"The problem is," said (Sir) Faslane MacFarlane MSP, in the most secluded corner of the upper room in The Wee Windaes restaurant, on Edinburgh's Royal Mile, "the sausage-dog, this, whatsisname, Hector! if he's allowed to give evidence it could result in the vindication of these," he took a sip of coffee and glared at Duncan Doubleday, Chief Constable of Police Scotland and Martin Elginbrod, the most successfully venal bent lawyer in the city, "three snoopers! who's representing them?" and Elginbrod examined the menu while Doubleday tapped at his phone, before saying: "it's Egbert Shadbolt, he lives in Morningside too and his wife's also a member of the Neighbourhood Snoopers, he's giving his services free, gratis and for nothing!" and MacFarlane muttered "bugger me backwards," while Elginbrod's face blanched, making him look more aglopened than his partners in crime had seen before: "he's the Clarence Darrow of Embra, he'll push for disclosure of what the Snoopers saw!" and MacFarlane's face was like thunder: "surely that's not permitted? it's the fact that they were Snooping into other people's private residences," and Elginbrod nodded, "mine," and MacFarlane continued: "but it's their actions that are on trial. not what they saw!" and Doubleday shook his head: "aye, but he'll argue that it's what they saw prompted them to call the rozzers, if only they hadn't phoned!" and MacFarlane said: "if only you'd pulled down the blind before doing what they saw – okay, Duncan, you're the one with the size 13 boots, beat for the walking of, so nip into the Call Centre and write up a call to the cops from Martin as coming in before the one from the snoopers, say he noticed them watching him and phoned in and it's his call the cops were responding to!" but Duncan shook his head: "it's all digitised and each day's records are uploaded to the Central Computer and one, I wouldn't have any good excuse to go in there, and two, I wouldn't know how to do it anyway!" so MacFarlane turned to Elginbrod: "okay, Martin, it's down to you – it's your blooper, you're the one who got us into this mess and you're going to have to get us out of it," and the lawyer looked askance at him and hissed: "how?" so MacFarlane smiled grimly: "there's a Wormhole in your garden shed, isn't there?" and the other nodded, warily; "okay, go into it tonight and access the wormhole, go back to before the Snoopers made their call and phone the Call Centre to report Smookeekers up on Braid Hill, watching you; that'll do the trick nicely, and then we're home and dry!" but Elginbrod blustered: "how do I work out the time?" but was shut off by MacFarlane: "make a guesstimate, Martin, isn't that how you lawyers earn a crust? jist dae it!" and in Drumchapel, Glasgow, the 13-year-old Economic Migrant took off his headphones and made a call from a disposable mobile phone: "Goldy, it's me, the Target is going to go into a Wormhole in it's Garden Shed this evening, and travel back to yesterday evening and place an earlier call complaining about Smookeekers, to get that logged into your system before the ladies make theirs," and without any small-talk he switched off; the bug Budge had attached to the Brief's coat as they squeezed past each other on the busy Royal Mile was worth the £50 he now transferred to his Embra pal's account!