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'Certainly not! Now we're here we might as well find out where we are.'

'Then what?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'We'll think of something.' He began walking again.

Sam fell into step beside him, wafting a hand in front of her face. 'Why's this fog yellow?' she asked. 'And what's that farty smell?'

'Sulphur,' explained the Doctor. 'Smoke pollution caused by thousands of coal fires. There's no central heating in this age, remember. The fog's permanent and always yellow - hence the phrase "pea-souper".'

'Maybe I ought to start a campaign against it,' said Sam, 'get in there before the problem gets as bad as it is in my day. Don't people realise that they're poisoning the planet?'

'Keeping themselves warm is a greater priority,' said the Doctor.

'Well, it shouldn't be. Someone ought to make them see what a terrible legacy they're leaving behind for future generations. Besides, there's alternative methods of -'

She broke off, turning her face to peer into the fog ahead.Aside from the water she could hear lapping in the darkness to her right, there was now a different sound - the approaching clatter of rapid footsteps.

'Doc-' she began, but had not even had time to complete the word before a large, flapping dark shape hurtled at them out of the fog.

Before Sam could even blink, the Doctor had grabbed what she quickly realised was a man wearing a ragged coat and had swung him round by the lapels, dragging him off balance. As the man stumbled and fell to his knees, the Doctor wrapped an arm around his neck in an unbreakable headlock.

'Please,' the man cried, his voice shrill with panic and exhaustion. 'I beg of you, don't hurt me!'

'I have no intention of hurting anyone,' said the Doctor mildly.

'I beg of you,' the man said again, almost sobbing with terror, 'please let me go, else he'll catch me.'

'I don't reckon he's a mugger, Doctor,' Sam said. 'Look at him, he's scared stiff.'

The Doctor released the man and stepped back from him, showing his open palms. 'Perhaps we can be of some help,' he said gently.'Is someone chasing you?'

The man seemed not to hear the Doctor's words. He was a wretched sight, his clothes tattered and dirty, his face pallid and thin with exhaustion and malnutrition .There was an awful, rotten tench about him that seemed to be due to more than simply a lack of personal hygiene.

'Is he a crackhead?' Sam whispered, sidling up to the Doctor.

The Doctor shook his head.'No, he's just very poor and very frightened.'

'Nah, he's definitely out of it,' Sam said.'You can tell by his eyes. There's this kid at school -Tony Blanchard. He's a total dopehead. He's got eyes like that.'

'He's ill,' murmured the Doctor.'Partly delirious.'

'What's wrong with him?'

'Look at his right hand.'

Sam looked, and saw that the man wore a filthy rag around his hand, from which his fingers poked, horrendously black and swollen.

'Gross,' she breathed. 'What is it?'

'Gangrene,' said the Doctor grimly. 'I'm afraid our friend is not long for this world.'

'That's horrible. Can't you take him back to the TARDIS and operate on him to stop it spreading? Chop his arm off or something?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'The techniques required would be too far in advance of this time.'

'So?'

'So if I let him loose on the streets again and the wrong people noticed him, it could set up a temporal vibration, leading to a glitch in technological advancement.'

'That's crap!'said Sam.'We're talking about a man's life here.'

'We're talking about millions of lives. The life of every person on this planet.

Such a glitch may well lead to catastrophe. You, Sam, may never be born.'

'But that's mental. I was born. I'm here, aren't I?'

'That's open to debate,' murmured the Doctor, and then quickly, before she could react, 'Listen. Our friend is trying to tell us something.'

The man climbed slowly and painfully to his feet, his eyes rolling in terror and delirium. He appeared to be muttering not so much to them as to