Текст книги "Doctor Who and an Unearthly Child"

Автор книги: Terrance Dicks

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A strange girl who knows far more than she should about the past – and the future...

Two worried teachers whose curiosity leads them to a deserted junk yard, an extraodinary police box and a mysterious traveller known only as the Doctor...

A fantastic journey through Space and Time ending in a terrifying adventure at the dawn of history...

ISBN 0 426 20144 2

DOCTOR WHO

AND AN

UNEARTHLY CHILD

Based on the BBC television serial by Anthony Coburn by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation TERRANCE DICKS

published by

The Paperback Division of

W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

CONTENTS

1 The Girl Who Was Different

2 Enter the Doctor

3 The TARDIS

4 The Dawn of Time

5 The Disappearance

6 The Cave of Skulls

7 The Knife

8 The Forest of Fear

9 Ambush

10 Captured

11 The Firemaker

12 Escape into Danger

A Target Book

Published in 1981

by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd.

A Howard & Wyndham Company

44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Copyright © Terrance Dicks and Anthony Coburn 1981

'Doctor Who' series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1981

Typeset by V & M Graphics Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks.

Printed in Great Britain by

Hunt Barnard Printing Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks.

ISBN 0 426 201442

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

1

The Girl Who Was Different

A foggy winter's night, in a London back street: the little road was empty and silent. A tall figure loomed up out of the fog – the helmeted, caped figure of a policeman patrolling his beat.

He moved along the little street, trying shop doors, walked on past the shops to where the street ended in a high blank wall. There were high wooden gates in the wall, with a smaller, entry-gate set into one of them.

The policeman shone his torch onto the gates, holding the beam for a moment on a faded notice:

I. M. Foreman

Scrap Merchant.

There was another sign below the first, its lettering bright and fresh:

Private – Keep Out!

The policeman tried the entry-gate and it creaked open beneath his hand. He looked through, shining his torch around the little yard.

There were no intruders. Just an incredible mixture of broken-down objects, old cupboards, bits of furniture, dismantled car engines, chipped marble statues with arms and legs and heads missing.

He turned the torch beam on a square blue shape in the far corner and saw with some astonishment the familiar shape of a police box. At that time police boxes were a common enough sight on the streets of London. Inside was a special telephone that police, or even members of the public, could use to summon help in an emergency.

An odd thing to find in a junk yard, thought the policeman.

Maybe this particular one had become worn out and been sold off for scrap. There were rumours that all police boxes would eventually be phased out, that one day every constable would carry his own personal walkie-talkie radio. 'That'll be the day,' thought the policeman. Still, the junk-man must have bought the thing from somewhere; it was scarcely likely that he'd stolen it and lugged it off to his yard.

The policeman grinned, imagining the desk-sergeant's expression if he went back and asked if anyone had reported a missing police box. He paused for a moment listening – there seemed to be some kind of electronic hum. Probably some nearby generator -

it was very faint.

Closing the little gate behind him, he went on his way, thinking of the mug of hot sweet tea and sausage sandwiches waiting at the end of his patrol.

The catch on the little gate must have been faulty. As the policeman moved away, it creaked slowly open again.

Next night, the policeman checked the yard again, but the police box had vanished. Later he learned that the strange old man who was the junk yard's new proprietor had vanished too, together with his grand-daughter, a pupil at the local school. Two teachers from the same school were missing as well.

In all the resultant fuss the policeman forgot all about the oddly sited police box. In time he came to think he must have imagined it. Even if he hadn't, it couldn't possibly have had anything to do with the disappearances. After all, you couldn't get four people into a police box – could you?

On the afternoon following the policeman's first visit to the junk yard, everything was normal at Coal Hill School. The long school day dragged to an end at last, and the long-awaited clangour of the school bell echoed through the stone-floored corridors.

As her history class hurried chattering towards the door, Barbara Wright came to a sudden decision.

'Susan!' she called.

A girl paused on her way to the door. She was tall for her age, with short dark hair framing a rather elfin face.

'Yes, Miss Wright?'

'Just wait here for a moment, and I'll go and get that book I promised you. I won't be long.'

'Yes, Miss Wright,' said Susan Foreman obediently. She went back to her desk and sat down. 'Can I play my radio while I'm waiting?'

'If it's not too loud.'

Barbara Wright went out of the classroom and strode along the corridor. At the sight of her, a group of scuffling, laughing children instinctively quietened down and began walking at a more sedate pace. Everyone knew Miss Wright didn't stand for any nonsense.

