made them drool rather as Serbian wolves had drooled when
a rare troika full of wealthy kulaks sped over the snow on
silver runners, her tinkling sleigh bells reminding them what
fresh horse-and-peasant tasted like.
Bending his eye to the big keyhole which gave him a sight
of the outside landing, Lord Sherwood saw Mrs Banning-
Cannon slow to half-speed as her spouse, splendid in
traditional white-tie supper attire, emerged to offer her his
arm, causing a minor jam as guests in rooms, almost all of
traditional carnivore strains, fell in at their rear. The centaur,
H'hn'ee, immediately behind them in splendid black and
white, was forced to dig in his hoofs pretty rapidly to avoid
colliding with the over-eager canine, Uff Nuf O'Kay, next
to him. Together Mr and Mrs Banning-Cannon proceeded
towards the banisters of the main staircase to arrive at the top
and pause there in a stately manner. Her expression was that
of one who had finally made it to top Indian on the totem
pole, whereas her husband wore a grin set in what used to be
called 'the rictus of death'. As it happened, Urquart Banning-
Cannon felt in fairly excellent spirits but had never been very
good at smiling. His wife had insisted on the smile.
They seemed to sail past at an incredibly slow rate of
knots. It was, Bingo could have sworn, five full minutes
before they began to descend. The other guests were starting
to back up. He saw Flapper arrive from her room and direct
an irritable glance at Hari Agincourt, who made a strange,
wriggling movement and just managed a grin, appearing if
anything more terrified than Mr Banning-Cannon's. Other
guests rounded the corner and slowed in some surprise to
see the jam. But at least it was now moving.
'Finally!' Lord Sherwood drew on a pair of white kid
gloves (because he had learned from his own perusal of those
ancient 'thrillers' that this was always what Fantomas did)
and inserted his master key into the door which joined his
room with Mr Banning-Cannon's. The wards turned slowly
but smoothly with a reassuring set of clicks and clacks. The
door to Mr Banning-Cannon's room swung open.
Leaving the key in the lock, Robin of Sherwood, the pride
of his people, stole silently between the rooms, the smell of
Mr B-C's cologne mingling with that of the antique beef and
some other, less readily identifiable salty scent, to discover
to his surprise that the door into the intersecting apartments
had been locked from the other side by what he considered an
overly suspicious guest. This meant he was forced to return
for the master key by which he let himself in through the
other connecting door. Seconds later, another quick snap of
his elegant wrist, and he had opened the door into Mrs B-C's
bedroom, a riot of brilliant colour, flashing gemstones and
silks rippling in the sweet summer breeze coming through
the open window.
Averting his gentlemanly eyes from the spectacle of his
guest's sturdy bloomers, he raced to the wardrobe, expecting
to discover a hatbox somewhere in the vicinity. He saw
nothing on top. Nothing under the four-poster. In fact, no
such receptacle was to be seen anywhere. He sniffed at a
funny burnt toast and flowers sort of smell, maybe a new
kind of perfume? His search grew increasingly desperate. In
none of the rooms, on top of no cupboard, under no bed and
behind no secret panel was there a sign of anything like the
hat or its box, both of which had been described to him in
some detail. He sniffed again. That odd smell. What was it?
He was about to begin again when he heard a sound in the
hall outside. Someone was unlocking the door leading to the
landing!
They were coming in! They would discover him.
There was nowhere to hide. He looked wildly about for
cover.
Then came an outraged yell from behind him. With
a terrified gulp, Robin, Earl of Lockesley set off at a rapid
lick back to his quarters the way he had come, ripping off
his gloves, haring through Urquart Banning-Cannon's
apartments to reach his own room and slamming his door
behind him while, on the other side, Mrs Banning-Cannon's
screams of mingled anger and terror sounded up and down
the ancient halls of Lockesley. His heart beat faster and faster.
All thought was driven from his head. Made dizzy by the
emotional upheavals of the past hour or so, he felt his legs
wobble.
The screaming grew louder and louder. A woman's voice
cried: 'Through there. I saw them! They have stolen my finest
hat!'
Lord Bingo's simple but, it has to be admitted, somewhat
overbred system had taken all it could. Across the galaxy, on
dozens of reconstituted Earth-type planets, there were peers
proud to boast of the peasant blood flowing in their veins,
but the Lockesleys were not among them. Neither were they
a nervous family since their blood, rather than thinning,
had tended to atrophy; equally the Lockesley nerves were
not so much highly tuned as petrified. That said, they had
also managed to avoid all major conflicts since the time of
Vortigern when an ancestor, for a bet, had stolen a Roman's
helmet and had to leg it pretty fast with the best part of a
Roman legion in hot pursuit. Therefore, it was something
of an aberration when Bingo, his sturdy, uncomplex brain
shaken at last by an overdose of imagination and unfamiliar
terrors, gave up in the face of Fate's implacable workings.
