Mr McMurdo did not seem happy to see Mr Rune. But I was rather heartened to see that Mr McMurdo appeared to be his normal size once more.

Hugo Rune smiled upon Mr McMurdo and said, ‘Jolly spiffing to see you returned to your old self again, M. Those magic coffee beans I sent you got the job jobbed then, it would appear.’

‘It would appear so, would it?’ And Mr McMurdo turned sideways and would not you know it, or would not you not, he all but entirely vanished. Because although he looked normal and man-sized from straight on, turned sideways he was no thicker than a piece of paper.

‘Ah,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘You’d better not go out then on a windy day.’

‘Windy day? I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…’ And Mr McMurdo flapped his papery arms.

‘But look on the bright side,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘If you ever forget your house key, you can simply slip yourself under the front door.’

And Mr McMurdo let out a terrible howl.

‘But enough of such larks,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘I am confident that I will be able to sort you out eventually. Let us speak of more important matters. Those pertaining to Project BBT, for instance. Tell me, exactly what is the problem this time?’

‘The problem, Rune, is that half of the team are now dead. No one knows how they died. Post-mortem examinations suggest the possibility of a viral infection.’

‘Germ warfare?’ I said.

‘I’m talking to the organ grinder,’ said Mr McMurdo, ‘not the-’

But he did not finish that bitter sentence. Because Hugo Rune suddenly sneezed. And the force of his sneeze propelled the wafer-thin Ministry man away to the room’s far corner, where he fluttered to rest beside a brass coffee table that was shaped like the Sloop John B.

‘Bless you,’ I said.

And Hugo Rune grinned.

And Mr McMurdo went spare.

‘Don’t get yourself all in a flap,’ said Hugo Rune, hastening in a most leisurely fashion to help up the flimsy fallen fellow. ‘But do answer my acolyte’s most pertinent question. Do you suspect germ warfare?’

‘We cannot tell. Hey, put me down.’ For Hugo Rune was now rolling up Mr McMurdo.

‘Oh do pardon me,’ said Himself. ‘I was going to pack you away for safety inside a cardboard tube. Would you prefer me to place you back upon your chair?’

The exasperated sounds that issued from the lips of Mr McMurdo suggested that indeed this would be his place of preference. And also that he dearly wished to wreak a terrible revenge upon his tormentor.

Hugo Rune placed him upon his chair and then took himself over to the drinks cabinet. ‘What did the post-mortems reveal?’ he enquired as he poured out a G & T.

Mr McMurdo fought to control his emotions. ‘Scrambled,’ he finally managed to say. ‘Their internal organs had turned to mush. The introduction of some flesh-eating virus into the music labs seems probable.’

Hugo Rune did noddings of the head. ‘Did you have the laboratories fumigated?’ he asked.

‘Extensively and three times over. And all the bodies cremated. No virus could live through that, believe you me on this.’

‘Oh, I do,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘I only regret that now we will not be able to find a sample of the virus and test it to ascertain a possible source.’

‘Hardly necessary,’ spat Mr McMurdo. ‘Berlin would be the obvious source, I would have thought.’

‘Would you now, would you?’ And Hugo Rune sipped at his drink. I made the kind of face that implied that I would not have minded a drink myself. But Hugo Rune clearly had weightier things on his mind and ignored me.

‘Are the technicians and musicians back at work?’ he asked.

‘They are,’ said Mr McMurdo.

‘Then I will hasten there,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Call a cab for myself and my companion, Mr McMurdo, if you will.’

Mr McMurdo glared at Mr Rune.

And Mr Rune was forced to make the call.

‘What a two-dimensional fellow, that Mr McMurdo.’ Mr Rune chuckled as he and I hurried across war-torn London in the back of a high-topped London cab. Driven by a high-topped cockney cabbie.

‘You ride him a little too hard,’ I said. ‘He could make life very difficult for you, I am thinking.’

‘Not until he is restored to full dull normality, I’m thinking.’

‘And I am thinking that such a restoration will not be occurring in the foreseeable future.’

‘If at all,’ said Hugo Rune, taking out a fine cigar and slotting it into his mouth.

‘I will just bet that you have not paid Mr Hartnel for that,’ I said.

‘I’ll just bet you’re right,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘And I’ll tell you what, Rizla, if you help solve this case, I will give you one of these cigars as a reward.’

‘How very generous,’ I said.

‘So, pick a card, why don’t you?’

And I dug into my pocket and brought out the tarot cards.

‘Look at the state of them,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘What a mess you’ve made.’

‘Shall I pick one at random, or shall I choose one?’ I asked.

‘I think upon this occasion that you should choose one – go on.’

So I fanned out the cards and examined them and then I said, ‘This one, I think.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I am certain.’ And I held up THE HIGH PRIESTESS.

‘I was rather hoping that this particular card would not be chosen until a much later case,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘It is a very powerful card. Let us pray that we are up to the challenge.’

‘I do not believe you have ever explained to me the full significance of these cards,’ I said to Mr Rune.

‘Have I not, Rizla? Then I really should do that, shouldn’t I?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And-’

‘’Ere you go, guv’nor,’ called the cockney cabbie. ‘We’re ’ere.’

I took myself a little ways up the road to avoid watching Hugo Rune deal with the matter of the fare. In no time at all, it seemed, he joined me, polishing the pommel of his stout stick on his leg and whistling the Lew Stone classic ‘East of the Sun (and West of the Moon)’.

We were now in a crowded area of London that was new to me. Somewhere in the West End, Soho-ish, but not quite. In a street called-

‘Tin Pan Alley,’ I read aloud. ‘There never was really a street called Tin Pan Alley.’

‘Of course there never was, Rizla, that would be absurd.’

‘Then how?’ I asked.

‘It’s an alley called Tin Pan Alley, not a street.’

‘It is all so simple when it is explained. Would you care to lead the way?’

‘Do you think you would be able to find the secret establishment yourself, if I chose not to?’

‘Not really,’ I said and I shook my head to signal I would not.

‘Then follow me.’ And striking passers-by to the right and left of him, Hugo Rune forged his way into the crowd and I followed on close behind.

‘This would be the place,’ cried he, stopping suddenly and causing me to collide with his back and bottom parts.

I looked up at the shopfront now before me. ‘It is a tobacconist’s,’ I said. ‘And I see they have Wild Woodbine in stock.’

‘The door next to the shop entrance,’ said the Magus. ‘See the brass plates here?’

I saw the brass plates there and read from them aloud.

‘ “Naughty Boys Get Bottom Marks, Third Floor”,’ I read from one. ‘ “The Sorority Stable of Pony Girls, Second Floor”,’ I read from another. ‘ “Hilda Baker’s Love Dungeon, Basement Floor”,’ I read from a third.

‘You’re not really reading from the brass plates, are you?’ asked Hugo Rune.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I am reading from these postcards that are stuck all over the wall above them. ‘What is “goldfish nipple training”, do you think?’

‘Not something to engage in lightly, without the aid of spats. Or perhaps that should be sprats. But read from this brass plate now, or feel the weight of my stick.’

‘ “Roberta Newman’s Academy of Music”,’ I read. ‘Could we not visit the pony girls first?’

Hugo Rune shook his head and sighed. Then pressed a brass bell push.