Bixby stopped under the gazebo and said, “Weapons check.”

He pulled out a Fabrique-Nationale .38-caliber semi-auto from his waistband and extracted the magazine, making sure it remained full.

Chance retrieved an even smaller Walther from his back pocket while Blair pulled out a Webley revolver she had tucked away somewhere.

They all looked at Rip, who blushed in the dim light.

“I did not get a chance to acquire a weapon of my own today. And I lost one of the guard’s Tommy guns in the dirigible.”

“No matter,” Bixby said. “I spent the lion’s share of my part of the proceeds from our last mission on this nifty item.”

He pulled a leather wallet from his back pocket, showing it to the others.

“Professor J. J. Thomson is the one responsible for this little marvel.”

“Isn’t he the chap involved in interspatial research?”

“That is correct, Mr. Chance. And electronics. I’m not sure how he did it, but the interior of this wallet can hold a prodigious number of items, far more than is evident on the outside. Hold your hands out.”

Chance did so. Bixby flipped his wrist and a Tommy gun flew out of the wallet and into the infiltrator’s hands.

Chance’s eyes grew round.

“Outstanding.”

“Sergeant? Lady Brooke? Hold your hands out.”

In short order, they all strapped Tommy guns over their shoulders, retrieved from the interspatial wallet.

“I’m getting one of those tomorrow,” Blair said as Bixby replaced the wallet in his back pocket.

“They’re expensive,” he said in a cautionary tone.

“They’re impossible,” Rip said. “You can’t deny the laws of physics like that.”

“Says the man from another world,” Blair said with a mischievous smile.

Chance said, “She’s got you there, mate.”

“Are we quite ready?” Bixby said. “Let us go down.”

He and Chance moved into position, walking side-by-side down the stairs under the gazebo. Blair and Rip followed.

Gaslight from sconces on the wall flickered in the evening breeze, what little reached down this far. The light straightened out as they went lower, although it remained dim.

No break in the steps came, and Rip reflected on the obvious lack of safety standards. Had this been his world, no more than 15 or so steps would have been allowed without a switchback. At least in modern construction.

He knew this from safety training in the Army. The reasoning was if someone fell down the stairs, with limited steps in a flight they could only tumble so far.

But safety training evidently had not been invented here yet, he thought. If someone fell down these steps, they had a long, long way to go.

At last, after climbing down over 100 steps by Rips count, they came to the landing at the bottom. Here, after 15 feet or so, a concrete tunnel stretched to the right and left.

They stood in a pool of dim flickering light from the last sconce on the wall.

“Which way, Mr. Chance?”

“I’m afraid that decision won’t be necessary, Lord Bixby.”

A man in a black tuxedo walked out of the gloom on the tunnel to the right. The four turned and watched him approach.

“Keep an eye on our back, Mr. Chance.”

Chance nodded and turned in the other direction, watching the tunnel’s left approach.

Rip glanced up the stairs, deciding he would pay attention in that direction, even though it seemed unlikely someone would try and surprise them there.

“With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, may I ask?”

“I’m the King Rat, of course. But you already knew this, Lord Bixby. I want to thank you for bringing the man our client was so interested in meeting.”

King Rat turned and smiled at Rip.

Bixby frowned at the man.

“We’ve brought him, but we’ve no intention of leaving him. Nonetheless, we would like to meet this client of yours before we go. At least let us discuss the matter.”

King Rat chuckled, as if Bixby had shared a humorous anecdote and he was just being polite.

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. We will be bringing the chap with us, you see.”

“I don’t—”

An explosion sounded to their left, fire ripping down the tunnel with blinding light.

They all ducked, including Chance who never saw it coming despite looking in that direction, as a wave of hot pressurized air washed over them.

Rip glanced up the stairs, but they remained clear. The man known as King Rat, however, had disappeared.

Four other men advanced on them from the tunnel’s right, spraying bullets out of the dark. The gunshots sounded especially loud in the enclosed space, as bullets ricocheted off concrete. Bixby and Blair took a couple rounds each, hot lead thunking into their chests and shoulders.

Instinctively, everyone moved to the shelter of the landing, which offered some protection from the tunnels. It at least got them out of the line of fire.

“You alright?” Rip said, looking at the two fresh bullet holes in Blair, near her collarbone and shoulder. She held the bleeding in, with one hand, as he pulled out a handkerchief.

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

Bixby grunted in pain. He had taken two bullets in the abdomen.

“Me, too.”

Chance and Rip nodded at one other, racking the bolts back on their guns.

They stepped back out in the tunnel to the right and let off long burps from their Tommy guns, empty shells tinkling to the floor as they shot.

When they finished off the 100-round magazines, Rip said, “Got any of your famous dynamite?”

“Alas, I’m out at the moment.”

“He’s always out when you need it,” Blair grumbled.

“Gentlemen, I think now is a good time for a retreat,” Bixby said, grimacing in pain.

Before anyone could respond to this suggestion, a portcullis dropped where the landing met the stairs. Two more dropped at either side of the intersection.

“I did not see that,” Rip said. “Those were very well hidden in the ceiling.”

“At least we’ve still got our guns,” Chance said with a smile.

A metallic disk lowered from the ceiling above them, hovering just out of the reach overhead.

A humming noise filled the air. All their guns flew up, slipping out of their hands and clanking against the metal disk. It retracted back up into the ceiling, holding their weapons out of reach.

Rip managed to hold onto his wrench, which struggled mightily to escape his coat pocket.

Blair glared at Chance.

“You were saying?”

“Look, I had no idea they would use an electro-magnet on us.”

“Why did you have to say anything at all, Bobby?”

Before they could start arguing in earnest, a side door in the tunnel opened and King Rat stepped out. He approached the portcullis and smiled at the foursome behind the bars.

“Now, let’s start over again, shall we?”