The legs, which had threatened to buckle, finally did. His
noble brow narrowly missing the comer of the ancestral
space-chest, he fell forward, struck the old Iranian carpet and
remained there.
Blackness swam up to embrace him.
He welcomed oblivion. He did not welcome coming to.
He awoke after what could only have been a minute or
two to hear someone's depressing declaration:
'He's dead. As a doornail. He was killed when he startled
the thief and tried to intercept him... See? Those are tiny
needle marks in his neck. They must have escaped through
his French windows! They're wide open.'
Lord Sherwood groaned, as much for his own benefit as
anyone's. 'I say! What tiny needle marks?'
'They've gone now. Must have been a mistake of your
nano-razor.'
'Merely stunned,' offered another voice. 'Let's hope he
saw the intruder!'
Bingo opened his eyes. Half a dozen worried faces stared
down at him. He couldn't think of anything very original to
say so he said, 'Where am I?' and waited for the best.
By the cooing sound of Mrs B-C somewhere in the
background he could tell she did not suspect him. And,
judging by Mr B-C's grotesque wink, he was already getting
credit for pinching the Great Hat of Loondoon. This bothered
him a bit, since he hadn't actually pinched the tile, while the
expressions on his guests' faces suggeste
d that something
substantially dastardly had been achieved.
'That's the mark of your true aristocrat,' he heard Mrs
Banning-Cannon declare. 'I saw him going after them.
Look, his windows are open, too. They got away through
them. Without thought for his own safety he tried to tackle
the thieves as they made their escape! And they struck him
down!'
So the hat had been pinched!
'He's not hurt is he?' came Amy's worried voice from the
back.
The Doctor felt behind Bingo's head. 'Doesn't seem to be.
Maybe we should heave him onto the bed and check.'
'Couldn't we all do this later?' suggested Uff Nuf O'Kay.
'It would be a shame if the dinner were spoiled.'
And so a compromise was struck and Robin, Lord of
Sherwood, was stretched out on his bed with a flask of
brandy on his nightstand, as everyone else trooped down to
enjoy the feast while the soup, fish, meats and veg remained
more or less at their proper temperatures.
This was a feast Bingo didn't intend to miss. He had
anticipated it since boyhood when his grandfather had
taken him on his knee and told him of the family's haunch
of giant bison kept at optimum freshness until such time as
Sherwood might be restored and a monarch sit upon the
throne. Lord Sherwood rested only for a few moments before
rising, straightening his ties, running a comb through his
hair, checking his neck for tiny needle marks and legging it
downstairs with all the dignity a hungry man could muster.
A moment or two later he made his entrance into the dining
room on the excuse that no true Sherwood could desert his
guests on such an important occasion.
'A genuine hero!' pronounced Mrs B-C. 'If only you had
arrived in my room a moment earlier! It's a wonder they
didn't have a go at the vault sent ahead today. The one
with the silver arrow in it! How did the thief escape, Lord
Sherwood? Did you see? Through the window and over the
balcony, I take it. You heard a noise, went to investigate and
- well, we know the rest. Did you see the man?'
'Man?' Bingo Lockesley took his place at the table.
'I'm assuming it was a man who stole my hat. Or two
men, maybe. Or a man and a woman. Sexton Begg and
Mademoiselle Yvonne? That hat was heavy! I was going
to have to wear a special anti-magnetic harness under my
costume tomorrow. If I had not forgotten my reticule and
returned for it, there would have been no witness to your
bravery. He was leaving when I went back. I was heartened
to see you chasing the intruder - or perhaps intruders! Was
there more than one, Lord Robin? Did you tackle them
both?'
'Um,' said Bingo. His fall to the carpet had deafened him
a little.
'- and, careless of their numbers, chased them through
the adjoining doors,' Enola Banning-Cannon continued,
glowing with hero-worship, 'and then they gave you the
slip! They must have been huge. Unless there were three or
four of them. In which case you were braver than ever!' she
exclaimed. 'Tell us, Lord Sherwood! Did you see four or five
men? Can you give us a description?'
'I regret,' he said as he sat down at the head of the table,
'that I recognised none of them.'
'They'll have escaped by now.' Mr Banning-Cannon laid
down his soup spoon. 'I'd notify the local police. But if the
thieves had a vehicle waiting, they could already be off-
planet...'
'Of course they only needed a moment,' his wife resumed.
'And, as you say, if they had a ship waiting, perhaps another
ship in space, they could be light years away! They must have
known how valuable a Diana of Loondoon creation can be.
They'll try to fence it, I suppose. I'd heard there were gangs
of hat-snatchers all over this part of the galaxy...'
'I warned you, my dear!' Mr Banning-Cannon finished his
soup.
