We jolly well went at a fearsome pace, much to the amusement of Mr Rune, who cheered loudly and clapped his hands together when our driver had a passing cleric off his bicycle near Tottenham Court Road.

‘You know what, your worshipfulness,’ called the cabby, ‘they do say as what there is a secret underground horganisation down below Mornington Crescent Tube. The Ministry of Dipperdy-do-dah, or some such. And ’ow there’s elves and goblins and bugaboos from the middle of the Earth does work with them. And ’ow a gigantic fat troll called Hugo R-’

‘Stop the cab here, please,’ said Hugo Rune.

‘Soon as you like then, your nobleness.’

The cabby slammed on the brakes and I shot forwards to land in an untidy heap upon the elegantly carpeted floor. Mr Rune, however, was made of sterner stuff and never even spilled the cocktail I had mixed for him.

He politely excused himself from my presence and left the cab. I climbed shakily to my feet and saw Mr Rune escorting our driver into a nearby alleyway.

The Magus returned most swiftly, wiping down the pommel of his stick. He opened the passenger door and I shook my head.

‘You promised,’ I said. ‘On a stack of imaginary Bibles and everything.’

‘You should have worded your directive a little more carefully, Rizla. I distinctly recall you saying that you did not want to see me visiting physical hurt upon the driver of the cab. Now kindly please take to the front seat and drive.’

I shook my head once more. Sadly. But did as Mr Rune bade me to do and I must say rather enjoyed it. Certainly I did do some basic graunchings of the gears and did shunt into a brewer’s dray, but essentially I soon had the knack and there were no fatalities.

And, in truth, Mr Rune knocking the cabby about gave me a warm feeling inside. A warm and cosy feeling. Because as nothing so far this day had gone the way it should have gone, falling back on a tried and tested, if slightly clichéd, old favourite such as Mr Rune walloping a cab driver was not without its share of comfort and joy.

Presently this joy died away when we beheld Mornington Crescent. The station had taken a direct hit from a V2 flying bomb. I had seen one of those missiles in the Science Museum when I was a child and had been amazed by its size. I now stood and viewed the full horror of its capabilities.

Hugo Rune leaned over the chasm that yawned where the station had been. He kicked a stone into it and listened for a distant report. A policeman then chivvied us away and I asked Mr Rune what he thought we should do now.

‘Regrettably, Rizla, we will be forced to use the tradesmen’s entrance. Kindly follow me.’

His leadings led to a nearby and unscathed Lyons Corner House. Which was a wonderful art deco masterpiece of a café, all polished chrome and black enamel panelling. Mr Rune had a word or two with the head waiter and we were escorted backstage, as it were, to another one of those glorious brass-cage lifts. Mr Rune gave the head waiter a certain handshake, applied his special key to the lift and down we went at a big hurry-up.

The Ministry of Serendipity was deep deep down and safe from even the V2’s excesses. We sauntered along the curious corridors and Mr Rune rapped with his cane onto the office door of Mr McMurdo.

I felt a certain dread attendant to that knocking. What, I wondered, would be the condition of Mr McMurdo this time? What horridness had Mr Rune ‘accidentally’ wrought upon him?

The knocking was answered by a bright and breezy, ‘Come,’ and we two entered the office.

Mr McMurdo was seated at this desk and all looked natural enough. He was not the size of a small country. Nor had his fingers grown in the manner of bamboo plants come summer. He smiled at us as we entered.

And then he rose to his feet.

And my eyes widened, as I beheld…

That he was perfectly normal.

‘How good to see you, Mr Rune,’ he said. ‘And you too, Rizla. Would you care for a humbug?’

‘Not for me, sir, thank you,’ I said, trying hard not to stare.

‘You would appear to be all present and correct,’ said Hugo Rune. And he said this with a degree of puzzlement in his voice.

‘New doctor,’ said Mr McMurdo. ‘ Harley Street chap. All the latest gizmos. You’d be surprised what they have in their surgeries today, extraordinary apparatus.’

‘And so you are now fully restored,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘And,’ and he sighed most slightly, ‘all through the aid of technology.’

‘As right as ninepence,’ said Mr McMurdo, ‘and bright as a new pin. And trim and chipper as a pony girl’s harness too, as it happens. I’ve never felt better than this.’

‘I am so very pleased for you.’ And Hugo Rune put out his hand, but the chipper chap did not shake it.

‘And I will let bygones be bygones, no hard feelings, old fellow,’ he said.

I could swear I heard Mr Rune’s teeth grind at this, but he remained most calm.

‘Care for a cocktail?’ asked Mr McMurdo. ‘I can knock us up a rather nifty Tokio Express. I have purchased one of these new electric cocktail shakers. Japanese built, perhaps a tad unpatriotic, but it certainly gets the job jobbed. Double for you with a little umbrella?’

But Hugo Rune shook his head.

‘No?’ said Mr McMurdo.

‘No?’ said I. Amazed.

‘Given it up,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Strictly teetotal from now on.’

And I held my breath.

‘Well, never mind, never mind, sit yourself down, do.’

Mr McMurdo returned to his desk and sat himself behind it. We dropped into the visitors’ chairs and Mr Rune cradled his stick.

‘Been meaning to give you a call, actually,’ said Mr McMurdo.

‘A case?’ said Hugo Rune.

‘Not as such, dear fellow. In fact quite the opposite.’

Hugo Rune went, ‘Mmmm?’

‘Change in the air,’ said Mr McMurdo. ‘The wind of change, you might say. The Ministry is going through changes. Words from above regarding efficiency and suchlike. Bigwigs upstairs and all that kind of carry on.’

I wondered where this was leading. I did not have to wonder for long.

‘Retirement,’ said Mr McMurdo.

‘You are going to retire?’ said Hugo Rune. ‘How splendid.’

‘No, not me, my goodness no. So much paperwork, although less actual paperwork, what with all these new computers going “on line” as the boffins will have it.’

‘I fail to understand,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘If not you-’

‘You, dear fellow, retirement for you.’

‘For me!’ And Hugo Rune rose to his feet.

‘Lucky old you, eh?’ said Mr McMurdo, fiddling with papers on his desk. ‘Time to put up those old feet of yours and let younger men do the hard work.’

I wondered perhaps whether I should excuse myself and slip quietly from the room. I dreaded to think as to where and to what this conversation would inevitably lead.

‘Don’t think of it so much as being put out to pasture,’ said Mr McMurdo brightly. ‘See it more as a just reward for services rendered.’

Mr Rune’s face momentarily brightened. ‘Ah,’ said he. ‘I see, a retirement, but on a pension equal to my present retainer, of course.’

‘Ah, no,’ said Mr McMurdo. ‘Regrettably not. I tried to push that through with the bigwigs upstairs, but they said, sorry, no can do. All belts have to be tightened with a war on, you see. Your retainer constituted a considerable amount of our yearly budget. Had to stop your latest cheque to the bank, I regret to say.’

‘I really think I should be leaving now,’ I said.

‘Please wait outside,’ said Mr Hugo Rune.

I waved goodbye to Mr McMurdo and fled the room. And paced up and down outside. I did not wish to press my ear to the brassy door, for fear of what I might hear. Instead I whistled loudly as I paced and la-la-la’d and fol-de-roll’d and made a lot of noise.

Presently the door to Mr McMurdo’s office opened and Hugo Rune emerged, wiping down the pommel of his stick. Under his arm he carried a briefcase.