Timothy McGee sat down on his bed and wished he could go to sleep in it but he knew rest was impossible at the moment: he had to go out and watch some weird English ball game and research one of the players of said weird ball game. Perhaps his father had been right and he should have joined the Navy instead of joining its intelligence wing … but how was McGee supposed to know he would encounter Typhoon Gibbs?

Typhoon Gibbs, otherwise known as Gunnery Sergeant Jethro Gibbs, had come into McGee's section one day shortly after he had started work for the Office of Naval Intelligence.

"Hey," he had said, "I need to know who to talk to at the War Department about who went to the Geneva Naval Conference."

Tim's co-workers, wise to Gibbs, had kept their heads down but Tim, incurably helpful had almost instantly provided the answer. Gibbs hadn't said thank you but returned the next day with another question. Ten days later, McGee was seconded to work with Gibbs and was on his way to England to act as his researcher and gopher.

It didn't take long for McGee to recognise that the gunnery sergeant was committed and passionate and that he expected his co-workers to follow his lead. It also didn't take long for McGee to realise that he could, to some degree, be managed: it was just unfortunate that five days of being seasick had put McGee off his game a little so he hadn't had the foresight to tell Gibbs that there wouldn't be a train to London until the next day rather than telling him that, if they hurried, they could catch one in an hour's time.

Now, as Tim sat on his bed, he felt as if the world had stopped moving for the first time in six days. He got up wearily and decided to unpack his bag properly and then smiled as he found a reminder of America: he had forgotten that he had packed several Peanut Sandwich Packets, his favourite cookie. The horrors of the sea passage had meant he hadn't wanted to eat but now, he decided, they would be the perfect pick-me-up to prepare him for an evening watching a game of rugby football.

As he munched on his energy providing food, he reached for one of his textbooks …

XXXXXX

The guest house McGee and Gibbs were staying in had a lounge for the use of guests and Gibbs had ordered McGee to meet him there ten minutes before Dr Mallard was due to pick them up.

"Hey, Boss," said McGee when he joined Gibbs.

Gibbs looked up and grunted.

"That was some car, wasn't it?" said McGee forgetting, as he often did, that Gibbs wasn't one for social chit chat. "I mean," he went on, "Who'd have thought that Dr Mallard would be such an … aggressive driver?"

"Seemed OK to me," said Gibbs.

Tim stared at Gibbs but decided not to pursue the subject, "I've never been in a three wheeled car before," said McGee. "It was a Morgan Aero, you know."

"I know," said Gibbs coolly, "I saw the badge."

"It was odd sitting at the back," said McGee, "You know, over the wheel. The one wheel." Gibbs continued to stare. "Not that I mind, of course. I mean, sitting at the back."

"Good to know," said Gibbs blandly.

"Um, I looked up PD. I mean, Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo," said McGee.

"You did?" Gibbs looked more interested.

"Yes." McGee paused.

"You want a medal?"

"Excuse me?"

"Or me to throw a parade?"

"What?"

"Just tell me what you found out!" said Gibbs, giving up on subtlety.

"Oh, of course. Yes, I see. Well, I looked in Debretts."

"De- what?"

"Debretts Peerage and Baronetage. It's got all the titled people in the country in."

"And you brought it with you?" asked Gibbs.

"No," said Tim regretfully, "Although I should have done. No, I saw that Mrs Lafferty has got a copy."

"Mrs Lafferty?"

"The landlady," said Tim.

"I knew that," said Gibbs, "She got me some coffee."

Tim felt they had wandered from the subject although he knew that coffee was important to Gibbs. He coughed, hoping it would have the same effect as a Gibbs' cough.

"Something go down the wrong way, McGee?" asked Gibbs.

"No, Boss," said McGee.

"Then what?"

"What?"

"What … as in what did you find out about our Inspector in the book?"

"Oh, yes," said Tim. "His grandfather is an earl."

"A what?"

"An earl. You know, it's a lord … or a type of one," said McGee informatively.

"I know what an earl is, McGee. You mean to say that DiNozzo is a lord?"

"No, he's not an earl. He's not even an honourable."

"What's an honourable?"

"It's something some people in aristocratic families get called. But I don't think they get called it out loud. It's just something that's written."

"What's the point then?" asked Gibbs with fine republican fervour.

"I don't know, Boss," said McGee, "It's just something they do."

"Who do?"

"The British. The Inspector's mom was a lady."

"Didn't think she'd be a man," said Gibbs.