Someone had once said, rather unkindly, that Barbara Wright was a typical schoolmistress. She was dark-haired and slim, always neatly dressed, with a face that would have been even prettier without its habitual expression of rather mild disapproval.

There was undeniably some truth in the unkind remark.

Barbara Wright had many good qualities, but she also had a strong conviction that she knew what was best, not only for herself but for everyone else. It suited her temperament to be in charge.

She went into the empty staff room – most of her colleagues were even quicker off the mark than the children – selected a thick volume from the shelves, and headed back towards the classroom.

Half-way there she paused outside another door, marked 'Science Laboratory', hesitated for a moment, and then went inside.

As she'd hoped, Ian Chesterton was still there, pottering about his lab bench, apparently clearing up after some experiment. He was a cheerful, open-faced young man in the traditional sports jacket and flannels of the schoolmaster, about as different in temperament from Barbara Wright as could be imagined. Ian Chesterton took life as it came, going about his duties with casual efficiency and refusing to let anything worry him too much. Despite their differences, the two were very good friends, perhaps because Ian Chesterton was one of the few people in the school who saw the kindness beneath Barbara Wright's rather severe exterior. He was certainly the only one who ever dared to tease her.

He looked up as she came in. 'Oh, hello, Barbara. Not gone yet?'

'Obviously not.'

Ian groaned. 'Oh well, ask a silly question!' Barbara was frequently sharp-tongued, especially when tired or worried.

'I'm sorry,' said Barbara quickly.

'It's all right, I'll forgive you – this time.'

She perched wearily on a laboratory stool. 'It's just that something's worrying me rather. I don't know what to make of it.'

It was unlike her to confess helplessness, and Ian was immediately concerned. 'What is it? Can I help?'

'Oh, it's one of the girls. Susan Foreman.'

Ian's eyes widened. 'Susan Foreman! You find her a problem too, do you?'

'I most certainly do!'

'And you don't know what to make of her?'

Barbara shook her head.

'Me neither,' said Ian ungrammatically. He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'How old is she, Barbara?'

'About fifteen.'

'Fifteen!' Ian ran his fingers through his already untidy hair.

'Do you know what she does? In my science classes, I mean?'

'No, what?'

'She lets out her knowledge a little bit at a time!' he said explosively. 'I think she doesn't want to embarrass me. That girl knows more science than I'll ever know. Is she doing the same thing in your history lessons?'

'Something very like it.'

'Your problem's the same as mine then? Whether we stay in business, or hand the class over to her...'

'No, not quite.'

'What then?'

Barbara Wright leaned forward on her stool. 'I'm sorry to unload all this on you, Ian, but I've got to talk to someone about it. I don't want to go to anyone official in case I get the girl into trouble. I suppose you're going to tell me I'm imagining things?'

'No, I'm not.' Ian turned down a Bunsen burner and began washing test tubes and glass Petri dishes in the laboratory sink, stacking them neatly in racks to dry. 'Go on.'

'Well, I told you how good she was at history? I had a talk with her, told her she ought to specialise. She'd be a natural for a university scholarship in a year or two, Oxford or Cambridge if she wanted.'

'How did she take it?'

'She was cautious about it, but she seemed quite interested...'

Barbara paused. 'I told her it would mean a good deal of extra study, offered to work with her at home. The whole idea seemed to throw her into a kind of panic. She said it would be absolutely impossible because her grandfather didn't like strangers.'

'Bit of a lame excuse, isn't it?' said Ian thoughtfully. 'Who is her grandfather anyway? Isn't he supposed to be a doctor of some kind?'

Barbara nodded. 'Anyway, I didn't pursue the point, but the whole thing seemed to upset her somehow. Since then, her homework's been, I don't know, erratic – sometimes brilliant, sometimes terrible.'

'Yes, I know what you mean,' said Ian. 'She's been much the same with me.'

'Anyway, I finally got so worried and irritated with all this that I decided to have a talk to this grandfather of hers, and tell him he ought to take a bit more interest in her.'

Ian smiled to himself. It was very typical of Barbara to get herself worked up and go marching off to lecture some perfect stranger on his family responsibilities.

'Did you, indeed? What's the old boy like?'

'That's just it,' said Barbara worriedly. 'I got her address from the school secretary, 76 Totters Lane, and I went along there one evening.'

