Several more days passed, without incident, with the occasional visit from My Lady Charlotina or the Duke of Queens or Bishop Castle, again. The conversation turned often to speculation as to the fate of the Iron Orchid, as was inevitable, but if Brannart Morphail had news of her he had passed none of it on, even to My Lady Charlotina who still chose to play patron to him and give him his laboratories in her own vast domicile at Below-the-Lake. Neither would Brannart tell anyone the Iron Orchid's original destination.

In the meanwhile, Jherek continued to pay court to Amelia Underwood. He learned the poems of Wheldrake (or at least, those she could remember) from her and found that they could be interpreted in reference to their own situation — " So close these lovers were, yet was their union sundered by the world " — " Cruel Fortune did dictate that they / Should ever singly pass that way ", and so on — until she professed a lack of interest in he who had been her favourite poet. But it seemed to Jherek Carnelian that Amelia Underwood began to warm to him a little more. The occasional sisterly kiss became more frequent, the pressure of a hand, the quality of a smile, all spoke of a thaw in her resolve. He took heart. Indeed, so settled had become their domestic routine, that it was almost as if they were married. He hoped that she might slip, almost accidentally, into consummation, given time.

Life flowed smooth and, save for the nagging fear at the back of his mind that his mother and Lord Jagged might never return, he experienced a tranquillity he had not enjoyed since he and Mrs. Underwood had first shared a house together; and he refused to remember that whenever he had come to accept such peace, it had always been interrupted by some new drama. But, as the uneventful days continued, his sense of inevitable expectation increased, until he began to wish that whatever it was that was going to happen would happen as soon as possible. He even identified the source of the next blow — it would be delivered by the Iron Orchid, returning with sensational information, or else by Jagged, to tell them that they must go back to the Palaeozoic to complete some overlooked task.

The blow did come. It came one morning, about three weeks after they had settled in their new home. It came as a loud and repetitive knocking on the main door. Jherek stumbled from his bed and went to stand on his balcony, leaning over to see who was disturbing them in this peculiar manner (no one he knew ever used that door). On the bijou drawbridge was grouped a party of men all of whom were familiar. The person knocking on the main door was Inspector Springer, wearing a new suit of clothes and a new bowler hat indistinguishable from his previous ones; gathered around him was a party of burly police officers, some ten or twelve; behind the police officers, looking self-important but a little wild-eyed, stood none other than Mr. Harold Underwood, his pince-nez on his nose, his hay-coloured hair neatly parted in the middle, wearing a suit of good, dark worsted, an extremely stiff, white collar and cuffs, a tightly knotted tie and black, polished boots. In his hand he held a hat, similar to Inspector Springer's. Behind this party, a short distance away, in the ornamental garden, there buzzed a huge contraption consisting of a number of inter-connected wheels, ratchets, crystalline rods and what seemed to be padded benches — an open, box-like structure, but bearing a close similarity to the machine Jherek had first seen in the Palaeozoic. At the controls sat the bearded man in plus-fours and Norfolk jacket who had given them his hamper. He was the first to see Jherek. He waved a greeting.

From a nearby balcony there came a stifled shriek: "Harold!"

Mr. Underwood looked up and fixed a cold eye upon his wife, in negligee and slippers of a sort not normally associated with a Bromley housewife.

"Ha!" he said, his worst fears confirmed. Now he saw Jherek, peering down at him. "Ha!"

"Why are you here?" croaked Jherek, before he realized he would not be understood.

Inspector Springer began to clear his throat, but Harold Underwood spoke first.

"Igrie gazer," he seemed to say. "Rijika batterob honour!"

"We had better let them in, Mr. Carnelian," said Mrs. Underwood in a faint voice.

"I 'ave, sir," said Inspector Springer with heavy satisfaction, "been invested with Special Powers. The 'Ome Secretary 'imself 'as ordered me to look into this case."

"The new machine — my, um, Chronomnibus — was requisitioned," said the time-traveller apologetically from the background. "As a patriot, though strictly speaking not from this universe…"

"Under conditions of utmost secrecy," continued the Inspector, "we embarked upon our Mission…"

Jherek and Mrs. Underwood stood on their threshold and contemplated their visitors.

"Which is?" Mrs. Underwood was frowning pensively at her husband.

"To place the ringleaders of this plot under arrest and return forthwith to our own century so that they — that's you, of course, among 'em — may be questioned as to their motives and intentions." Inspector Springer was evidently quoting specifically from his orders.

"And Mr. Underwood?" Jherek asked politely. "Why is he here?"

" 'E's one o' the few 'oo can identify the people we're after. Anyway, 'e volunteered."

She said, bemusedly: "Have you come to take me back, Harold?"

"Ha!" said her husband.

Sergeant Sherwood, sweating and, it seemed, only barely in control of himself, fingering his tight, dark blue collar, emerged from the ranks of his constables (who, like him, seemed to be suffering from shock) and, saluting, stood beside his leader.

"Shall we place these two under arrest, sir?"

Inspector Springer licked his lips contemplatively. " 'Ang on a mo, sergeant, before putting 'em in the van." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a document, turning to Jherek. "Are you the owner of these premises?"

"Not exactly," said Jherek, wondering if the translation pills he and Amelia had taken were doing their job properly. "That is to say, if you could explain the meaning of the term, perhaps I could…"

"Are you or are you not the owner…"

"Do you mean did I create this house?"

"If you built it, too, fair enough. All I want to know…"

"Mrs. Underwood created it, didn't you, Amelia?"

"Ha!" said Mr. Underwood, as if his worst suspicions were confirmed. He glared coldly at the fairy-tale palace.

"This lady built it?" Inspector Springer became pettish. "Now, listen 'ere…"

"I gather you are unfamiliar with the methods of building houses at the End of Time, Inspector," said Mrs. Underwood, making some effort to save the situation. "One has power-rings. They enable one —"

Inspector Springer raised a stern hand. "Let me put it another way. I 'ave 'ere a warrant to search your premises or, indeed, any premises I might regard as 'avin' upon them evidence in this matter, or 'arbourin' suspected criminals. So, if you will kindly allow me and my men to pass…"

"Certainly." Jherek and Amelia stepped aside as Inspector Springer led his men into the hall. Harold Underwood hesitated a moment, but at last crossed the threshold, as if into the netherworld, while the time-traveller hung back, his cap in his hands, murmuring disconnected phrases. "Awfully embarrassing … had no idea … a bit of a joke, really … regret the inconvenience … Home Secretary assured me … can see no reason for intrusion … would never have agreed…" But at Jherek's welcoming gesture, he joined the others. "Delightful house … very similar to those structures one finds in the, um … fifty-eighth century, is it? … Glad to find you arrived back safely … am still a trifle at sea, myself…"