"No, Boss. She was called Lady Elizabeth. Daughters of earls are called ladies."

"But grandsons aren't?" asked Gibbs trying to get it straight in his mind.

McGee thought about pointing out that DiNozzo couldn't be a lady but decided that Gibbs wasn't known for his sense of humour – unless he initiated it – so settled for saying, "That's right. Grandsons don't get a title."

"Not even an honourable?"

"No. The book says that Lady Elizabeth is dead. Died when … let me see, when the Inspector was 8 years old. Huh, that's sad."

"DiNozzo," said Gibbs, "Doesn't sound very British."

"Good point," praised McGee who then looked terrified lest Gibbs think he was being patronising. "I mean, I didn't mean to … um …"

Gibbs grinned briefly and gestured for McGee to continue.

"Um, well, Lady Elizabeth married an Italian …"

"An aristocrat?" asked Gibbs.

"Uh, I don't think so. It doesn't say so. Looks as if he's actually an American … and PD was born in America."

"He's American?"

"He might be. I'd have to look up the laws around citizenship," said McGee.

"You brought those with you?" asked Gibbs.

"Only a high level summary," said McGee apologetically, "A sort of digest."

"Anything else?"

"Well, the tide tables, street map of London, guide book …"

"About DiNozzo," sighed Gibbs.

"No, not yet. But I've booked a phone call tomorrow to someone who knows about the American-Italian community," said Tim.

"OK."

"And I've looked up the rules for rugby …" said Tim.

XXXXXX

Three hours later, McGee, Gibbs, Ducky and Tony were sitting in a fish and chip shop eating the cod in batter, chips and mushy peas which Tony had ordered for all of them.

"Best fish and chips in London," said Tony as he enthusiastically dowsed his chips in vinegar.

"Why do you call them chips?" asked McGee.

"Because that's what they are," said Tony pausing momentarily with a forkful of potatoes in front of his mouth.

"We call them French fries," said McGee.

"OK," said Tony, "Whatever."

"And what's this?" asked McGee pointing to the heap of green on his plate.

"Just eat, McGee," ordered Gibbs for whom talking and food weren't natural bedfellows.

"On it, Boss," said McGee before taking a cautious mouthful of peas and potatoes. A blissful look dawned on his face and he saw no need for further enquiry.

McGee's thirst for knowledge couldn't remain unsatisfied for long however and, food eaten, he returned to another topic, "Why don't you wear padding?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" said Tony.

"When you play that game. It looked … dangerous."

Although McGee had looked up the basics of rugby, he had been bewildered at what he had seen. When the first tackle occurred and nobody seemed to be penalised (or arrested) for assault, he had realised that perhaps the British had violent tendencies. He soon gave up on trying to follow the game but noted that Tony seemed to do a lot of very fast running and kicking of the ball but still often got thrown to the ground. Remembering that Ducky was a doctor, Tim had expected him to be running on to the field at every assault … tackle but he was remarkably unperturbed by the violence and at one point was to be heard shouting at someone lying winded on the ground to get up and stop being wet.

"Padding would spoil the game," said Ducky, "It concentrates the mind if you know it's going to hurt."

"Did you used to play, Dr Mallard?" asked Tim.

"Indeed," said Ducky with a reminiscent smile, "I played on the wing. At one point I was the top try scorer for Edinburgh Medical School."

"Doctors play rugby?" asked McGee.

"Certainly," said Ducky.

"Guess it gives them practice at stitching cuts," muttered Tim.

"And putting dislocated joints back," said Tony who had heard him.

"And I have reset numerous bones broken during a game," sighed Ducky happily.

Tim shook his head and gave up trying to understand.

"What time do you want to start tomorrow?" asked Tony.

"Early," said Gibbs.

"I guessed that," said Tony, "What do you call early?"

"0700," said Gibbs with a hint of challenge.

"Fine," said Tony. "Can you find your way to the Yard?"

"We'll be there," said Gibbs.

"You can walk," said Tony, "Or go on the Tube."

"That's like the Subway in New York, Boss. Or the L in Chicago," said McGee helpfully.

"I know, McGee," said Gibbs. He thought about telling his co-worker that he didn't have to provide information all the time but then he caught sight of the vacuum flask that McGee had helpfully produced at the rugby match and which had enabled him to drink hot coffee during the match and decided that compensated for a lot.

XXXXXX

Unsurprisingly, Gibbs and McGee were sitting in Tony's office when he arrived at 0655 the next morning.