By now Ian was busily preparing a microscope slide from some mysterious solution in one of his test tubes, head bent absorbedly over his work.

'Oh Ian, do pay attention!' snapped Barbara.

'I am paying attention,' said Ian calmly. 'You went along there one evening. And?'

'There isn't anything there. It's just an old junk yard.'

'You must have got the wrong place.'

'It was the address the secretary gave me.'

'She must have got it wrong then,' said Ian infuriatingly.

'No, she didn't. I checked next day. Ian, there was a big wall on one side, a few houses and shops on the other, and nothing in between. And that nothing in the middle is the junk yard, 76 Totters Lane.'

Ian finished his slide and put it to one side. 'Bit of a mystery...?

Still, there must be a simple answer somewhere. We'll just have to find out for ourselves, won't we?'

'Thanks for the we,' said Barbara gratefully. She looked at her watch. 'The poor girl's still waiting in my classroom. I'm lending her this book on the French Revolution.'

Ian looked at the bulky volume. 'What's she going to do -

rewrite it? All right, what do we do? I doubt if it'll do any good to start firing questions at her.'

Barbara shook her head decisively. 'No, what I thought we'd do is drive to Totters Lane ahead of her, wait till she arrives, and see where she goes.'

'Got it all worked out, haven't you?' said Ian admiringly. 'All right!'

Barbara looked hesitantly at him. 'That is – if you're not doing anything...'

'No, I'm not doing anything,' said Ian reassuringly. 'Come on, let's go and take a look at this mystery girl.'

They went out of the laboratory, along the corridor, and into the classroom, which was empty except for Susan Foreman and the sound of rock and roll blaring from her transistor radio.

Barbara raised her voice. 'Susan?'

Susan looked up. 'Sorry, Miss Wright, I didn't hear you come in.'

'I'm not surprised.'

Susan's face was alight with interest. 'Aren't they fabulous?'

She looked every inch your average normal teenager, thought Barbara. But she wasn't. She wasn't...

'Aren't who fabulous?'

'John Smith and the Common Men. They've gone from number nineteen to number two in the charts, in just a week.'

'John Smith is the stage name of the Honourable Aubrey Waites,' said Ian solemnly. 'It's not so fashionable to be upper class these days. He started off as Chris Waites and the Carollers, didn't he?' Ian Chesterton wasn't exactly a pop fan, but he found it helped to keep in touch with the interests of his pupils, so he knew what they were talking about, at least some of the time.

Susan looked admiringly at him. 'You are surprising, Mr Chesterton. I wouldn't have expected you to know things like that.'

'I've an enquiring mind,' said Ian. 'And a sensitive ear,' he added drily.

'Sorry,' said Susan, and switched off the radio.

'Thanks!'

Susan looked at the bulky volume under Barbara Wright's arm.

'Is that the book you promised me?'

Barbara handed it over. 'Yes, here you are.'

'Thank you very much,' said Susan politely. 'I'm sure it will be very interesting. I'll return it tomorrow.'

'That's all right, you can keep it until you've finished it.'

'I'll have finished it by tomorrow,' said Susan calmly. 'Thank you, Miss Wright, goodnight. Goodnight, Mr Chesterton.'

Ian looked thoughtfully at her. There was something strange about Susan Foreman, despite all her apparent normality. Her speech was almost too pure, too precise, and she had a way of observing you cautiously all the time, as if you were a member of some interesting but potentially dangerous alien species. There was a distant, almost unearthly quality about her...

'Where do you live, Susan? I'm giving Miss Wright a lift home, and there's room for one more in the car. Since we've kept you late, it seems only fair you should get a lift as well. It'll soon be dark.'

'No thank you, Mr Chesterton. I like walking home in the dark.

It's mysterious.' Susan put the radio and the book in her bag and turned towards the door.

'Be careful, Susan,' said Barbara. 'It looks as though there'll be fog again tonight. See you in the morning.'

'I expect so. Goodnight.'

The two teachers waited till her footsteps died away and then Ian took Barbara's arm. 'Right – car park, quick! We are about to solve the mystery of Susan Foreman!'

2

Enter the Doctor

As Ian's car turned slowly into Totters Lane, Barbara said,

'Park just over there, Ian. We'll have a good view of the gates, without being too close. We don't want her to see us.'

Ian couldn't help smiling at her unthinking bossiness.

