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The morning after the great Manor House excitement, Toby and Alasdair made their statements to a nice young detective sergeant who was thrilled at being told to go to the studio, because he was besotted with Fiona. As Toby observed, it would be a miracle if the statements themselves weren’t covered in hearts and Cupid’s arrows when they arrived back at the station.

Meanwhile, the publicity department leaped into action, so that by the time the evening editions of the newspapers hit the streets, the story of what had happened in the environs of Manor House—suitably adjusted to cover up the name of the assailant and the true role of Messrs Brown and Wilson—was featured in their pages. A representative from the Daily Telegraph had been invited to the studios on Tuesday to interview the two heroes before he dashed off to a planned press conference on the matter to be given by the police. Sir Ian had also arranged a rota of bodyguards to accompany each of the two actors about their business until they could be sure all threat had passed.

To crown a satisfying day, Toby returned home to find a message from Matthew that Alexandra was indeed going to turn King’s evidence, and was already singing her little heart out, although how many of the lyrics she warbled were true only time would tell. Vera had agreed to reveal everything she knew, as had two other employees of the company. While the authorities couldn’t be sure that any chance of an attack had been foiled, they were confident this one wouldn’t happen and were on high alert for any other disruptions. Alasdair also got in touch to say Morgan had been to see Dennis and reported that he was heartbroken. As was Nicholas, who was threatening to eschew women for life and join a monastery. Which might seem appropriate if your most recent experience of ladies had been Alexandra.

“They’re supposed to be meeting, tonight. The Monday Evening Association ,” Toby said. “I wonder if they’ll turn up to find the offices locked and Lloyd nowhere to be found?”

“No. I realised the date and forestalled it by ringing Moira this afternoon. I told her about Alexandra and said not to turn up at Eagle Street tonight as events had run on at a lick and maybe grabbing one of the evening papers might be an idea. I think they’ll all go to the Swan instead, to mull over the news. I got Jeff’s telephone number for you, too,” Alasdair added, with a cackle. “After what he hears tonight and whatever the newspapers report over the next few days, he should be ripe for his pep talk.”

“I hope so. With any luck, he’ll have seen the error of his ways and asked Moira out by the end of this evening so my job will be done. Then there’s just Fred and Vera to nudge.”

***

The following Tuesday, Toby met Jeff—at St Bride’s Tavern , because the location felt like it brought him luck—and delivered his distant star line, with great success. Jeff confessed complete ignorance about how Moira felt, but that surprise soon turned to optimism at the thought that she might like him as he was, rather than wanting him to change, as his ex-wife had. The meeting had proved so effective that Toby decided to craft a final knot in the loose ends of the case on his way home.

He took a cab the short distance to Eagle Street and asked the driver to wait, clock running, while he nipped in and left a message for his pal at Clanfield House. He entered the building to be greeted by Fred’s cheery cry of, “Mr Bowe! I’ve been reading about your adventures in the paper. It’s all been going on here, as well. Coppers up and down the stairs like yo-yos.”

“So I hear. Augean stables job, I think.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but if it’s clearing out a load of old junk, you’re right.” Fred thrust out his hand to shake Toby’s. “I want to thank you all for what you did for Vera. She’s like a dog with two tails over her new job.”

“A pleasure, Fred. She’s a lovely woman, as is her mother. Even if her sherry’s on the strong side.”

“ She’s made up, too. Hasn’t stopped talking about your visit and how she wonders if she played a small part in getting this mob sorted.” Fred jerked his thumb towards the door Toby had taken when he’d come to that first Monday meeting. “I guess the full story will come out in the news, because it’s a bit of a mystery at present.”

“As much as can come out,” Toby said. “I can’t tell you anything at present, I’m afraid, except that we hope it’s a job well done. Two jobs, really. You played your part and so did Vera, for both of them.”

“More to come for her, too. Reckons it’ll be an Old Bailey job.”

“She’ll have to wear her best black frock in the witness box, then.” Toby leaned closer, like he always did onscreen when giving Alasdair advice. “See if Ted can cover those days, if it’s your turn on the rota, because she’ll need a good friend at her side.”

“She will that.” Fred rubbed his forehead. “Maybe that’ll be my chance. I’ve been like you are in your films, Mr Bowe, if you follow me. Always the one admiring Fiona and getting nowhere cos she’s got her eye on Mr Hamilton.”

“I follow you indeed, Fred. But this isn’t the films, and I don’t think you’ve got an Alasdair as a rival.” He saluted the doorman and grinned. “Once more into the breach, my friend. You’d make a lovely pair.”

***

The second of June seemed to come round in a flash. Toby and Alasdair enjoyed every minute of their glorious party watching the magnificent coronation parade, despite the hideous British weather’s attempts to throw a soggy blanket over the event. They’d then settled down to watch the coronation itself via a small screen with fuzzy monochrome images. While everyone present enjoyed the novelty of the device, most of them felt it would never replace the experience of watching a film in the cinema.

As the drizzle fell, Toby imagined Chapman sitting in his cell somewhere, maybe looking out of a window at the rain and convincing himself that he was responsible for bringing a damp touch to the proceedings, rather than blaming a typically unpredictable English summer day. Chapman would no doubt be furious if he discovered the precipitation hadn’t dampened the spirits of Queen Salote, who’d been smiling and waving in the rain and generally winning hearts all round. Hopefully somebody would give him a full account or he’d be allowed to read the story in a newspaper. Some poetic justice to add to the all too real justice he’d be facing.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Alasdair said, referring to the newly crowned Elizabeth the Second.

“She is. Solomon in all his glory couldn’t match her.” Toby raised his umpteenth glass of champagne. “Here’s a health unto her majesty.”

“A toast to our small part in making the day a success, as well.” Alasdair chinked his glass against Toby’s, then mouthed, “To the king of my heart, too.”

“Hear hear.” Toby would take a vow of allegiance on that count any time it was required.