"Well this don't look much like dear old Blighty!"

Able Seaman Ben Jackson stood just outside the TARDIS doors and gazed around the narrow rubbish strewn alleyway with a frown. He sniffed the air and pulled a face. "Don't smell much like it either!"

An attractive blonde girl in brief blue mini-skirt came out from the time machine to stand beside him, She pulled a face too at what she saw - and smelt. "Ooh, Ben's right, Doctor. This isn't nice at all!" Her name was Polly.

The third member of the crew came bustling out through the doors, a short man wearing a long dusty black frock coat and baggy check trousers. He had a mop of dark hair and mischievous features. He was known only as the Doctor, and he frowned at his current travelling companions. "What! Oh no, no... been to much worse places than this. Very bracing!" To emphasis his point, he took a deep lungful of air, and immediately went a little pale. He tugged a large polka-dot handkerchief from a pocket and flapped it in front of his face. "Perhaps," he wheezed, "we should move a little further into the street, hmmm?" The other two looked at him knowingly. He cleared his throat. "See where we are properly, I mean! Come along..."

He led them along the alley until they emerged at the entrance to a broad street lined with tall buildings on both sides. Bright sunshine shone down on pavements positively heaving with people bustling along about their businesses. The noise was tremendous, a cacophony of voices, engines, and the rumble of innumerable sets of feet. The sound of a thriving city.

Polly clutched at Ben's arm. "Ben, look at their clothes! Aren't they so terribly old fashioned!"

"Cor, yeah... and look at that car!" Ben pointed at the large automobile cruising slowly down the road between the pavements. "And there's another!"

The Doctor nodded. "That's an old model Ford... yes, and these fashions are rather distinctive, aren't they? But not old fashioned in this time, I think."

"Back on Earth, aren't we?" asked Polly.

"Yes!" the Doctor beamed.

"Skyscrapers ain't they?" said Ben, pointing up. "Must be America!"

The Doctor looked around him suddenly, then scooted over to a collection of metal trashcans just inside the alleyway. "Ah ha!" he cried. This should tell us the exact place and time!" He started rummaging through the bins, getting odd looks from one or two of the passers-by in the street. Polly smiled awkwardly at them. One or two of the passers-by gave her funny looks too, but she was used to that, dressed as she was.

Ben glanced at Polly and raised his eyes heavenwards. "I got a watch to tell me the time!" he sighed.

Polly thumped his arm playfully. "Oh Ben, you know what he means! That watch of yours won't tell us what year it is, will it?"

"Suppose not... hey, y'know, that gives me an idea for when we get back... make watches for time travellers! Tell you the lot... the time, the year, where you are..."

"They already have them on Earth, Ben," remarked the Doctor, coming back over to join them. He had a rather tattered newspaper in his hands. "They call them digital watches. Even tell you how far underwater you are." He paused reflectively. "Always wondered why..."

"Well don't keep us in suspense!" snapped Polly. "What date is it?"

"1927!" the Doctor beamed. "How very splendid!"

"Splendid?" asked Ben. "What's so splendid about 1927?"

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Well, Britain still ruled the seas for one," he teased.

"Now, hey...!"

The Doctor chuckled. "The 1920's was a very exciting time. Lots of advances in science and medicine." He grinned and rubbed his hands. "Also a great time for music and the arts. All the classics... Cecile B. De Mille, Charlie Chaplin... and jazz." The Doctor started to flick through the pages. "I wonder who's in town... hope it's Duke!"

"Also the time of prohibition and the Great Depression," said Polly gloomily. She noticed them staring at her. "What's the matter? I did do history at school you know!"

"Ain't this the time of Al Capone and all that?" asked Ben.

"Yes, but that was a different city. Look!" He patted the headline. "This is Cincinnati. Mr Capone ruled the roost in Chicago. No, you don't have to worry about him... here we are!" He tapped at an article he'd found. "Chester DeFarge and his Riverboat Ensemble, playing at the Grand Theatre on Main Street." The Doctor frowned slightly. "Not quite Duke, but it'll suffice... now I wonder where Main Street is?"

