'm sure, sir, but I don't see what relevance -'

'It's all to do with ideas, Sergeant,' the Doctor interrupted, and dropped his voice as though to impart a secret.'I always have my best ideas when I'm walking in the dark and I can hear the gentle lap of water somewhere close by. Concentrates the mind wonderfully.'

'I see, sir,' said Tompkins, who evidently didn't see at all.'And the young lady is...?'

'My niece,' said the Doctor quickly.

'Your niece?'Tompkins sounded doubtful.

'Yeah, but I'm going to be an inventor too,' Sam chipped in, determined to get her own back on the Doctor. 'We wander along, bouncing ideas off each other. Don't we, Uncle?'

'Er... yes,' said the Doctor.

'Penicillin,' blurted Sam.

'I beg your pardon, miss.'

'Penicillin. Haven't you heard of it, Sergeant?'

'Can't say as I have, miss.'

'I'm not surprised,' said the Doctor hastily. 'It hasn't been invented yet. You will keep me informed if your men find anything, won't you, Sergeant?'

Thrown by the Doctor's abrupt change of subject, and feeling he had somehow lost the initiative, Tompkins stammered, 'Er... yes, sir, of course...

I'll, er, I'll need a few particulars from the both of you first though, sir.' It was only as he said this that he realised he knew nothing at all about this strange young couple. So far the gentleman had somehow managed to neatly sidestep all of his requests for personal information.

Now, however, the Doctor said promptly, 'My name is Dr John Smith and this is my niece, Miss Samantha Jones.' Raising his voice above Sam's muttered response of,'Smith and Jones. Nice one,' he said, 'As for our address, we're from out of town - as you so correctly surmised, Sergeant.

We're currently staying with a friend of mine.'

'I see, sir. And would this friend of yours have an address by any chance?'

'He would indeed,' said the Doctor, and smiled again. 'Four Ranskill Gardens.'

***

At first the sound seemed to form part of Litefoot's dream. He was taking tea with his father, who kept referring to Litefoot as 'sir', and insisted on standing ramrod-straight in his brigadier general's uniform. Inordinately distressed by this, Litefoot was saying,'For goodness' sake, do sit down, Father.'

'Yes, sir,' his father barked, but remained standing.

That was when the hammering began.

'Come in,' Litefoot called, but then the dream began to fall apart, to break away from his waking mind in shards like pieces of a broken mirror. His eyes opened and flooded with darkness, and he sat up in bed, uncomfortably aware of his pounding heart. Blinking away sleep that filled his eyes like grit, he groped at the objects on his bedside table and found his box of lucifers. He extracted and struck one and applied it to the wick of the candle he always carried up to bed with him. Instantly the room was bathed in a flickering mustard light.

Litefoot reached for his timepiece, consulted it squinting, and was outraged to discover it was almost 3-20 a.m. Gad, who could be making such an infernal racket at this hour of the morning? Whoever it was, he'd soon give the bounder what for!

Energised by his anger, he jumped out of bed, shrugged himself into his maroon velvet dressing gown, stepped into his slippers and rushed downstairs, the flame of his candle flapping in the breeze. Grabbing his cane from its stand in the hallway as the hammering came again, he stomped to the front door. The dim light from the gas lamps shining outside enabled Litefoot to make out a vague shape through the frosted-glass panels. Putting down the candle, he unlocked the front door and yanked it open.

A young man with long, curly hair and an even younger woman whose blonde hair was cropped shockingly close to her scalp were standing on his steps. At the sight of him, the man's lips curled upward in a delighted grin.

'My dear Litefoot!' he exclaimed. 'How