'I didn't hear you knock,' he said.

'I did,' Hovis replied. 'Several times.'

'I really must get a bell installed then. The door is quite thick and I fear it presents difficulties for those enfeebled officers of advancing years, who no longer retain the strength in their right arms.'

Hovis moved his mouth, as if in speech, but uttered no words.

'Sorry?' said Lytton. 'I didn't catch that.'

'I said, you'd better get a great big bell,' Hovis shouted. 'In case you have a problem hearing it.

What with the traffic noise, and everything,' he added politely.

'Ah yes. Indeed. Sit down then, Hovis. Take a pew.

Hovis sat down.

'Settling into the Portakabin all right?'

'No,' said Hovis. 'It is completely inadequate for my needs. I will certainly need to return to this office, if I am to successfully instigate the secret taskforce operation that I was discussing last night with the chief of police.' He paused to evaluate the effect of this outrageous lie.

'I shall await my briefing from him then,' said Lytton. 'I happen to be dining with him tonight.'

Beneath the wrong side of his desk, Inspectre Hovis clenched and unclenched his fists.

'Now let us talk of other matters.' The chief inspector set down his paper cup. 'Sherringford, might I call you Sherringford?'

'Of course, Brian.'

'So glad. Now, it behoves me to tell you that, as you may have noticed, the department is currently going through major restructuring. It is all down to government funding, or the lack of. The recession. Cut backs. Things of that nature. Someone has to go. That is the nub of it.'

'We will be sorry to lose you,' said Hovis.

'Me? Oh very droll. You will have your little joke.'

Hovis smiled. Lytton did not.

'Weight-puffing, that's the thing. Some of us are doing it. Others not. Crime figures. Clear-up rates.

Books to be balanced. Not my province really. The big boys upstairs. Administration. What do theyknow about gra.s.s-roots detection? Huh?'

'Nothing.' Hovis shook his head. 'Nothing at all.'

'Nothing at all. You're so right. But they do have the say-so. Isn't it always the way?'

'Always,' said Inspectre Hovis. 'So there you are.

'Where?' asked Hovis. 'Where am I?'

'Out,' said the chief inspector. 'Out on your ear, I'm afraid. Redundant. Taking an early retirement.

That's where.

'What?' went Hovis. 'What? What? What?'

'Knew you'd take it like a man. Told them upstairs. Begged them to reconsider, of course. But they were adamant. Still, look on the bright side. Give you a chance to spend more time with your wife and family.'

'I do not have a wife and family.' Hovis gripped the arms of his chair and began to rock in a distinctly manic fashion.

'No wife and family? Then you should get one, my dear fellow. I've two girls myself, eight and ten.

That's a photo of them over there on the wall. On the ponies.'

'No!' said Hovis. 'No! No! No!'

'Bit of a shock, eh? Thought it might be. Given your life to the force. Feel like you've been kicked in the teeth. Worthless. Thrown on the sc.r.a.pheap. My heart goes out to you. And if you ever need a reference, don't hesitate to write.'

'I!' went Hovis. 'I... I...I..

'No need to thank me. But cut along now. And don't forget to hand in your warrant card. End of the week, eh? Sorry to have to rush you, but we need the Portakabin. Temporary ladies' loo apparently.

What a world we live in, eh?'

Hovis rose from his chair. He would make it look like an accident, or suicide. The chief inspector, stricken with remorse, threw himself from the win-dow.

Chief Inspector Lytton took a regulation police-issue revolver from his top drawer and pointed it at his murderer-to-be.

'Don't even think about it,' he said. 'Now p.i.s.s off out of my office, before I call a policeman.'

'Behold the marvel,' said Hugo Rune, tearing aside the silken cloth.

'I can't behold from down here,' Tuppe com-plained. 'Give us a lift up, Cornelius.'

'My pleasure.' Cornelius hoisted Tuppe into the viewing position.

'Crikey,' went the small one. 'Now that is a neat trick.'

'Isn't it though.' Rune fluttered his pudgy fingers. Tuppe flinched accordingly. 'Do you now understand the beauty of the thing?'

'It's here,' said Cornelius, gazing with considerable awe. 'It's a miniature of this room. And of us. I thought you said it was a copy of that ancient fellow's chamber.'