"Oh no, not jazz! It's so noisy!" protested Polly.

"More of a skiffle man meself, Doctor," admitted Ben. Polly suddenly giggled. "What?" he said.

"Skiffle!" giggled Polly. "That went out with the dinosaurs!"

"No, no!" chided the Doctor. "Skiffle remained popular for decades..."

"Doubtless you could find skiffle LP's in bargain bins throughout history then!"

"Watch it duchess, you're talking to a man who once shared a cab with Lonnie Donnegan..."

"Come along!" said the Doctor wearily, breaking the argument. He stepped into the street but stopped suddenly and clutched at Ben's arm, a look or horror on his face.

"What? What is it, Doctor?" asked Ben urgently.

He gaped at him. "Did I remember to shut the TARDIS door properly?"

Ben and Polly exchanged a weary look. "Want me to go and check?" asked Ben.

"Would you?" the Doctor smiled.

"Yeah, yeah..." Ben dipped his head to Polly's ear and murmured: "I'd have expected this of the old boy, but him..."

"Go on!" she chuckled. "Don't want to miss Chester whats-his-name now, do we?"

Ben grinned as he started back. "Don't tempt me!"

"What did he say?" frowned the Doctor, looking up from the paper.

"Nothing!" Polly smiled, taking his arm. She looked down at her dress. "Do you think I'll pass for a flapper, or do you think this place will have strict dress code?"

The Doctor laughed, looking down at his own shabby attire. "I sincerely hope not!"

***

A large limousine crawled slowly along the street, quite close to where the time travellers had landed. Inside the car were four men, including the driver. They were all dressed in sharp suits with fedoras pulled low over their sinister faces. All the men were studying the people in the street closely.

"You really reckon this guy is gonna walk all the way from the station, boss?" asked one of the men, rather appropriately nicknamed Bull, for his size and also because of the amount of rubbish he tended to come up with in conversation.

"He weren't there, was he? And the train was on time, wasn't it?" This came from the marginally smaller of the three men, a cruel faced middle aged man with a pencil moustache. His name was Vincent Spittano, known to his associates - and the local police - as Spats Spittano, partly nicknamed for his taste in that kind of footwear, but mainly because of a series of well documented public fights with his now ex-wife. He had something of a reputation in the city for certain criminal activities, including liquor smuggling, loan-sharking, prostitution, and other unsavoury activities. He wasn't a happy man even at the best of times, and now he was especially unhappy.

"We waited an hour, boss," said the third man, called Moose, partly, again, because of his size, and because when he sneezed, he made a noise like moose in labour.

"I know we waited an hour!" he snapped. "Goddamn limey bum still didn't show!"

"Maybe he got on the wrong train," said Bull hopefully. "I did that once going to see my aunt in Wyoming. Ended up in New Mexico. Ever been to New Mexico, boss?"

"Why in hell would I want to ever go to New Mexico? You..." Spats shook his head in exasperation. "If he does show, then Lenny and Pete will call us from the station. But until then, we look for the bum in case he is wanderin' around! If he don't turn up, I don't know what I'll do..."

Moose suddenly clutched Spats's arm. "There, boss... over there! Ain't that the guy?"

"Where?"

"Over there... got a blonde broad with him, just like in da picture we got sent."

Everyone craned across to look, Bull nearly squashing Spats in an effort to get to his side of the window. Spats slapped him back and pulled a photo from his pocket. It wasn't a good one, but they looked similar. He nodded. "Yeah, that's the guy... short, dark hair, funny clothes. Looks like a comedian, don't he?"

"Say... she's kinda cute!" observed the driver, studying Polly closely.

"This ain't a beauty show, Louie! Pull over!" Spats straightened his suit after Bull had lolled all over it and checked the revolver secreted in its shoulder holster as he did. "This guy better have a good reason for why he'd wanderin' around like a dumb schmuck..."

