Burton's face.
'Where have I seen you before?' it muttered. 'Famous, are you?'
'Comparatively,' answered Burton. He started using his feet and elbows to shift himself out from between Spring Heeled Jack's stilts, but the thing reached down and grasped the front of his coat.
'Stay still,' it commanded. 'Yes, I know you now. Sir Richard Francis Burton! One of the great Victorians!'
'What the hell is a Victorian?'
Shouts sounded in the distance-the police and townspeople approaching -and, beyond them, the thrum of Constable Kapoor's rotorchair.
'Listen, Burton,' hissed Jack. 'I have no idea why you're here but you have to leave me alone to do what I have to do. I know it's not a good thing but I don't mean the girls any harm. If you or anyone else stops me, I can't get back and I won't be able to repair the damage. Everything will stay this way-and it's wrong! It's all wrong! This is not the way things are meant to be! Do you understand?'
Burton shook his head. 'Not in the slightest. Let me up, damn it!'
Jack hesitated then released his grip. Burton slid from between the stilts and scrambled to his feet, looking up at the strange apparition.
Spring Heeled Jack was a man, he could see that now, but his costume was bizarre and there was an unearthly air about him.
'So what exactly is it you need to do?' he asked the stilt-walker.
'Restore, Burton! Restore!'
'Restore what?'
'Myself. You. Everything! Do you honestly think the world should have talking orangutans in it? Isn't it obvious to you that something is desperately wrong?'
'Talking orang-?' began Burton.
'Captain Burton!' interrupted a distant shout. Detective Inspector Trounce.
The chopping of Kapoor's rotorchair was close now. Jack looked up through the canopy of leaves overhead.
'The mist has cleared and the sun is high enough. I should be able to recharge.'
'Charge at what? You're speaking in riddles, man!' barked the king's agent.
'Time to go,' muttered Jack, then suddenly burst into laughter. 'Time to go!'
Burton leaped at him but Jack sidestepped swiftly and the explorer crashed past, landing in a tangle of roots. He rolled to his feet just as Jack flashed by and made off into the trees.
'Bloody hell!' cursed Burton, and set off in pursuit.
Despite having to duck under low branches, his quarry moved fast, taking long loping strides, while Burton was hampered by projecting roots, tangled vines, and his own exhaustion. He managed to keep up until Jack burst out of the trees onto the golf course some way north of where the police and townsfolk were milling about; there Jack started to bound ahead on his spring-loaded stilts.
A police whistle blew and a roar went up from the crowd, which, waving makeshift weapons, surged after the strangely costumed man.
Burton stopped and watched, puzzled.
Rather than running away, Spring Heeled Jack seemed to be circling the golf course, almost as if he were toying with his pursuers. Only Constable Kapoor, in his rotorchair, could keep pace with him, but there was little he could do but follow.
'What the devil are you playing at?' muttered Burton, as Jack, who'd receded into the distance, turned southward and hopped along the edge of the course before then changing direction to race northeastward, back toward Burton, who stood on the border of the wood.
The king's agent ran out to intercept him only to have Jack spring a clear fifteen feet over his head.
'Stay out of it, Burton!' shouted the stilt-man.
He took six long bounds, then suddenly launched himself high into the air until, twenty feet up, and just in front of Kapoor's rotorchair, he vanished.
Burton had the impression of some sort of bubble momentarily forming around Jack, its edge touching the front of the flying machine. When it, and the stilt-man, disappeared, so did part of the vehicle.
The rotorchair flew apart and, leaving a spiralling ribbon of steam behind it, plunged to the ground, which it hit with an appalling crash. The boiler exploded and pieces of metal went spinning into the air.
From different directions, Burton, Trounce, and a number of constables ran over to the wreckage.
Constable Kapoor's broken body dangled from the upside-down seat, his expression frozen in shock, blood streaming from his torn flesh down his neck, across his face, over his motionless eyes, and into his hair, from whence it dribbled onto the ripped turf.
'God damn it,' breathed Detective Inspector Trounce, leaning with both hands upon his cane. 'He was going to be promoted next week.'
He stood deep in thought for a moment then shook himself and spoke to a nearby constable.
'Bennett, fetch Sergeant Piper, would you?'
The constable nodded and moved away.
'What the blazes is that thing, Captain Burton?' asked Trounce.
'A man, of that I'm certain,' responded the famous explorer. 'And a madman, at that.'
'The same as I saw at the assassination?'
'It can't be-he didn't appear old enough.'
'Great heavens, this is too bizarre! What happened in the woods?'
'He spoke nonsense; said I was a Victorian.'
'What's that?'
'I haven't the vaguest idea, though it's fair to assume it has something to do with the late queen. He said that if we stop him doing what he needs to do, everything will stay this way, and what he needs to do is `restore.''
'Restore what?'
'`Myself. You. Everything,' whatever that means. Then he mentioned talking orangutans and said he had to charge at something again.'
Trounce shrugged. 'None of it makes any sense! It's the ravings of a lunatic!'
'I don't disagree,' said Burton.
Trounce turned to an approaching police sergeant who saluted smartly.
'Ah, Piper, the men seem to have the crowd under control.'
'Yes, sir. I think they'll be off to their homes soon, now that the jumping man has gone.'
'Good. Good. I want you to post a couple of men here and organise for poor Kapoor to be transported to the morgue.'
'Right you are, sir. He was a fine man. I'll see to it that he's not left here any longer than needs be.'
'Thank you. Captain Burton, would you come with me please? There are a couple of police velocipedes over by the club house; we'll ride them back to Mickleham. I want you to meet the girl who was attacked. Oh, and by the way, Sir Richard Mayne assigned me to the Spring Heeled Jack case, and I suspect I'm indebted to you for that. My gratitude.'
'Best man for the job,' said Burton, succinctly. 'Wait a moment while I retrieve my hat and cane.'
He returned to his stricken rotorchair for the items, then rejoined Trounce, who sent four constables into the woods to drag the vehicle out.
The two men started toward the club house.
'Who's the girl?' asked Burton.
'Her name is Angela Tew. Fifteen years old. That's about as much as I know at the moment. Before dawn this morning a parakeet arrived at Scotland Yard. It'd been sent by Mickleham's bobby and stated that the girl had been attacked by the fabled Spring Heeled Jack. I was roused from my bed at about a quarter past six and dashed down here with a few men by rotorchair, having first sent Kapoor to fetch you. When we got here the villagers were on the rampage. They'd spotted Jack loitering at the edge of a field and chased him around the outskirts of Chislehurst and as far as Marvel's Wood. We ran along with them. Idiot that I am, I left the rotorchairs parked in
