Even before Norman had climbed the stairs, Kaplan sent the Office Boy – Hannah Manyanah, yes, it's incongruous to still use such gender stereotyping but who's counting? - down to the Pound Bakers for a dozen hot Kosher Scotch Pies, roused the chess players from their deliberations and set them into the kitchen and making a pan of borscht to their babushka’s famous recipe – yes, they are siblings and Mrs Cohen's mother Gretl's recipe for borscht has won more gold medals than you have had hot cheesecake – and having got them out of the way, dug out his hidden screecham, a bottle of Laphraoigh 50-year-old, and ushered his visitor into the Editor's corner cubicle, shut the door to keep out the clacking of the matronly knitters' duelling needles, and invited Norman to take a seat; glancing around the cubicle, Norman noticed at once Leo Rosten's comprehensive Yiddish Pandect and couldn't resist humming a few bars of My Yiddishe Momme, before the need to unburden himself became too great, but even then, he prevaricated: "just come from Rabbi Burns," said Noggs, "did you know that the Neanderthals are all converting to Judaism? – – seems that they were so impressed with Shmuel's beard that they felt an instant kinship – we're going to need a bigger synagogue, the Rabbi thinks he can get that place Crawford's have up where the road divides, used to be the Water Board but was originally a church, so it would be an appropriate restoration of use, to Place of Worship," and Kaplan chuckled: "and just a short walk from the Episcopal Church and the Catholics in High Cross Avenue? and not five minutes from the Parish Church, too, almost making a Holy Corner up there; all the town would be lacking then is a Mosque and a Mormon whatever they call theirs," and Noggs smiled: "but he also told me about the Sheriff dropping the case against Sir Parlane MacFarlane and Dominic Doubleday – of course, the evidence Isa Urquhart and Milly Millican have comes from 2037, when they found the bodies, or at least the DNA. . . . ." and Kaplan interjected: "so it can't be eligible, as it hasn't happened yet," and Noggs seemed reflective: "the fact that a brown envelope changed hands in the car park and was caught on camera by a particularly sleekit reporter may be, though – I think the Sheriff has had one of his Funny Turns and been ordered by his doctor to get some sea air, but I don't think the doc actually specified Uzbekistan, well, not for sea air anyway, but I do believe that Tashkent, or anywhere along The Golden Road to Samarkand, will have it's attractions – but talking of the bodies, did you know I was with them the night they disappeared? the old boys – Owd Bob, that's Robert Ruggles, Wee Eck, Alexander Armitage, and Fat Frank, Francis Abernethy, they called me Young Noggin, though it was only two and a half years ago, but I was young compared to them, they were all in their nineties; it was just a few days after Dod Broon, he didn't manage home to Gattonside and all the Polis found was some scuffed paintwork on the Swing Bridge and a button, the thinking was that he may have fallen over the railing into the river, which was in spate at the time, but no body was ever discovered downstream; the last I saw of the others was when they left The Ship to head to their homes – it was blowin a hoolie, snaw gustin in whenever the door opened, you couldn't see more than a foot or two ahead of you; there was no evidence of foul play, no evidence of anything, and they'd all been listed as mispers, until Isa and Milly, the older versions, appeared from the mountains and we learned that their bodies had been found, well, will be found, in 2037 and they found, will find, DNA linking MacFarlane and Doubleday to their murders – which was the start of the chain of events which brought you here, too, with Isa and Milly, MacFarlane and Doubleday; I had a call from you last night," and when Kaplan looked puzzled, Noggs continued: "the present day you, the one whose nearly twenty years younger, I don't suppose you remember what we talked about?" and Kaplan shrugged: "twenty years ago? in the middle of Trumpet-Trousers Impeachment? who knows? surprise me, why don'tcha," and Norman winked, said: "there's apparently very good odds being offered for anyone willing to hazard a bet on which way the Impeachment's going to go," and all Hyman said was: "oh, really?" when suddenly there was a crashing and banging in the main office and Hannah's cry of: "come get your Nosh before it gets cold!" raised both men to their feet instantly.