"Why didn't he take a cab?" asked Louie. Spats slapped him across the back of the head, making the car swerve slightly.

"How the hell should I know? Maybe they don't got cabs in England!"

"I'm pretty sure they do, boss," said Bull slowly. "Saw pictures of London on a newsreel. They got cars and everything."

Spats glared at him. "You schmuck... of course they got cars! Everyone got cars!"

"What about in..." he had to think for a minute. "Africa?" asked Moose.

"Shut up," snarled Spats.

"Or Nebraska?" asked Bull.

"Quiet!"

"Or Alaska," added Louie. "Too much snow in Alaska for cars."

"You'll be going to friggin' Alaska if you don't shut your mouth and pull over!"

***

The Doctor and Polly were wandering slowly along the street when a large black limo screeched to a halt beside them and three large and unpleasant looking men jumped out and formed an intimidating ring around them. Passers-by gave them a wide berth.

"Er, can I help you?" asked the Doctor with wary politeness.

"We been lookin' for you all over," growled one of the men.

"Er, have you?"

The man tugged one of the doors open. "Get in. You're late!"

"Late, er, yes. Look, I think there's been some sort of mistake..."

"Cut the wisecracks and get in!"

Before the Doctor and Polly knew what was happening, they were being bundled into the back of the car. The first man jumped in after them and the car screeched off before the door had even shut. The Doctor's paper fluttered to the road in its wake.

Ben emerged from the alleyway behind them just in time to witness this. "Oi!" he yelled. But the car was already vanishing into the distance. "Strewth! It's all go, this caper!" He scratched his head, thinking frantically of what to do next. Another car passed slowly in front of him, with a large sign above its windscreen that read: TAXI.

Ben immediately raised his arm. "Cab!" he yelled. The vehicle stopped, and Ben jumped in. He leaned forward towards the driver. "You won't believe this, but..." he pointed after the big limo in the distance, "Follow that car?"

The driver merely grunted and pulled back into the traffic. "Buddy, I'll believe anything... so long as you got the fare."

That thought hadn't occurred to Ben, but he didn't dare say anything...

***

"Who do you think we are?"

This was about the third time the guy had asked that question, and Spats was getting pretty sick of hearing it. Bull and Moose were propelling the pair down the stairs of Spats's little club, a small but plush night club, open by invitation only, where Spats entertained guests - and from time to time, conducted a little business. Like today.

"Cut the cracks. You know who you are and why you're here." He leaned his head forward menacingly. "You can take this comedy routine too far, ya know..."

"I think you're great," said Bull suddenly. "Loved that film you did... what was it called?"

"Shut up, Bull... who's the dame, part of your act, or just your current squeeze?"

"I am nobody's squeeze!" shouted Polly. "And stop shoving me, you big gorilla!"

"Are you a singer? An actress?" asked Moose, oblivious to Polly's demand.

"I'm a typist!"

"Secretary, eh?" Spats winked at Bull. "Heard it called that before!"

"Now look," said the Doctor patiently, "I really do think there's been a mistake..."

"Mistake?" hissed Spats. They paused outside the entrance to main area of the club. From within could be heard the murmur of voices. A lot of voices. He jabbed the Doctor in the chest. "Listen pally, I don't make mistakes, Especially not today! Cos there's a lot of important people in there, see, and I can't be seen to make no mistakes in front of these guys, see, cos if I look bad, I go down, see? And if I go down..." He drew a finger across his throat.

The Doctor touched his own throat gingerly. "I see... I think."

"You wait here," hissed Spats, and disappeared into the room.

"Doctor, what is going on?" whispered Polly.

"I rather fear a nasty case of mistaken identity, Polly... these gentlemen seem to believe we are people we are not!"

"But why? And what do they want us for?"

The Doctor twisted his fingers nervously. "Some form of entertainment, I'd say..."

"What about Ben?"

The Doctor looked uncertain, and pulled her to one side out of the mobsters listening. "Let's hope he saw what happened and is doing something to help..." He cast an edgy look at Bull and Moose. "So long as it isn't anything rash!"