Obediently, he parked the car on the spot she'd indicated, put on the handbrake, and switched off lights and engine. 'You'd better hope she doesn't! Sitting in a parked car like this might be a little hard to explain.'

Barbara gave him a disapproving look. 'She doesn't seem to have arrived yet.'

'Luckily, the fog wasn't too bad, or I'd never have found the place myself.'

Barbara pulled her coat collar higher around her neck, and said hesitantly, 'I suppose we are doing the right thing – aren't we?'

'You mean it's a bit hard to justify – indulging our idle curiosity?'

'But her homework...?'

'Bit of an excuse really, isn't it? The truth is, Barbara, we're both curious about Susan Foreman, and we won't be happy until we know some of the answers.'

'You can't just pass it off like that! If I thought I was just being a busybody, I'd go straight home. I thought you agreed there was something mysterious about her?'

Ian yawned. He'd shared Barbara's concern earlier, but now he was feeling increasingly doubtful about the whole thing. 'I suppose I did... Still, there's probably some perfectly simple explanation for it all.'

'Like what?'

'Well...' said Ian rather feebly. 'To begin with, the kid's obviously got a fantastically high IQ, near genius, I imagine.'

'And the gaps? The things she doesn't know?'

'Maybe she only concentrates on what interests her, ignores the rest.'

'It just isn't good enough, Ian. How do you explain an exceptionally intelligent teenage girl who doesn't know how many shillings there are in a pound?'

(At this time, the early 1960s, Britain was still sticking to her uniquely complicated monetary system – four farthings, or two halfpennies to the penny, twelve pence to the shilling, and twenty shillings to the pound.)

Ian stared at her. 'Really?'

Barbara nodded, remembering. Susan hadn't even seemed particularly put out by her ridiculous mistake.

'I'm sorry, Miss Wright, I thought you were on the decimal system by now.'

'Don't be silly, Susan. The United States and most European countries have a decimal system, but you know perfectly well we do not.'

Susan frowned for a moment then said, 'Of course, the decimal system hasn't started yet. You'll change over in a few years' time!'

Ian looked at Barbara in astonishment. 'Decimal system, in England? That'll be the day! I suppose she could be a foreigner.

There's something about the way she talks...'

'Oh, come on, Ian, admit it. It just doesn't make sense.'

'No, it doesn't,' Ian agreed. 'Nothing about that girl makes sense. You know, the other day I was talking about chemical changes. I'd given out litmus paper to show cause and effect.'

'I suppose she knew the answer before you'd even started?'

'Yes, but it was more than that. The answer simply didn't interest her.'

Ian could see Susan now, looking impatiently up at him. 'Yes, I can see red turns to blue, Mr Chesterton, but that's because we're dealing with two inactive chemicals. They only act in relation to each other.'

'That's the whole point of the experiment, Susan.'

'Yes, I know, Mr Chesterton. But... well, it's a bit obvious, isn't it? I mean, I'm not trying to be rude, but couldn't we deal with two active chemicals. Then red could turn to blue all by itself, while we all got on with something more interesting.' She sighed. 'I'm sorry, it was just an idea.'

Returning to the present, Ian said. 'She meant it, too, Barbara.

These simple experiments are just child's play to her. It's maddening.'

'I know how you feel. It's got to the point where I want to trip her up deliberately!'

'Something else happened in maths the other day,' said Ian suddenly. 'I'd set the class a problem, an equation using A, B, and C

as the three dimensions...'

Ian's mind went back to the scene in the classroom. Susan had been standing at the blackboard, studying the equation. 'It's impossible to do it using just A, B and C,' she'd protested. 'You have to use D and E as well.'

'D and E? Whatever for? Do the problem that's set, Susan.'

There had been something like desperation in Susan's voice. 'I can't, Mr Chesterton. You simply can't work using only three of the dimensions.'

'Three dimensions? Oh, the fourth being Time, I suppose.

What do you need your E for? What do you make the fifth dimension?'

'Space,' said Susan simply.

When he'd finished telling her of the incident, Ian looked despairingly at Barbara. 'Somehow I got the impression that she thinks of Time and Space as being much the same kind of thing – as if you could travel in one just as well as in the other!'

'Too many questions, Ian, and not enough answers.'

'So,' said Ian summing up. 'We have a fifteen-year-old girl who's absolutely brilliant at some things and excruciatingly bad at others...'

Barbara touched his arm. 'And here she is!'