"Good morning, American friends," said Tony. "How did you sleep?"

"Good, thank you," said Tim, grateful that he wasn't sleeping next to the guesthouse's bathroom and even more grateful that Gibbs wasn't either. "Breakfast was great – and there was a type of sausage I hadn't had before."

"Like it?" asked Tony.

"Yes, it was tasty. Do you know what it is?"

"I'm guessing it was black pudding," said Tony, "It's a type of blood sausage."

Gibbs barked a laugh at the expression on Tim's face. "Knowledge isn't always a good thing, McGee," he said.

"Right," said Tony, "Tell me who it is that you're looking for."

"We can find him," said Gibbs.

"Gibbs," said Tony firmly, "You're here as guests … and, despite Tim's reference books, we know London better than you do."

"We?" asked Gibbs.

"My constable will be here shortly," said Tony, "PC James Palmer … but he prefers Jimmy. So, Alexander Lambert … what makes you think he's come to this country?"

"He lived here at one time," said Gibbs, "He's got a number of aliases and got into trouble in a lot of them. His father was a ship's carpenter and he worked in the trade for a while which means he's at home around ships. Fits in well. He's served time in California for smuggling and theft but that was a few years ago now. We think he's got better at evading arrest."

"Any history of violence?"

"He's ruthless," admitted Gibbs, "Just before he fled Portsmouth there was a murder on board one of the ships. And he might have done it."

"How was the victim killed?"

"His throat was cut."

"Hmm, has he killed that way before?"

"Suspected," said Gibbs.

"That's interesting," said Tony.

"How so?"

"You remember Dr Mallard giving me an autopsy report yesterday?"

"Sure."

"Man was killed in St Katharine's Dock. He had his throat slit. Which doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's not an uncommon way for people to die, but …"

"Let's go," said Gibbs.

"We will," said Tony mildly, "I'll get Sergeant Phelps to come up. He did the initial investigation. He's a good man, worth listening to. Ah, Jimmy," he said as a police constable came in, "Meet our fellow … investigators from America. Gibbs and McGee. Gibbs and McGee, meet Jimmy."

"Hello," said Jimmy, "Nice to meet you. I don't think I've met any Americans before. I've met Canadians but I'm guessing that's not the same thing? How was your journey? Are you settling in all right?"

"Jimmy," said Tony shaking his head to discourage these doomed attempts at social intercourse with Gibbs, "Go and ask Larry to come up, will you?"

Jimmy nodded obligingly and scurried off.

"Got a description of Lambert?" asked Tony.

"Could be anyone," said Gibbs, "Five foot 10, brown hair, brown eyes and no distinguishing features. He's also good at changing his appearance." He nodded at McGee who rummaged in his brief case and produced a description and a photograph of Lambert.

"OK," said Tony, "I'll get on to the ports. See if they've got a record of him coming in. I know it's unlikely, but we'd feel pretty stupid if we assumed he was coming in under an assumed name."

Gibbs nodded; he had doubts about an aristocratic Inspector of police but applauded the refusal to make assumptions.

"Give me a list of his known aliases," said Tony, "I'll get those looked at as well."

"He might not have come in on a liner," said Gibbs.

"No," agreed Tony, "Lots of places along the coast he could have come in but we'll check the main ports. I've got a pal who works for Pathé News."

"That's good," said Gibbs, "But we don't have time to go look at movies."

"Gibbs," said Tony in a shocked voice, "There's always time to watch a film. But that wasn't what I was getting at. Pathé News films people coming off the big liners when they dock. They're looking out for film stars and millionaires but they catch other people as well. Claude will let us look at the raw footage, we might spot your guy coming ashore."

"McGee, get on that," ordered Gibbs. He could see the value of looking but the thought of staring at hundreds of pictures of potential suspects sent a shiver down his spine.

"Great," said Tony, "I'll send Jimmy along with you, Tim. Gibbs, you and I can go to St Katharine's once we've spoken to Larry. Hey, we can go by police launch, you'll like that." Tony seemed to feel remorse at depriving Tim of this treat, "McGee, do you want to come with us? Claude probably won't be ready for a couple of hours."

Tim had thought he liked PD but he was horrified at the idea, just as his equilibrium had been restored, of getting on the water again. He floundered for an excuse but Gibbs, remembering the vacuum flask of the night before, took pity, "No. You go to the movies, McGee. And don't forget, you've got that phone call booked."

"Oh well," said Tony philosophically, "Another time."

Tim resolved to be busy whenever that time came.