"They're gangsters, aren't they? Like Al Capone!"

"We ain't gangsters, doll," said Bull suddenly. "We're... legitimate businessmen," he said slowly.

"And Spats - I mean Mr Spittano, is way better than that schmuck Capone." Moose leaned forward menacingly. "So watch what you say, girlie!"

There was a low rumble of laughter from inside the room, and a few seconds later Spats reappeared and snapped his fingers. "Warmed 'em up for ya... now get in here and do your thing - or else!"

Bull and Moose shoved the Doctor and Polly forward into the room. Both went pale at what they saw. Sitting around a dozen or so tables was a large gathering of formidable looking men all dressed similarly to Spats and his men.

They were all looking expectantly at them.

"Oh my giddy aunt!" exclaimed the Doctor. Bull and Moose pushed them both towards the stage at the other end of the room, where a large piano sat waiting...

Spats suddenly boomed, making them both jump. "Gentlemen, may I present by way of a diversion from our discussions, all the way from London, England, the great, the very great, Alfred Merryweather - and friend!"

"Alfred who?" exclaimed the Doctor, but he was drowned out by the applause that rippled through the room. Spats turned and grinned at the Doctor. "Knock 'em dead, champ!" Then he leaned forward and whispered: "Or I'll knock you dead!"

***

After a lengthy argument, Ben had finally got the cabbie to agree to accept his watch in exchange for the fare. "Flamin' heck... me dad gave me that," he grumbled, watching the vehicle disappear. "Still, like Pol said... what good is a wristwatch to a time traveller?"

He turned and looked at the building before him. Big, but largely unremarkable. The limo was parked outside, the driver leaning casually against the fender watching the street. Outside the front door was a big man with one hand kept inside his jacket.

"Gangsters, innit... oh, don't worry about Al Capone, Ben..." he muttered, mimicking the Doctor's cheery tone. "Blimey...pirates, Cybermen, Daleks... now ruddy gangsters! What a lark!"

Going in through the front door was out of the question. He strolled as nonchalantly as he could round the side of the building, and found an alleyway with a large lorry parked outside. Several men in brown overalls were moving backwards and forwards through a door in the side of the building carrying large bundles. A sign on the side of the truck read: QUICK N EASY LAUNDRY.

"Perfect," muttered Ben, eyeing the entrance. "Now how do I get in?"

He spotted a spare overall draped across the seat in the lorry cab, and sneakily opened the door and pulled it out, tugging it on. Then, waiting until no one was looking, he grabbed a bundle and hurried inside the building. No one gave him a second look...

***

The Doctor helped Polly onto the stage and stood blinking around him for a moment, then smiled benignly at the crowd. "Ha ha... yes... well... how are we all today?"

Stony-faced silence.

The Doctor looked at Polly, who shook her head helplessly. "Ha ha... yes... erm... yes... let me see..."

"Get on with it!" a voice called from the back. The Doctor winced. Spats was standing close by the stage, the frown on his face getting darker by the minute.

"Well, er... how about a joke or two?"

"Yeah, how about a joke or two?" called the voice. There was a ripple of laughter. The Doctor grinned.

"Thank you, sir. You're a natural. Perhaps you'd care to take my place?"

More laughter. The Doctor saw Spats shaking his head. "Perhaps not, then... well now..." he clapped his hands together. "A funny thing happened on the way to the theatre today..." the Doctor scratched his head. "No, actually that's not so funny, thinking about it. How about this one? These two Martians walked into a bar and the one turned to the bar robot and said..."

"What about the piano?" hissed Polly.

The Doctor swung round. "My dear, how did you know the punchline?"

More laughter. Polly blushed. "No, I mean why don't you play something? You said music helps you think..."

"Yes!" he yelped, leaping to the instrument and settling down at the keys. "It does indeed!" He struck a dramatic pose, then rattled the opening bars of the Death March out. He looked up at the audience, grinning maniacally. "A tune familiar to one or two here, I'm sure!"

