Without preamble, he spoke: ‘Has everyone gone who isn’t working on this edition?’ Will tensed even though the question could not be directed at him. The chief spoke up and earned Will’s admiration by addressing the Editor with his first name. ‘Yes, Charles,’ he said. ‘They’ve all gone.’

‘Good. Then listen, everyone.’ The Editor pointed at the clock on the pillar beside the back bench. ‘It is already twenty past seven. There is no time for speeches. Newsdesk are working on what may be the biggest scoop in my twenty-six years as Editor. As we speak, Islamic terrorists are plotting to blow up this newsroom and everyone in it. Your lives are in danger. Anyone who wants to leave, go now.’

Though many audibly drew in air or sighed or touched their hair or their faces or twisted their hands across each other, no one left. This seemed to be what the Editor had expected, and he continued: ‘You should take that threat as a very great compliment. And be glad, because not only have these murderers named us as the chief enemy of their vile schemes, but we have beaten everyone else to the story. The police have heard from their own sources that something is up, but not even they know about our scoop yet, and they will not know until after first edition. We do not need them to protect us. We will protect ourselves.

‘And let me tell you this. When people say that the age of the newspaper has passed, that the glory days of the Press are not today, but belong to hallowed memory, you will be able to point to tomorrow’s edition and say: by this are you refuted. In years to come, when I am long dead and you are old and you gather not here but in one another’s homes or in St Bride’s to remember a dead newsman who stands among you now in mature strength, and you talk about the great papers of the past, you will be able to say: I was there, that day, when they tried to bomb the newsroom. I worked on that edition. In a box under my bed or in a frame on my wall I have my copy, and my work made it.

‘So make it right. Because this is the story of a lifetime. It will be pored over by everyone in England tomorrow, and by you for the rest of your lives. Tomorrow we will prove something; we will achieve the highest day’s circulation that any newspaper has achieved since before I was Editor. Tomorrow we are going to set a circulation record for this century. And, who knows, tomorrow’s record may stand for the rest of it and for all time.