Outside the junk yard, Susan came hurrying along the street.

She paused for a moment, looked round, pushed open the small entry-gate and disappeared inside.

'Hadn't we better go in, Ian? I hate to think of her in that place alone.'

'If she is alone!'

'What do you mean?'

'Look, she's fifteen, remember. She might be meeting a boyfriend. Didn't that occur to you?'

Barbara laughed. 'I almost hope she is, it would be so wonderfully normal.' She looked uneasily across at the junk yard. 'I know it's silly, but I feel almost frightened. As if we're about to interfere in something that's best left alone.'

Ian Chesterton fished a torch out of the glove compartment and opened the car door. 'Come on, Barbara, let's get it over with!'

They got out of the car and crossed the road to the junk yard gates.

Barbara hesitated for a moment. 'Don't you feel something?'

'I take things as they come,' said Ian cheerfully. 'Come on.'

He pushed open the little gate and they went inside.

Even in the semi-darkness, they could see that the tiny yard was so cluttered there was scarcely room to move.

Ian shone his torch around them. He jumped as the torch beam picked out what seemed to be a human body, but it was only an old shop-window dummy with a shattered head.

'What a mess!' muttered Ian. 'I'm not turning over this lot to find her!'

He took a few paces forward and stepped on a piece of loose rubble. His foot twisted under him, he staggered to keep his balance, and the torch shot from his hand. It went out as it hit the ground and rolled away somewhere out of sight.

'Blast!' said Ian savagely, 'I've dropped the wretched torch!'

'Use a match then.'

'Haven't got any matches. Oh well, never mind.'

Slowly their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and they began moving cautiously around the little yard.

'Susan?' called Barbara. 'Susan, are you there?'

No answer.

'Susan, it's Mr Chesterton and Miss Wright,' shouted Ian.

'Susan!' There was still no reply. Ian peered round in the gloom. 'She can't have gone far, the place is too small. And she hasn't left the yard or we'd have seen her.'

Barbara moved forward, and something square and solid loomed up out of the darkness in front of her. 'Ian, look at this.'

'It's a police box! What's it doing here? They usually stand on street corners.' He reached out and patted the police box. 'Seems solid enough.' He tried to push the door open and snatched his hand away.

'What's the matter, Ian?'

'Feel it.'

Hesitantly, Barbara put her hand to the police box door. She, too, pulled it hurriedly back. 'There's a kind of faint vibration.'

Ian nodded. 'It feels – alive...' He walked all the way round the police box, reappearing at the front. 'Well, it's not connected to anything – unless it's through the floor.'

Barbara backed away. For some reason the police box made her feel uneasy. 'Look, I've had enough of this. Let's go and find a policeman, tell him we think Susan's missing. They can organise a proper search.'

'All right.' Ian paused as he heard the gate creak open. There was the sound of coughing. 'Someone's there!'

'Is it Susan?'

Ian could just make out a cloaked figure advancing through the gloom. 'No, it isn't. Quick, behind here.' He dragged her behind a pile of old furniture, and they ducked down out of sight.

The dark shape came nearer, and revealed itself as a white-haired old man wrapped in some kind of cloak. He wore an oddly shaped fur hat, and a long striped scarf was wound around his neck.

The old man paused for a moment, coughing as old people do, and patted himself on the chest. He seemed to be muttering... He went up to the police box, fished a key from out of his pocket and opened the door.

To the astonishment of the two watchers, a girl's voice came from inside the police box. 'There you are, grandfather!'

'It's Susan!'

'Ssh!' said Ian warningly, but it was too late. The old man had heard them. He slammed the door of the police box and whirled around.

Deciding he might as well make the best of it, Ian rose to his feet. 'Excuse me.'

The old man looked at him in mild surprise. 'What are you doing here?'

'We're looking for a girl...'

'We?'

Barbara, too, emerged from her hiding place. 'Good evening.'

The old man studied them for a moment. His face was old and lined, yet somehow alert and vital at the same time. His eyes seemed to blaze with a fierce intelligence, and a commanding beak of a nose gave his features an arrogant, aristocratic air. 'What do you want?'

'We're looking for one of our pupils,' said Ian rather lamely. 'A girl called Susan Foreman. She came into this yard.'

'Really? In here? Are you sure?' There was a sort of condescending scepticism in the old man's voice, like that of someone talking to an imaginative child.

'Yes, we're sure,' said Barbara firmly. 'We saw her – from across the street.'