'You warned me of no such thing! Indeed, Urquart,
if you had not been with me the entire time, I might have
suspected...'
'You don't think they were after the Arrow of Artemis and
took the hat by mistake?' At the other end of the table, the
Doctor had lifted his head from his plate. 'You said you saw
no one in the gang? Nothing for the Magistrate to go on?'
'Not a shadow,' said Bingo truthfully. 'They might almost
have been invisible. D-d-id you say M-m-m...?'
'Or time-trippers.' Hari Agincourt was excited by the
notion. 'I once saw a V about a gang which specialised in
shunting back a few minutes before a crime was committed,
pinching whatever it was they wanted, hiding the swag and
then shunting forward again, leaving only the tell-tale smell
of burning salt behind them. Or was it pepper? Or vodka?'
Amy sniffed.
'Yes,' said the Doctor, following her logic. 'That's all your
theory lacks, Mr Agincourt.'
'See what you mean.' Hari bit his lip. 'No burning sea water,
eh?'
'Well, it could have been disguised by the delicious scents
of our dinner, I suppose.' Mr Banning-Cannon came to Hari's
help. 'You have to admit—'
'But there was an odd smell. We are all impressed by the
dinner,' Mrs Banning-Cannon graciously acknowledged
their host, 'however I am certain that few of us here could
not mistake roasting beef for burnt ozone. I'm sure it wasn't
ozone. Lavender, perhaps, with a hint of Mary's Passion.
Definitely floral. If you can't be helpful in any other way,
Urquart, I suggest you try not to intervene with further
theories. You have done your part. The police must have been
called by now and should be here in the morning, though
why they don't work at night I can't think. With luck, they'll
already have captured the felons by then and return my hat
unharmed.'
A fresh thought suddenly occurred to Bingo: Would they?
Return the hat unharmed, that was? Suppose they were
animal rights activists objecting to fur and feathers who
merely intended to do a little unpicking or V-painting of the
hat before returning it? Or hatnappers, even! Or common
opportunist crooks. What if they had really been after the
Silver Arrow but couldn't crack the time-sealed vault? No.
That was secure and anyway he was pretty sure it had already
been shunted into the future. It was likely that once aboard
the Gargantua Mr B-C would know immediately that Bingo
had nothing to do with the heist and be thoroughly within his
rights in rescinding the offered reward, maybe withdrawing
Bingo's concession and kicking him, de-Earled, off the planet
altogether. Now he chewed his antique beef without relish...
'Mocked are the meek when caught in untruthful celebration,'
as the Book of Coleman's had it.
Lord Sherwood ignored the swift glance of enquiry Mr
B-C threw in his direction. At this rate the planet-moulder
would give the game away. Mr B-C did not know at that
stage that the Earl
of Lockesley had been unsuccessful in his
heist and had, indeed, been thwarted in his ambition. The
great tycoon was basking in the glow of success, believing
that Bingo had managed to hide the huge hat somewhere in
his room and would be able to produce it, no doubt, during
the following evening when the party was over and, in the
words of the recently revived song, they had burst his pretty
balloon and stolen the moon away. Well they'd done that
aeons ago. Anyway, it was a hat in this case, rather than a
moon, which could then be 'discovered' somewhere and
returned. By which time the local magistrate would be able
to dismiss the whole episode as an annoying prank by some
of the younger members of the Second Fifteen. Don't worry,
Bingo, old lad. Things were proceeding nicely.
Mr B-C's opinion of the young man as well as the entire
aristocracy had risen considerably in the past hour or two.
Not only had Sherwood snaffled the hideous headgear
from under the nose of his guest, he had been able to hide it
before Mrs Banning-Cannon had unexpectedly returned to
the room to recover her forgotten reticule. That had shown
remarkable resourcefulness! The captain of industry could
not have done better himself. Indeed, with rare generosity,
he admitted he could not have done as well. He longed to
find out how the job had been accomplished. Meanwhile
he returned his attention to the meal before him which had
taken on something of the character of a victory feast.
Later, enjoying a cigar and a ballon of cognac on the terrace,
he was able to catch Bingo alone for a moment and grace him
with an enormous wink. 'Good show, my boy!'
At that moment W.G. Grace, smoking a large cigar and
stroking her magnificent beard, sashayed round the corner
of the terrace to an exchange of 'good evenings' and so forth.
A couple more such interruptions and Bingo was practically
tongue-tied.
At last Bingo opened his mouth to fill his patron in on
the real details of the event then realised that, not only was
this the wrong moment, there might never be a right one.
The hat was gone, perhaps for ever. There might never come
a time when it was returned. In which case, although he
could be said to have failed in his commission, Mr Banning-
Cannon would never know. He would hand over the keys
of the desanctioned Peers™ with gratitude and good grace,
The Coming of the Teraphiles Page 7