"That's not funny!" hissed Polly, but there was laughter anyway.

He looked up and grinned. "Why break the habit of a lifetime!" he declared, seeming to warm to his theme. "Perhaps you could even join me in a song or two!"

"I can't sing!" she whispered helplessly.

"And I can't play the piano very well, but we don't want them to know!" he whispered back loudly. He craned his neck round Polly and declared: "So sorry. Little staff problem. Industrial dispute. I'm sure you gentlemen know a thing or two about that!"

"Get onto yer union!" a voice yelled, and there were more guffaws.

"Ha ha, yes...I think we got them now!" the Doctor whispered to Polly.

Polly saw Spats clenching and unclenching his fists and shuddered. "You think so?"

***

Ben made his way cautiously through the building, keeping as low a profile as possible. As he made his way further in, he heard a piano playing, and laughter. He paused, listening.

"Sounds like a shindig going on somewhere..."

There was door at the end of the hallway he was passing down, and he crept up to it and opened it a crack. What he saw made him gasp with disbelief; the Doctor and Polly on a stage putting on some sort of musical act!

"Blimey! Whatever next!"

But judging from Polly's strained expression, they were not there by choice. Ben saw a large angry faced man standing by the stage, glaring murderously at the duo.

"How do I get you away from this lot?" he muttered. Suddenly a door banged to his right and he looked round in fright. Another man in overalls emerged from a side corridor carrying a length of cable. He nodded to Ben as he passed on his way out. Ben waited until he left and then went down the corridor and opened the door. A flight of stairs led down into some sort of gloomily lit basement that seemed to stretch beneath the room he was just looking at.

An idea began to form. "I wonder..." he muttered, and quickly began to pick his way across the room...

***

Whether it was through accident, or design, or even pure luck, the Doctor seemed to winning the crowd over, with a mixture of inane patter and heavy fingered tinkling mixed with the odd slight-of-hand trick, complete with Polly acting as good-natured stooge. He seemed to be enjoying trading insults with the crowd, who were becoming rowdier and more good-natured by the minute. Polly guessed the bar was doing a roaring trade, judging from the waiters' to-ing and fro-ing through the tables, and the increasingly red faces of the audience. To say nothing of the fug of alcohol fumes rising from the tables...

For her part, it was the only time in her life she was happy just to stand back, look decorative, and act dumb.

"How about this?" The Doctor started to play a familiar sounding tune.

"What's that?" she asked.

"The theme to The Great Escape."

She rolled her eyes. "Terrific! All we need now is Steve McQueen and motorbike!"

"How about Ben and a handily concealed trapdoor in the stage?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"What?" she gasped.

"Right by your feet. Don't look! I saw him peeking through just a second ago!" The Doctor looked round at the audience again. "Anyone here from Tarporley? No? How about Sicily?" he called. There were loud shouts. "Splendid! Try this for size..."

He started to play a jaunty tune. To Polly's amazement, some of the audience started to sing. "Always gets the Sicilians going, this... traditional, you know..."

"How do we get through it?"

"Easy, just hum along if you don't know the words..."

"I mean the trap door!"

"Simple!" The Doctor finished his tune with a flourish and stood up, giving a series of jerking bows at the applause that rippled up. "Thank you, thank you! And now, may I crave your indulgence for a display of the ancient conjurors' art!"

The Doctor leapt across the stage and started to tug a table by the side across the floor. "Polly, that screen-thing there - quickly!"

Polly noticed the wooden partition standing by the side the Doctor was pointing to and just about managed to drag it over. The Doctor positioned it around the table - which stood just in front of the trapdoor. The Doctor gave Polly a crafty wink.

"And now for your amazement and delight, I shall make my lovely assistant disappear! Polly, get on the table behind the screen..."

***

By the side of the stage, Spats frowned. He didn't like the look of this. He wanted this pair where he could see them. He was about to do something about it when a waiter came up and murmured in his ear:

"Mr Genovese would like to speak with you, sir."