'A microcosm,' Rune explained. 'The device is built into the table top. Take the table where you will. Uncover it, and there displayed will be a microcosm of the immediate surroundings.'

'It's very clever. How does it work?'

'Have you ever heard of the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter?'

'Not as such.'

'Best not to concern yourself then. It works. It is a thing of wonder.'

'And it scares the s.h.i.t out of me,' said Tuppe. 'Am I really that small?'

'You're as big as you feel,' said Cornelius. 'How do you feel, by the way?'

'About ready for the main course now.'

'Well,' Cornelius put down the Tuppe. 'Thank you for showing it to us, Mr Rune.'

'Forget the Mr Rune, my boy. You may call me-'

'Daddy?'

'No, it's still guru,' said Hugo Rune. 'And so you see the beauty of my plan.'

'What plan is this?' Cornelius looked baffled. 'My plan to bring down the denizens of the ForbiddenZones.'

'Ah, that plan.' Cornelius nodded gently. He felt sure that he was much taller than Hugo Rune. But somehow he always seemed to be looking up at him.

'Let us discuss it over the main course,' said Rune. 'Come on, Shorty.'

'Please do not call my friend Shorty,' said Corne-lius.

'I wasn't talking to your friend,' said Hugo Rune. 'I was talking to you.'

Inspectre Hovis returned to the Portakabin. Polly recognized his distinctive door-slamming and didn't look up from her work.

'Would you like me to put the kettle on again?' she asked.

Hovis did not reply.

'I located that file you wanted. It is a big fat one.' Polly rose to hand it over. And found herself staring into a face which seemed to have aged by at least ten years in less than half an hour.

'Sit down.' Polly reached forward and took Hovis by the arm. 'You look dreadful. It's probably a reaction to that Thames water. Sit down and I'll call for a doctor.'

Hovis allowed himself to be helped into the Porta-kabin's only chair. It occurred to him, as Polly fussed about, that he could not recall when he last felt a woman's touch upon him.

A dismal groan escaped from his lips.

'Just take it easy,' said Polly. 'I'll get help.'

'I don't need any help,' the Inspectre told her. 'There is nothing physically wrong with me. It is just that I have received some tragic news.

'Not a death in your family?'

'No. I said tragic news.'

'You had best take the rest of the day off, Polly. Or the week, if you please. You must find yourself another position. I will furnish you with superb references.'

'You're sacking me? What have I done?'

'Not I,' Hovis crossed his heart. 'Brian "the b.a.s.t.a.r.d" Lytton. He has cut me back. I am redundant.'

'He can't do that,' Polly protested. 'I've read up on your cases. You've solved more crimes than anyone else in the history of the force.'

'I am touched that you should show such an interest,' said Hovis, who truly was.

'But all in Brentford,' said Polly. 'How come you solved every crime in Brentford?'

Hovis hung his head.

'But he can't sack you. He just can't.'

'He can and he has. Early retirement.'

'Then we'll fight him. You must have many connections. Many friends in high places. Life has no blessing like a prudent friend. to quote from Euripides.'

'I have no friends,' said Hovis.

'What, none at all?'

'None at all. I have no connections. Everybody hates me.'

'Everybody?'

'Everybody.'

'Oh,' said Polly. 'That makes me feel a lot better. I thought it was only me. Hating you, that is.'

'It's an image thing. All we really great detectives have it. The eccentric mannerism, the funny voice, the strange moustache, the pipe, the tin leg, the penchant for tiny woodland creatures.'

'Ugh,' said Polly.

'Mine is being hated by everybody.'

'Oh, I understand. You're a sort of anti-hero.'

'No,' said Hovis. 'I'm just a nasty b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'You're not so bad.' Polly would have placed a consoling hand upon the immaculate, if now some-what drooping, shoulder of the great detective, had not the very thought sickened her to thestomach. 'You really aren't that bad. Really. Certainly you're arrogant, conceited, short-tempered, misogynistic, boorish and boring. No offence meant.'

'None taken, I a.s.sure you.'

'But you are a brilliant detective. And so you must not be sacked. What do you intend to do?'

'Pack up and go home, I suppose. Sell my memoirs to a Sunday tabloid. Maybe get a spot on Crimewatch.'

'But what about The Crime of the Century? This destiny you told me you had to fulfil? No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny - Homer.'