And suddenly, there he lay. A bewildered, sad old man, his steely hair wet with sweat, like a halo over his head. Then he fell back – and started to sob.

Getting his breath back, the Doctor clapped a hand on my shoulder. ‘Nice … one,’ he panted. ‘Nice one, Jenny.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ I said, then started to laugh.

‘What?’

‘You … you … um … ’

‘I know I did,’ said the Doctor. ‘There’s no need to say it.’

But I couldn’t help it. The relief, I daresay. I started to laugh and then I couldn’t stop. ‘You put a sock in it.’

I looked over at Madam and then at the crowd, who were sinking, exhausted, into their seats. The Cardinal was being attended to by his fellow Italians and looked pale but OK. The Prince of Wales emerged from beneath his opera cloak, peering about like a woodland creature. And Miss Anne Dante looked over at the judges and the esteemed personnel gathered in the Pom and yelled –

‘Does this mean I ain’t won?’

*

A right royal affair it was, the next morning at Paternoster Row, I can tell you. First the Doctor come round and we had a slap-up breakfast and generally clapped ourselves on the back. Then Scotland Yard arrived to tell us what a bang-up job we’d done and that old Piccolo was now languishing at Her Majesty’s Pleasure, awaiting interview. Then we was visited by what you might call an Illustrious Client, who thanked us, very effusive-like, for all the help we’d given in thwarting the assassination attempt which, though directed at Cardinal Mazzini, might well have taken his life too. And that of Mrs Langtry (though it was probably best if we didn’t mention that she’d been there).

Then a box of chocs come – from the Pope.

Finally, when I was tired of trooping back and forth to the front door and wishing we had a butler of some sort to do just that, Gideon Mortlock come a-calling.

I took his hat and he sat opposite the Doctor, me and Madam. ‘I trust I find you recovered?’ he said at last.

‘A little ringing in the ears,’ said the Doctor. ‘Otherwise, fine.’

‘Look,’ said Mortlock, clearing his throat. ‘This is a little … difficult, isn’t it? I’m more than aware that not only did you prevent a crime of the most appalling magnitude but you saved the Contest.’

‘Ah, yes. The Contest,’ said Madam. ‘What will happen in the absence of Miss Dante?’

‘We’re going to re-stage the final,’ said Mortlock. ‘And we’re putting the Boneless Wonder through as a wild card.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ cried the Doctor, grinning. ‘But there’s no need for all this treading on eggshells, Gideon. You see, we know your secret.’

Mortlock looked worried and stroked his moustaches.