it and, in a brisk, friendly manner that contrasted with his initial aloofness, offered Garrett a cigar. The inspector refused politely, smiling to himself at Murray’s change of attitude, reflecting how swiftly he must have concluded that playing up to an inspector from the Yard was a far better strategy than getting on his wrong side. It was thanks to this that Garrett was sitting in a comfortable armchair and not on the footstool next to it.
‘So, you don’t like to smoke?’ remarked Murray, putting the box back on the table and picking up a cut-glass decanter containing a peculiar blackish substance, which he poured into two glasses. ‘Perhaps I can tempt you to a drink.’
Garrett baulked at the dark liquid Murray was holding out to him. But Murray grinned amiably, encouraging him to try it as he took a swig of his. Garrett did the same, and felt the strange beverage sting his throat as it went down, tears starting to his eyes.
‘What is it, Mr Murray?’ he asked, perplexed, unable to refrain from letting out a loud belch. ‘A drink from the future?’
‘Oh, no, Inspector. It’s a tonic made from coca leaves and cola seeds invented by a chemist in Atlanta. It’s all the rage in the United States. Some people prefer taking it with a little soda, like me. I expect they’ll soon be importing it over here.’
Garrett put down his glass on the table, disinclined to take another sip. ‘It has a peculiar flavour. I don’t imagine people will take to it very easily’ he predicted, for the sake of saying something.
Murray smiled his assent, emptied his glass and, visibly eager to ingratiate himself, asked: ‘Tell me, Inspector, did you enjoy your trip to the year 2000?’
‘Very much, Mr Murray’ replied Garrett, in earnest. ‘What’s more, I’d like to take this opportunity to say that I fully endorse your project, regardless of what some newspapers say about the impropriety of visiting a time that doesn’t belong to us. I have an open mind, and I find the idea of time travel enormously appealing. I eagerly await the opening of new routes to other eras.’
Murray thanked Garrett for his comments with a timid smile, then sat expectantly in his chair, no doubt inviting the inspector to reveal the reason for his visit.
Garrett cleared his throat and came straight to the point. ‘We live in fascinating but tremendously volatile times, Mr Murray’ he said, reeling off the little preamble he had prepared. ‘Science drives events, and mankind must adapt. Above all, if our laws are to remain effective, we must update them to suit the changing face of the world. Even more so when it comes to time travel. We are at the dawn of an extraordinary era of discovery that will doubtless redefine the world as we know it, and whose inherent dangers are impossible, or extremely difficult, to judge. It is precisely these dangers I came here to speak to you about, Mr Murray.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Inspector,’ Murray conceded. ‘Science will change the face of the world, and oblige us to modify our laws, and even many of our principles, the way that time travel is already doing. But, tell me, what are these dangers you wish to speak to me about? I confess you’ve aroused my curiosity.’
Garrett sat up in his chair and cleared his throat once more. ‘Two days ago,’ he said, ‘the police discovered a man’s body in Manchester Street, Marylebone. He was a tramp, but the injury that killed him was so extraordinary they handed the case over to us. The wound consists of an enormous hole twelve inches wide that goes straight through his chest and is singed at the edges. Our pathologists are baffled. They claim no weapon exists that is capable of inflicting such an injury.’
Garrett made a dramatic pause before fixing Murray with a solemn stare, and adding: ‘At least, not here, not in the present.’
‘What are you suggesting, Inspector?’ asked Murray, in a casual manner that did not correspond with the way he was fidgeting in his chair.
‘That the pathologists are right,’ replied Garrett. ‘Such a weapon hasn’t yet been invented. Only I’ve seen it, Mr Murray. Guess where?’
Gilliam did not reply, but looked at him askance.
‘In the year 2000.’
‘Really?’ murmured Murray.
‘Yes, Mr Murray. I’m convinced this wound can only have been inflicted by the weapon I saw the brave Captain Shackleton and his men using. The heat ray that can pierce armour.’
‘I see . . .’ Murray muttered, as if to himself, staring into space. ‘The weapon used by the soldiers of the future, of course.’
‘Precisely. I believe one of them, possibly Shackleton, travelled back on the Cronotilus without being noticed, and is roaming our streets at this very moment. I’ve no idea why he killed the tramp, or where he is hiding now, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t intend to waste time searching the whole of London for him when I know exactly where he is.’ He pulled a piece of paper from his inside pocket and handed it to Murray. ‘This is a warrant signed by the prime minister authorising me to arrest the murderer on 20 May in the year 2000, before he can even commit his crime. It means I’ll need to travel with two of my officers on the expedition leaving in a week’s time. Once we arrive in the future, we’ll separate from the others so that we can spy on the passengers from the second expedition and discreetly detain anyone who attempts to stow away on the Cronotilus.’
As he spoke, it dawned on the inspector that if he lay in wait for the passengers of the second expedition he would unavoidably see himself. He only hoped it would not repulse him as much as the sight of blood. He glanced at Murray, who was carefully studying the warrant. He was silent for so long it occurred to Garrett he might even be examining the consistency of the paper.
‘But have no fear, Mr Murray’ he felt obliged to add, ‘if Shackleton does turn out to be the murderer, my arresting him after his duel with Solomon won’t affect the outcome of the war. It will still end in victory for the human race, and it won’t affect your enterprise either.’
‘I understand,’ murmured Murray, without looking up from the document.
‘May I count on your co-operation, Mr Murray?’
Murray slowly raised his head and looked at Garrett with what, for a moment, the inspector imagined was contempt, but he soon realised his mistake when Murray quickly beamed at him, and replied: ‘Certainly, Inspector, certainly. I shall reserve three seats for you on the next expedition.’
‘I’m most grateful to you, Mr Murray’