'One of their pupils,' muttered the old man to himself. 'Not the police, then.'

Ian was alarmed by the half-heard words. Why was the old man worried about the police? 'I beg your pardon?'

'Why were you spying on her? Who are you?'

Ian realised he was being put on the defensive. Somehow it was as if he was the one who had to explain his actions.

'We heard a young girl's voice call out to you -'

'Your hearing must be very acute. I didn't hear anything.'

Barbara pointed to the police box. 'Well, we did. And it came from in there.'

'You imagined it.'

Barbara could feel herself getting angry. 'I most certainly did not imagine it!'

As if deciding Barbara was beyond reason, the old man turned to Ian. 'Now I ask you, young man,' he said smoothly, 'is it reasonable to suppose that anyone would be inside a cupboard like that?'

Ian's tone was equally calm. 'Would it therefore be unreasonable to ask you to let us have a look inside?'

The old man seemed astonished at the suggestion. He picked up an old painting, and studied it absorbedly. 'I wonder why I've never seen that before. Now, isn't that strange? It's very damp and dirty.'

'Won't you help us?' pleaded Barbara. 'We're two of her teachers – she's at Coal Hill School. We saw her come in and we haven't seen her leave. Naturally, we're very worried.'

The old man was still peering at the painting. 'It really ought to be cleaned...' He looked up at Barbara. 'Oh, I'm afraid all this is none of my business. I suggest you leave.'

'Not until we're satisfied that Susan isn't here,' said Ian angrily.

'Frankly, I just don't understand your attitude.'

'Indeed? Well, your own leaves a lot to be desired, young man.'

' Will you open that door? '

The old man turned away dismissively. 'There's nothing in there.'

'Then why are you afraid to show us?'

'Afraid!' said the old man scornfully. 'Oh – go away!' He spoke like someone dismissing a child whose antics have finally become tiresome.

'Come on, Barbara, I think we'd better go and fetch a policeman.'

Barbara nodded, watching the old man to see the effect of the threat.

He shrugged. 'Very well. Do as you please.'

'And you're coming with us,' said Ian in exasperation.

The old man smiled. 'Oh, am I? I don't think so, young man.

Oh no, I don't think so.'

He sat down on a broken-backed chair and picked up the painting again, studying it thoughtfully.

Stalemate.

Barbara looked helplessly at Ian. 'We can't force him.'

'We can't leave him here, either. Isn't it obvious? He's got her locked up in there.'

They moved closer to the police box. 'Try the door,' suggested Barbara. 'Maybe you can force it.'

Ian examined the lock. He thumped the door, but it was solidly locked. 'There's no proper handle – must be some kind of secret lock.'

'But that was Susan's voice – wasn't it?'

'Of course, it was.'

Ian rapped hard on the door with his knuckles. 'Susan! Susan, are you in there? It's Mr Chesterton and Miss Wright.'

Ian's banging on the police box seemed to annoy the strange old man. Abandoning his attempt to appear uninterested, he rose and came towards them. 'Aren't you being rather high-handed, young man? You thought you saw a young girl enter the yard. You imagine you heard her voice. You believe she might be hidden inside there?

It's not very substantial, is it?'

His words seemed to drain away Ian's confidence, leaving him wondering if he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

Barbara was not to be put off. 'But why won't you help us?'

'I'm not hindering you. If you're both determined to make fools of yourselves, I suggest you carry out your threat. Go and find a policeman.'

Ian said sceptically, 'While you nip off quietly in the other direction, I suppose?'

'There's no need to be insulting, young man,' said the old man loftily. 'There's only one way in and out of this yard. One of you can wait outside and watch the gates. I shall be here when you get back. I want to see your faces when you try to explain your behaviour to a policeman.'

'All right, that is what we'll do,' said Ian defiantly. 'Come on, Barbara, you can watch from the car, while I go and find a policeman.'

They were about to move away when the door to the police box was opened from the inside.

Susan's voice called, 'What are you doing out there, grandfather?'

The old man sprang towards the police box with tigerish speed.

'Close the door!' he shouted. He grabbed the door, obviously intending to slam it again, but Ian was too quick for him, and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away. Despite his age, the old man was amazingly strong, and he almost succeeded in throwing Ian off. Barbara came and joined in, and somehow, struggling wildly, Ian and Barbara stumbled into the police box – and straight into sheer impossibility.

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