After three or four minutes of stuffing useful things into our pockets and a couple of overnight bags, we went downstairs to the ground floor; turning toward the back door, we ran smack into a sentinel of the usurpers. He wavered, then stepped aside as we strode toward him. I did not want to make a scene in The Gander, so waited until we stood in the lane behind the inn before I told them we had been seen. "Never thought we wouldn't be," said the Colonel. "Where's the garage, Alec?" It was directly opposite the rear of the inn. We went in and, unmolested, packed ourselves into the great red Rolls. "Whither?" said I, taking over the wheel. "The Albany. I've guns there we'll need before we're much older." "Then to the Gloucester," said Alec, "for Johnson." I swung out into the lane and nearly ran down an alien, who leaped squeaking out of the way. Now they knew what our car looked like. I didn't care. We seemed to be in over our heads already. "Do you know that in an hour or two we'll be much-wanted fugitives from the horrid vengeance of Scotland Yard?" I asked as we reared downtown. "We left a corpse on the floor of Alec's sitting room, with enough of our gear lying around to identify us all. My God! We're acting like a pack of heedless cretins. We should have stayed and made a plan." "Hark to the Manchester Slasher!" shouted Geoff. "Why, my dear old cloth-head, the late lamented's buddies would have been on us in force in less than two ticks. Have you forgotten that somewhere in their dimension, at a spot approximating the location of Alec's flat, there's a dead beast-critter? Their pony express would ha' found him first thing. We had to run. And I didn't hear you objectin', when we snatched up Marion's intimate garments and Alec's dirty socks, to doing a bunk." "My mind seems to be running ten minutes behind time," I said, skirting a corner and just missing a little old lady. "Also there's this," put in the doctor. "We could never have gotten rid of the body, but _they_ could, and I believe they will. They know now there's at least half a dozen of us in this business. Do you think they'll want us brought to trial? Granted that our story would sound like half a ton of wet fish ... would they want it spread on the front pages? After all, they can tell by our looks we're solid citizens. We _might_ get some credence from the police--the last thing _they_ would want. I think they'll quietly haul away that body, and set out on our trail by themselves. The time for worrying about the law is over, as I see it. There's too many of us. It wouldn't be like hauling up just one ripper with a mad story; it would mean publicity in every paper in Christendom--will _they_ risk that?" "Good for you, John," I said. "You're right. It's them and us now." * * * * *