“Thank you,” said the magistrate. “You can stay. And I’ll see you in my chambers at lunchtime.”

“Your honour,” said Mr Gwynplaine Dhark, “I don’t think it will be necessary to keep you until lunchtime. I have here a crudely forged document signed by Her Majesty herself, God bless Her, to the effect that both the accused are to be transported at once to Tyburn for immediate public execution.” Mr Gwynplaine Dhark handed this document to the magistrate.

“Seems sound enough to me.” Mr Justice Doveston exchanged a Masonic wink with the counsel for the prosecution.

“No!” cried Will.

And “No!” too cried the other Will.

And down came two truncheons in perfect harmony.

“Well, I’m done here,” said Freddie “the loser” Lonsdale. “You can’t win them all. Or in my case, none at all. Such is life.”

“Taken like the man you are,” said Mr Gwynplaine Dhark. “I can get you a front row seat at the execution, if you’d like one. Bring the wife, it’s always a good day out.”

“Thank you very much indeed.”

“I object!” Will covered his head with his hands to shelter his skull.

“Object?” said Mr Doveston. “It’s a bit late for objections, surely? You should be showing remorse, it might lighten your sentence.”

“Really?”

“No,” said the magistrate, “only joking.”

And he laughed.

And Mr Gwynplaine Dhark laughed. And Freddie “the loser” Lonsdale laughed. And the constables laughed. And the lady in the straw hat laughed. And the big bargee and the small bargee and all the folk in the public gallery laughed too.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of humour,” said the other Will.

“I do object,” said Will. “Please hear me out.”

“Go on then,” said the magistrate. “I’m a fair man. Say your piece and then I’ll pass sentence and we’ll send you off to your execution.”

“I need a moment,” said Will. “Just a moment. I have to think.”

“Would you like me to adjourn the court?” Mr Justice Doveston asked.

“Yes please,” said Will.

“Then I will.”

“Thank you,” said Will.

“Only joking.” And all and sundry, including Mr Montague Summers, laughed again.

“Lost on me,” said the other Will.

“Just a moment,” said Will. “Please, just a moment.”

“Clerk of the court,” said Mr Justice Doveston. “I am going to give the accused ‘just a moment’. How long will that be, exactly?”

The clerk of the court flicked through legal tomes. “Well,” said he, “in Bacon versus the British Empire, the defendant, accused of subversion and intent to knob one of Her Majesty’s (God bless Her) ladies-in-waiting, was granted a ‘moment’ to reconsider his statement, that ‘she was gagging for it.’ The ‘moment’ in question was precisely two ‘ticks’ and three quarters of a ‘jiffy’.”

“And is that a precedent?”

“Well, I can refer you also to Shields versus Carroll, two pugilists who both sued the other for ‘hitting in the face in the ring’. On that occasion—”

“I’m bored,” said Mr Justice Doveston. “I will grant the accused three ‘ticks’, one ‘jiffy’ and ‘half-a-sec’, because I’m such a very nice man.”

“He is,” said the lady in the straw hat. “Lovely eyes. Just like my Malcolm, although he was a bit weird. Had this thing about tubas, thought they were golden toilet bowls. He went to see the London Symphony Orchestra play one night and—”

“Madam,” said Mr Justice Doveston.

“Sorry, your worship,” said the lady in the straw hat.

“Right then,” said Mr Justice Doveston. “Three ‘ticks’, one ‘jiffy’ and ‘half-a-sec’ starting—” And he took out his gold Babbage Hunter digital watch and scrutinised his face. “Now.”

There was silence in the court and all eyes turned towards Will.

Will raised a hand to cover his mouth. The wrist of this hand wore a handcuff. As did Will’s other wrist.

“You have to do something for me, Barry,” whispered Will.

“Zzzzzzzz,” went Barry.

“Barry, wake up. This is important.”

“Only joking, chief. I’m on the case.”

“Then you have to do something for me now. You’re supposed to be my Holy Guardian sprout and a time travelling sprout, to boot. Get me out of here.”

“No sweat, chief. We’re out of here.”

“And my other self.”

“What, chief?”

“Well, I can’t just go without him, can I? They’ll execute him.”

“Nothing I can do about that, chief, sorry.”

“Work your magic, Barry. Get us both out of here.”

“No can do, chief. If he didn’t have a sitting tenant in his head, then I could do it. I could move two people through time simultaneously. But he does have, so I can’t.”

“Well, stir the tenant into action, time’s running out.”

“Time’s running out,” said Mr Justice Doveston.

“Tell you what, chief. I’ll just take you and—”

“That won’t do, Barry. I can’t just leave my other self to die. I can’t. That’s all there is to it. But, hold on, you’ve given me an idea, a brilliant idea. We’ll whisper, whisper, whisper.”

“Why all the whisper whisper whisper, chief?”

“Because I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” Will whispered some more.

“That’s a bad idea,” said Barry. “In fact, that’s a really bad idea.”

“Time’s up,” said Mr Justice Doveston. “I trust you made good use of your three ‘ticks’, one ‘jiffy’ and ‘half-a-sec’.”

“I did,” said Will, who now it appeared, wore a complete change of clothing. “I have decided to discontinue the services of my counsel, Mr Freddie ‘the loser’ Lonsdale and engage a new counsel for the defence.”

“Is that allowable?” Mr Justice Doveston asked the clerk of the court.

The clerk of the court consulted further legal tomes.

“Well,” said he, “in the Crown versus Hill, the defendant Mr Graham Hill, manager of the Big Cock Inn, Tillet, Herts, who had been accused of an anarchist bomb outrage upon the German Embassy, there was—”

“I’m yawning again,” said Mr Justice Doveston.

“It’s all above board,” said the clerk of the court. “And on the square and on the level and Masonic things of that nature generally.”

“Then I have no objection. Wheel in your new counsel for the defence, Lord Whimsy. If he’s suddenly on hand. Is he?”

“He is, your honour.” Will rose to his feet, and smiled towards the door of the court. “I would like to introduce my counsel for the defence. Mr Timothy McGregor.”

27

The door of the courtroom opened and Tim McGregor appeared in the opening. Tim smiled upon the assembled multitude, at the magistrate and the gathered everybodies and up at Will. It was a somewhat sheepish smile. It somewhat lacked for confidence.

“This is such a bad idea, chief,” said Barry. “I could have got you anyone: the now legendary Mike Mansfield, solicitor to the stars; Robert Shapiro and ‘The Dream Team’ – they got O.J. Simpson off; or Vincent Lugosi, or Rumpole of the Bailey, or even Quincey – he never loses a case. Or Boyd QC, or Kavanagh QC. But you choose your mate Tim.”

“He’s my half-brother and my best friend,” said Will. “And I’ve told him everything now. And I had to go forward and save him anyway. I couldn’t let him get killed.”

“But he knows nothing about being a counsel for the defence.”

“He’ll do okay. And remember I’m doing things my way.”

“And brilliantly too, I don’t think.”

“What was that, Barry?”

“I said, ‘brilliantly too, you won’t sink’.”

“As if you did! You sarcastic little sod.”

“What was that, chief?”

“Nothing, Barry.”

“Your honour,” said Tim McGregor, mooching into the courtroom. He wore his long black leather coat and had fastened his abundant hair behind his head in an abundant ponytail. He carried a bulging briefcase and continued with his smiling. “My client has acquainted me with the details of this case and I feel that I can offer a defence that will prove to exonerate him and his brother of all charges.”