Tunnels 01, Tunnels

helplessly into the private wasteland and was about to forget the whole thing when he had a sudden change of heart. He slung his briefcase over the wall and rather awkwardly clambered after it. The drop was greater than he'd expected, and he landed badly, his outstretched hand managing to flip over one of the dishes, splattering its contents up his arm and neck. He rose to his feet, swore silently, and brushed off as much as he could.
    "Blast! Blast! And blast!" he said through clenched teeth as he heard a door open behind him.
    "Hello? Who's there? What's going on?" came an apprehensive voice.
    Dr. Burrows wheeled around to face an old woman who was standing not five feet away, with three cats around her ankles observing him with feline indifference. The old woman's sight was apparently not good, judging from the way she was moving her head from side to side. She had wispy white hair and wore a floral housecoat. Dr. Burrows guessed she was at least in her eighties.
    "Er... Roger Burrows, pleased to meet you," Dr. Burrows said, not able to think of anything to explain why or how he had come to be there. The expression on the old woman's face was suddenly transformed.
    "Oh, Dr. Burrows, how very kind of you to drop by. What a nice surprise."
    Dr. Burrows was himself surprised and not a little confused. "Um... not at all," he replied hesitantly. "My pleasure entirely."
    "Gets a bit lonely with just my pussycats for company. Would you care for some tea? The kettle's on the boil."
    Lost for words, Dr. Burrows simply nodded.
    The old woman turned, her entourage of cats darting before her into the kitchen. "Milk and sugar?"
    "Please," Dr. Burrows said, standing outside the kitchen door as she bustled around, getting a teacup down from a shelf.
    "I'm sorry to turn up unannounced like this," Dr. Burrows said, in an attempt to fill the silence. "This is all so very kind of you."
    "No, it's you who is very kind. I should be thanking you."
    "Really?" he stuttered, still frantically trying to figure out exactly who the old woman was.
    "Yes, for your very nice letter. Can't see as well as I used to, but Mr. Embers read it to me."
    Suddenly, it all fell into place, and Dr. Burrows sighed with relief, the fog of confusion blown away by the cool breeze of realization.
    "The glowing sphere! It is certainly an intriguing object, Mrs. Tantrumi."
    "Oh, good, dear."
    "Mr. Embers probably told you I need to get it checked."
    She held her head to one side, waiting expectantly for him to continue while she stirred the tea.
    "...well, I was rather hoping you could show me where you found it," he finished.
    "Oh, no, dear, wasn't me -- it was the gas men. Shortbread or gingersnap?" she said, holding out a battered cookie tin.
    "Er... shortbread, please. You were saying the gas men found it?"
    "They did. Just inside the basement."
    "Down there?" Dr. Burrows asked, looking at an open door at the bottom of a short flight of steps. "Mind if I take a look?" he said, pocketing the shortbread as he began to negotiate the mossy brick steps.
    Once inside the doorway he could see that the basement was divided into two rooms. The first was empty, save for some dishes of extremely dark and dessicated cat food and loose rubble strewn across the floor. He crunched through to the second room, which lay beneath the front of the house. It was much the same as the first, except that the light was poorer in here and there was an old wardrobe with a broken mirror, tucked in a shadowy recess. He opened one of its doors and was immediately still.
    He sniffed several times, recognizing the same musty odor he had smelled on the man in the street and more recently in the duct at Penny Hanson's house. As his eyes became used to the darkness, he could see that inside the wardrobe were several overcoats -- black, as far as he could tell -- and an assortment of flat caps and other headwear stacked in a compartment to one side.
    Beneath the hat compartment, he found a small drawer, which he slid open. Inside were five or six pairs of glasses. Taking one of these and pulling an overcoat from its hanger, he made his way back out into the garden.
    "Mrs. Tantrumi," he called from the bottom of the steps. She waddled to the kitchen door. "Did you know there's quite a few things in a wardrobe down here?"
    "Are there?"
    "Yes, some coats and sunglasses. Do they belong to you?"
    "No, hardly ever go down there myself. The ground's too uneven. Would you bring them closer so I can