The Parlour of George Litefoot.
"Some tea for Mr. Jago and myself please, Mrs. Hudson. We've had a bit of a rum evening, all told."
"Too right, Professor. But we showed that scurrilous statue what for. Another fastidious feather in the cap of Jago & Litefoot!"
"I wouldn't be too quick to close this particular case, Henry. The Angel may have been taken care of, but we still have to locate the source of those temporal disturbances that The Doctor warned us about."
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that in my excitement. Do you still have the dratted device from Professor Dark? What was it, a Quantic Flexing Stabiliser?"
"A Quantum Flux Stabiliser, but I have no idea how it operates, what it's function is, or why we should require such a thing. The Doctor did tell Ellie that it would become apparent. I wish there was a little more clarity."
"It's about as clear as the proverbial, I'd say. I remain somewhat sceptical about suggestions for the scepter's situational suitability or it's invaluable instructions just waltzing up and knocking at you door. Couldn't that confounded chap have given Ellie more to go on?"
As Jago bemoaned their current predicament, a tall, hooded figure approached Litefoot's front door. Some device held beneath his coat emitted a recurring beep, which grew in frequency when pointed towards the house. With his free hand, the figure reached out towards the ornamental brass knocker on the door, rapping it repeatedly.
"Gracious! Who could that be at his hour?"
"Knowing my luck, it's probably a creditor, unhappy with the current takings from the New Regency. Blasted cheek, two of my best performers where murdered, in a manner of speaking, by the Angel. Hardly the time for meeting about mundane monetary matters."
"It's more likely to be either Ellie, or Inspector Quick, I should think. Perhaps one of them has found a clue pertaining to this device!"
"The cove is still knocking, George. They're certainly insistent."
"Then we should tarry no longer. I'M ON THE WAY, PLEASE TRY NOT TO WEAR OUT THE HINGES" George called out as he entered the hallway.
"Open up, in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria!" came the muffled reply.
"What the devil? Who am I speaking to? On what business do you call here so late?"
"I won't ask again. You're harbouring dangerous technology that poses a threat to the Empire. Open this door immediately, or I will open fire!"
"I don't take kindly to threats, good sir. Besides, surely you require a warrant to demand entry to this private residence. I suggest you return in the morning, with your superior, when we can discuss this like gentlemen."
"No dice, I'm afraid. Not gonna fly. My mission is urgent, and frankly, I don't have the time to placate older gentlemen. Not during business hours, anyway. I WILL open fire!"
"Litefoot, do you think he means it? Will he attempt to force entry?"
"I wouldn't worry, Henry. I don't think an agent of the Crown would risk such an incident in a built up area. Besides, I had the doors fortified with iron and mahogany shortly after the business with Magnus Greel. It would take a cannon to pierce this entryway."
Several cracks of gunpowder resonated through the door-frame, while the door shook slightly."
"Looks like your defences held then."
"The man is a lunatic! What does he think he's playing at? That hand carved mahogany cost me a fair sum. And this is hardly the appropriate occasion for firearms in a main London street!"
"I think he's stopped. I don't suppose there is an alternative entrance, is there?"
"The rear door I'd similarly reinforced, and the cellar can only be opened from this side."
For several moments, the pair stood in silence, listening for any sign of the mysterious figure. For a brief moment, they could have sworn they heard a holler, slowly increasing in pitch.
"Oh no! The doors are impenetrable, however..."
"The Windows!"
The hooded figure ran towards the bay window on the ground floor. Seconds before impact, he fired at the pane, weakening it's structure, then dove through, arms first to clear the path for his fleshy body. The figure fell into a roll, landing in a crouched position, one knee raised, long military style coat splayed out around him. The hood had fallen away, revealing a handsome man, in his late 30's, sporting thick muttonchops. Shards of glass were sprinkled about his clothes, and his bare skin was covered in several scratches and cuts.
"Boy, I promised myself I'd never use a window again. Not after that time with Bruce Cam..."
"What on earth have you done to my parlour?!"
"What does it look like, old timer? I entered your domicile through the only means left available. Oh, and I don't need a warrant to gain entry. I'm outside the Constabulary."
"Then who the devil are you man?! And who are you calling old? Dashed cheek. What are you doing in my house?"
"The name's Captain Jack Harkness. I'm here to save the world on behalf of the Torchwood Institute. And you two are harbouring incredibly dangerous non-terestrial technology."
"Mrs. Hudson, make that three cups for tea. It seems we have a guest."
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