If the man had looked up he would have seen, looming over him at some yards distant, silhouetted black on black, and perfectly still, an alert figure in a three-cornered hat who sat astride a powerfully built horse. The echoing noise of the street and the drip, drip, drip of a leaking gutter swiftly lulled the man to sleep and he did not even stir when his dog got to its feet and gave a long, low growl. His black and white dog, who had more than a touch of sheepdog in him, lay at his side, shivering. Meanwhile, in a dank, dark alley off Oxford Street-a road that in centuries past led to a place of execution at Tyburn-a homeless man was stuffing newspapers down his jacket and covering himself with layers of blankets. Paul’s Cathedral, gigantic skyscrapers disappeared into the fog, their position betrayed only by warning lights blinking like ghostly spaceships from within the mists. Harrods, its immense contours outlined by a million twinkling lights, appeared to float down Knightsbridge like a luxury liner. James’s Park, pelicans skidded on frozen ponds. In Trafalgar Square, seagulls, drawn inland by the severe weather, perched on top of Nelson’s head. It had been dark since four o’clock and wherever street lamps cast their orange glow, droplets of moisture could be seen dancing in the icy air. It was late afternoon on December 30, the last Saturday of the Christmas holidays, and freezing fog had settled, shroudlike, over London. Dyer agree to conceal the truth from the police In which the Tar Man has his first encounter with the twenty-first century, and Kate and Dr.

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