‘Ah, the noble Rizla. It is a joy to work with you once again.’

‘Work?’ I said, and I made the face of one who has just popped doggy-doo into his mouth, thinking it to be a chocolate toffee. ‘As in regular employment?’

Mr Hugo Rune laughed. In a big basso profundo with gusto and with vigour. ‘Regular employment?’ quoth he. ‘Why, Rizla, how well do you know me?’

‘In truth I would say hardly at all,’ I replied. ‘You are a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, sealed with gaffer tape and posted through the wrong letterbox by a postman with an eye for the ladies and a nose for a car-boot-sale bargain.’

Hugo Rune made so-so gestures with a mighty hand. ‘That is all as may be,’ he declared, ‘but Hugo Rune does not offer regular employment.’

I smiled and said, ‘Splendid. That is a relief.’

‘Hugo Rune offers irregular employment.’

‘What does it pay?’ I asked him.

And Mr Rune changed the subject.

‘Will you be wanting all those baked beans?’ he asked me.

And I assured him that I would.

‘And the black pudding?’

‘And the black pudding. But certainly no more coffee.’

‘I agree that it’s terrible stuff,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Made from acorns, I believe.’

‘Hardly up to your exacting standards. Have Harrods closed your account due to non-payment?’

‘Now now, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune. ‘You know my views regarding the matter of payments. Payments are for little people. And Hugo Rune is not one of the little people.’

‘Indeed not,’ I agreed. ‘Would you be so kind as to pass me that last piece of toast?’

‘Of course not. More coffee?’

‘No thanks.’

And so we ate what was left of the breakfast. For the most part in silence, but for the necessary sounds of mastication and the occasional satisfied belch. And when we were done we repaired to fireside chairs and Mr Rune offered me a cigar.

‘I am having a crack at cigarettes,’ I told him. ‘The Wild Woodbine. I do not suppose that you managed to save my clothes when you saved me, as it were?’

‘The blue jeans and the T-shirt?’ Hugo Rune did pinchings of the nostrils. ‘Absolutely not. But surely you approve of your present duds.’ And he gestured unto myself and I became cognisant, really for the first time, as to what now clothed my body parts.

For it was a suit of the finest Boleskine tweed. With a cotton shirt and a knitted tie. And smart brown brogues on my feet.

‘Very nice,’ I said. ‘And thank you very much indeed. But-’ And here I hesitated.

And Mr Rune punctuated my hesitation by the application of the word, ‘What?’

‘These tweeds,’ I said, ‘and please do not think me ungrateful, but the flight-deck shoulders and double-breasted jacket front, not to mention the Oxford bags, which surely I will not – they do look somewhat old-fashioned.’

‘On the contrary.’ Mr Rune brought a lighted taper from the fire and put it to his cigar. ‘That suit is quite the latest thing.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘The nineteen-forties retro look. I see.’

‘You don’t,’ said Mr Rune. ‘But never mind.’

I stared into the crackling flames and many thoughts passed through my head. At length I asked, ‘Are we going to return to Brighton?’

Mr Rune shook his head.

‘Are we going somewhere, anywhere other than here?’

Mr Rune shook his head once more and sucked daintily upon his cigar. ‘Are you sure that I can’t tempt you to one of these, Rizla? They are the genuine article, somewhat rare in this very day and age.’

I now grew somewhat edgy. ‘I will have to leave soon,’ I told Mr Rune. ‘Someone probably saw you bring me here. Nothing much ever slips by Brentonians. I really must away.’

‘You really mustn’t. Calm yourself, Rizla, do.’

‘I am afeared,’ I said. ‘And rightly too. The Gestapo tortured me. They will be after me for sure.’

‘They are not after you, I can assure you of that.’

‘You can?’

‘Absolutely. You trust Hugo Rune, do you not?’

‘I do,’ I said. ‘Unreservedly. Although my acquaintanceship with you has been somewhat fraught with danger.’

‘But you loved every minute of it.’

‘Well, most of them, anyway.’

‘And you will love them once more. We have a new quest, Rizla. A new set of challenges. A new set of Cosmic Conundra to solve. And once more we shall do this in the service of Mankind. Twelve new cases await us.’

‘They do?’ And I perked up considerably at this. ‘You have a new zodiac?’ I asked. ‘Like the Brightonomicon? Is it the Brentfordomicon this time?’

‘Don’t be absurd, Rizla, please.’

‘Then what?’

‘That is up to you.’

‘Please explain.’

‘It is for you and me to set things right, young Rizla.’

‘Form a Resistance movement, beat the Nazi invaders?’

‘Not as such, no.’ And Hugo Rune sucked more at his cigar.

‘You have a plan, do you not?’ I said.

‘Naturally. Twelve cases and we win the war.’

‘Twelve cases, I see.’ And I did. Well, sort of.

‘It is always twelve cases, as I have told you before. It is always to do with time and it always involves the solving of twelve Cosmic Conundra. It is what I do and what I am.’

‘And I will be proud to aid you,’ I said.

‘And aid me you will. And together we will win the war.’

‘And drive the evil Nazis out of Brentford,’ I said.

‘On the contrary, Rizla, we will see to it that they never invade.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Now that might not be too easy. Seeing how they already have.’

‘Oh no they haven’t.’

‘Oh yes they have.’

‘Oh no they haven’t.’

‘They have.’

‘They have not!’ And Hugo Rune stamped a great foot, causing everything in the room to jump. Including me.

‘I think you will find that they have,’ I said. In a tiny whispery voice.

But Hugo Rune shook his head. ‘Rizla,’ he said, ‘do you hear that?’ And he cupped his hand to his ear.

I listened and then I said, ‘Your letterbox, by the sound of it.’

‘The paperboy,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Would you kindly fetch the paper?’

And so I did. I left the wonderful room, traipsed along a wonderful hall, its walls made even more wonderful by the hangings of what I took to be the Rune family’s ancestral portraits. To a doormat that had yet to wear out its welcome. From where I took up the morning’s paper.

I rolled it and tapped it against my thigh and returned to Mr Rune. ‘And?’ said he.

‘And what?’

‘The paper, Rizla, the paper.’

‘What about the paper?’ I asked.

Hugo Rune made exasperated gaspings. ‘Just look at the paper,’ said he. ‘Just view the front page. And then you will know why the Gestapo are not after you and why the furnishings in this room are all intact and have not been destroyed by fire. Why the tweeds you are wearing seem so old-fashioned. And why we must win the war together and stop Brentford from ever being invaded.’

And I sighed deeply and unrolled the paper and I perused the front page.

And then I looked up at Mr Rune and said, ‘No.’

And Mr Rune nodded his head and said, ‘Yes.’

And then I said, ‘But it-’

And he said, ‘It can and it is.’

And I said, ‘No,’ once again.

And he likewise said, ‘Yes.’

And then I said, ‘But this means-’

And Mr Rune nodded once more. ‘It means, young Rizla, that you and I are no longer in nineteen sixty-seven. You and I are now in nineteen forty-four.’