‘They gave me a picture. A sort of photo,’ Fitz explained. ‘But don’t worry, it looks nothing like you.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled envelope he had been given. ‘Anyway, who would want to kill you?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ the Doctor said as he took the envelope. ‘I often am.’ He up-ended the envelope and let the picture slide out on to the table. It stuck in a patch of spilt beer, facing the Doctor. It showed a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat and a long dark coat. A multicoloured scarf was wound round his neck several times, and the space between scarf and hat seemed to be almost entirely occupied by huge tombstone teeth, big nose and golf-ball eyes. Brown curly hair was apparently trying to push the hat off the man’s head as it escaped from beneath. The Doctor regarded the picture with a look of resignation, nodding slowly, finger to the side of his mouth.
‘You see,’ Fitz said, pulling on his cigarette.
‘Yes,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘Yes, that’s me all right.’ He grinned at his friends. ‘A long time ago. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognise me.’
Fitz gaped. ‘You’re kidding.’