Shit. The randomly insulting guy in the middle was Justice Mayhew. We’d had a run-in at Alex’s club a couple of years ago and he’d always struck me as exactly the kind of incompetent, bigoted bully you really hoped didn’t wield vast judicial power. Still, I suppose if there was ever a time to meet a friendly—well, not friendly, but inclined to be on your side in this situation—judge with a habit of browbeating people, it was when you were in a police station with pending charges of criminal trespass and Grand Theft Darjeeling. The three men made their way through to our little holding area, where Alex beamed an oblivious hello while Justice Mayhew bore down at once on the officer on duty and began yelling.

“Well, hello, chaps and girl chaps,” Alex said, while in the background an irate jurist well past retirement age spat a stream of invective at a hapless public servant. “Heard you had a spot of bother with the local constabulary. Beastly thing, but we’ll soon have it sorted.”

“And if this country hasn’t completely gone to the dogs,” Justice Mayhew was saying, “neither you nor anybody like you will work in law enforcement again—”

“Incidentally,” Alex continued as if nothing loud and distracting was going on, “have you met my—”

“Never seen such a sorry excuse for a uniformed officer in all my born—”

“Daddy-in-law-to-be?” He looked around and, when nobody said Yes, we hang out all the time over foie gras and cribbage, went on. “Everybody, this is Miffy’s father, Douglas Lettice, the Earl of Coombecamden. Daddy-in-law-to-be, this is everybody.”

We waved a series of uncertain hi’s and strained milord’s at the earl, not quite sure how formal we were expected to be, given the circumstances.

“Right this minute, or God as my witness—” continued Justice Mayhew behind us. He hadn’t even paused for breath.

“Delighted to meet you all,” said the earl. He was a short man, with beetling brows and hair that had long since shaded to grey. From his tone, I couldn’t tell if he actually was delighted to meet us or not. He had that aristocratic way of speaking that made everything sound at once like he was discharging a grave duty and doing you a massive personal favour. “Once this little unpleasantness—”

“No respect, that’s the trouble, no respect at all—”

“Is dealt with, might I suggest you accompany us back to Lettice Manor where we’ll be more than happy to accommodate you.”