"Ye'r jesting," she said. "Kiss me."
He did—and again they were interrupted by a throat-clearing in the cubicle doorway. Dr. Phillips said in his old-fashioned London accents, "I don't quite ken why our friend has brought us back—but I see things are the same betwixt the two of you."
"Why, Dr. Phillips!" exclaimed the girl. "Ye'r clad in ye'r breeks now."
"I thought it might be a wise precaution before returning to my nap," said the professor mildly.
Justin said, "Come in, Doctor." He set Deborah on her cot, swung onto his own, while Dr. Phillips accepted the one chair in the cubicle. He seemed not at all surprised to find two beds where one had stood before.
"Dr. Phillips," said Justin, "I've been hoping you'd turn up here again. On our first visit I saw a Roman soldier down the hall toward the dining saloon. He was with a Mohammedan-looking female. Do you have any idea of who he is—or what his assignment is?"
Dr. Phillips nodded. "Aye," he said. "I forget his name—it is of no moment in history. He is—or was—a mere field officer in the suite of a Judaean sub-Praetor during the reign of Augustus."
"And his assignment?" Justin asked quietly.
"I believe to the best of my memory—" Dr. Phillips frowned as he delved into his own mind—"that this chap was supposed to arrest a fellow named John Something-or-other outside of Jerusalem and hold him on a trumped-up charge."
"I take it," said Justin, "that Roman Judaea has not been one of your fields of study."