The journey back from the Angels of the North had been less eventful than the journey up. A different flight had been chosen to take him to London, and he could sense their angry indifference to him from the moment they leapt into the air until the moment they dumped him, unceremoniously, back on to the roof of Scotland Yard. He stepped out of the leather flying harness they had carried him in and was about to say thank you, but got a stone shower of gravel in the face from the down draft of their departing wings instead. Well, he’d been the most hated person in the world right up until the little Austrian chap with the stupid moustache had come along, and he knew what it was like to be shunned and reviled, so he’d better just get on with the job. There were bigger fish to fry.
Ray had to
