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Litefoot's eyes widened. Confound the man's insolence! 'Who the Dickens are you, sir?'

'You don't recognise me?' the young man said, surprised, and then his face cleared. 'No, of course you don't. How silly of me.'

'Perhaps you'd care to explain yourself, sir,' Litefoot said, tightening his grip on his cane.

'Yes. Yes, of course.' The young man leaned forward and murmured confidingly, 'I believe you were once acquainted with a colleague of mine. A man who called himself the Doctor.'

'The Doctor?' Litefoot spluttered, his anger evaporating. A little weakly he said,'You know the Doctor?'

'Oh yes,' the young man said.'He and I are very close.'

'Well... 'pon my soul. Perhaps you had better come in, sir, and tell me what I can do for you.'

The young man grinned and was about to cross the threshold when the young woman hovering behind him cleared her throat.

The man turned, looking momentarily blank as if he hadn't realised the girl was there.Then he said,'Ah yes, introductions. Professor, this is Samantha Jones, my... er... niece. Samantha, this is Professor Litefoot. He's a great friend... um, of a friend of mine.'

'Hiya, Professor,' the girl said, striding forward, grabbing Litefoot's right hand and giving it a firm shake. 'Pleased to meet you.'

Litefoot, startled both by the girl's peculiar greeting ('Higher'? Higher than what?) and her lack of etiquette could only murmur,'Er... yes. Charmed, I'm sure. Well... won't you come in?'

The two of them entered, Litefoot closing the door behind them. Holding up the still-burning candle, he led the way along the hallway and into a darkened sitting room. He waved the strange young couple to a pair of overstuffed armchairs covered in heavy fabric, then bustled about, lighting yet more lamps. Though the fire in the grate had died, the coals were still glowing brightly. Litefoot scattered some kindling on top of them and shovelled more coal on top of that. Within minutes flames were dancing merrily in the grate.

'Now,' he said, 'can I offer either of you a drink? A brandy perhaps for you, sir? And how about some cocoa for you, Miss Jones?'

'No thank you, Professor,' said the young man, absently staring into the flames.

'I'll have a G and T if you've got it,' Sam said. And then, catching the Doctor's eye, 'Or perhaps I won't. And by the way, call me Sam. If you keep calling me Miss Jones, I'll feel like I'm in an episode of Rising Damp: Litefoot gaped at her; he couldn't have been more bewildered if she had spoken to him in Swahili.

'Sam,' the Doctor warned under his breath, 'behave. Remember where you are.'

Sam gave him one of her cool looks. With a little more maturity the look alone would surely prove a quite devastating put-down. The Doctor, however, merely gazed unblinkingly back at her, his blue eyes somehow managing to be both implacable and intense, and eventually she looked away.

Litefoot watched this exchange, looking a little perplexed, though of course far too polite to pass comment on it. Instead he said uncertainly,'You don't mind if I imbibe?'

The Doctor wafted a hand. 'It's your house, Professor.'

Litefoot poured himself a generous measure of brandy from a crystal decanter, then plumped down heavily on a wooden dining chair. 'I hope the two of you will forgive my singular lack of decorum. I have to confess, this entire situation has me rather rattled.'

Sam grinned, thinking how easy it was going to be to knock people off their stride in this day and age. The Doctor, however, smiled sympathetically. He appeared perfectly relaxed, his features bathed in firelight. 'As far as I'm concerned, Professor, your decorum has always been impeccable.'

'Always?' said Litefoot. 'You speak as though we're well acquainted.'

The young man leaned forward a little. Though he seemed an agreeable enough young fellow, Litefoot had to admit that the intensity of his gaze was a little unsettling.

'Forgive me, Professor,' he said. 'It's just that I feel as though I do know you very well. The Doctor