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kind – for the watches, you know. In the meantime Sniveller will light the fires in all of your rooms, and you will soon be quite warm.’
    ‘Quite warm,’ said Mrs Rokabye, ‘is not warm enough.’
    They went downstairs to the shop. There was a polished glass counter filled with beautiful wristwatches lying on deep red velvet. Clocks lined the walls, and in the corner was a twelve-feet-tall stuffed black bear, his whole body pinned with military and naval operational watches – watches that were also compasses and depth-meters.
    In the front window was a golden chariot with wings.
    ‘The emblem of Tempus Fugit,’ said Abel Darkwater, ‘which I am sure you know means “Time Flies”.’
    ‘I told her that,’ said Mrs Rokabye, wondering if she could steal a very particular lady’s jewelled wristwatch she liked the look of.
    ‘But why is it a chariot with wings?’ asked Silver.
    ‘Ah,’ said Abel Darkwater, ‘it is from a poem written in the sixteenth century by a member of our Society, for we are a Society, you know. Tempus Fugit has a very distinguished history. We are Collectors, and everything here is a Collector’s Item. You might say that we collect Time …’
    ‘The chariot …’ said Silver, who knew that grown-upscan never remember what it was you asked them only five seconds ago.
    Abel Darkwater closed his round eyes and rested both hands over his round waistcoat, and began to recite:
    ‘Yet at my back always I hear
    Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:
    And yonder all before us lie
    Deserts of vast eternity
.
    ‘It is a poem written by a man named Andrew Marvell about Time. We thought – that is, the people in the Society in 1666 thought – that the winged chariot should become our emblem. Here, have one of these.’ And he gave Silver a little enamelled badge in the shape of the chariot.
    While Abel Darkwater was reciting poetry, Mrs Rokabye had stolen the watch she wanted. Sniveller had seen her, but his Master had instructed him to let Mrs Rokabye alone, whatever she did. So, feeling much warmer, now that she had committed a crime, Mrs Rokabye’s temper improved and she agreed to take a small glass of sherry with Abel Darkwater in his study.
    And she wanted to know what was happening to the men he had sent to search Tanglewreck.

Thugger and Fisty
    Thugger and Fisty were crouching in the bushes at Tanglewreck waiting for the taxi to take Mrs Rokabye and Silver to the railway station. Mrs Rokabye had promised to give them the All Clear sign, and she did this by throwing a carrot out of the window as the taxi drove through the gates. She always had carrots in her handbag, in case Bigamist got hungry, so Silver was not surprised to see a carrot appear, though she was surprised to see her throw it out of the window.
    ‘Can’t take my country habits to the big city,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Suppose when I opened my handbag, the carrot fell out? What would everybody think of me?’
    They’d know what a mad old bat you are
, thought Silver, saying nothing, and privately concluding that even if Mrs Rokabye were to drag a whole sack of carrots through the London streets, it wouldn’t make her seem any worse than she already was.
    The taxi drove on, and as soon as it was out of sight, Thugger and Fisty scrambled out of the bushes.
    Thugger was a thick-set nasty-looking man who always wore a dark suit and a fitted overcoat. Fisty had to call him Mister Thugger, because in their organisation, Thuggerwas the boss.
    Fisty was thin and sinewy with a face like a ferret. He was a featherweight boxing champion, known in the ring as Flying Fisty, because of his punches. He was very fit and very mean. Not even animals liked Fisty, and animals forgive most people their crimes, but Fisty was the kind of man who kicked dogs and drowned kittens. His only friend in life was a robot-dog called Elvis, who didn’t need food or love or taking for walks or stroking or brushing. Elvis had been