"Genovese?" Vito Genovese was head of one of the largest families on the East side, a feared and respected man, and one whom Spats was eager to impress today. Spats straightened his tie anxiously and gestured impatiently for the waiter to lead on.

But Genovese was all smiles when he stopped by the table. Grandly he gestured for Spats to sit beside him. "Vincento, my old friend... I wanted to express my gratitude for all the arrangements you have made today..."

Spats bobbed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Don Genovese."

There was a bang and a flash... applause thundered around them as the little man flung the screen aside to reveal... his assistant had vanished! Spats frowned. He wasn't fooled. He knew all about the trapdoor, but while he was talking to Genovese, he had no chance of telling any of his men to get down there. And he very sincerely doubted any of them would think of it.

"... Quite, quite wonderful," the Don was saying, voice slurred by expensive brandy. "You're a fine host, my friend. Best in Cincinnati. I will not forget this!"

"Thank you, sir. It's been my pleasure, and a very great honour." A very great expense too, he didn't add, but hopefully worth it. He glanced at the stage. Now the little guy was getting onto the table and pulling the screens across. Spats frowned dangerously and started to rise, but Genovese rested a hand on his arm.

"You look ill at ease, my friend. What troubles you?"

"My, er, entertainers..."

"They are wonderful!" the Don enthused, kissing his fingertips and flicking them towards the stage. "I would not have believed an Englishman could be so funny!"

There was a second bang and a flash... applause roared again, and then died softly away to a puzzled murmur. Then slowly, very slowly, the partition toppled aside... to reveal nothing but an empty table. Applause thundered again.

"I don't believe it either," said Spats dryly. "Excuse me, Don Genovese..." Spats finally rose but as he did Bull came hurrying over towards him, a worried look on his face. "Just the guy," said Spats, beckoning to him. Bull spoke first.

"Boss, Pete is on the phone..."

"Yeah?" he frowned.

"Says that limey guy has just rolled into the station - and wants to know where his limo is!"

Spats blinked. "You... I..." He shook his head in disbelief. "Pete's sure it's him?"

"Yeah, boss. He's positive. You know Pete, he never forgets a face."

Then he saw the smiles on the other mobsters faces, and it hit him; Genovese - and the others - had enjoyed the show. He didn't have to worry making up a story. The show had worked. He'd made his mark, and would doubtless reap the rewards.

Spats snapped his fingers. "Tell the band to get on and play some tunes. Then, tell Pete to put that limey back on the next train." For the first time that day he broke into a grin. "And Bull..."

"Boss?"

"Pay the guy in full."

"Boss?"

"Do it." Bull hurried away, and Spats sat down again. He picked up a champagne glass and raised it to the ceiling. "Here's to ya, pally... whoever you were!"

***

"A pity we had to leave like that - I was starting to enjoy myself!"

The trio were hurrying along the street after a hasty exit from the back of the club. Ben and Polly practically had to jog to keep up with the Doctor, who was looking more than a little regretful.

Polly looked aggrieved. "Oh, hark at the great entertainer! And of course you could have explained who we really were to those thugs after they worked out we weren't who they thought we were!"

"Eh?" puffed Ben.

"Long story, Ben," said the Doctor. "Timely intervention, though. Well done!"

"Thanks! Figured that place would have some sort of trapdoor. Did I ever tell you about this time I went backstage at this theatre and-"

"Not now, Ben!" the Doctor and Polly chorused.

"Suit yourselves," he shrugged. "It's a funny story."

"I've had enough funny stories for one day!" exclaimed Polly. She stopped suddenly. "And why are we walking? Why don't we get a taxi, or something?"

"How do we pay for it duchess?" Ben held up his empty wrist. "I'm out of watches!"

"Walking is good for you!" declared the Doctor, vanishing into the distance.

"But we're not walking - we're running!" cried Polly, running to catch up.

"So what's new?" grumbled Ben, and had to dash to catch up before they disappeared into the evening, and away to new adventures.