Where the dread portal should have been was a warm melted patch of assorted substances.
'Oh, my goodness,' said Lady Ramkin.
Vimes slid down from the coach and tapped Brother Fingers on the shoulder.
'Excuse me, sir,' he said, 'did you by any chance see what…'
When Brother Fingers turned towards him his face was the face of a man who has hang- glided over the entrance to Hell. He kept opening and shutting his mouth but no words were coming out.
Vimes tried again. The sheer terror frozen in Brother Fingers's expression was getting to him.
'If you would be so kind to accompany me to the Yard,' said Vimes, 'I have reason to believe that you…' He hesitated. He wasn't entirely certain what it was that he had reason to believe. But the man was clearly guilty. You could tell just by looking at him. Not, perhaps, guilty of anything specific. Just guilty in general terms.
'Mmmmmuh,' said Brother Fingers.
Sergeant Colon gently lifted the lid of the top box.
'What do you make of it, Sergeant?' said Vimes, stepping back.
'Er. It looks like a Klatchian Hots with anchovies, sir,' said Sergeant Colon knowledgeably.
'I mean the man,' said Vimes wearily.
'Nnnnn,' said Brother Fingers.
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