Ben had just finished hunting through the eighth drawer when a thrumming, pulsing, vibrating sound suddenly came from the ninth and last. It was a mobile phone ringing from inside. Ben tried the drawer, but it was locked. He asked Wolf, ‘You got that knife?’

Wolf passed it to him. Ben jammed the tip of the blade into the crack between the drawer and the desk, and levered it upwards. It was a hefty piece of furniture and made of solid stuff, the wood old and seasoned. By the time the lock gave with a splintering crackle, the phone had stopped ringing inside.

Ben yanked the drawer open. All it contained was a mobile phone, a cheap and plain-looking Nokia of the bought-for-cash, no-names-no-questions variety that was so familiar to Ben. It was a strange item to find in the possession of a respectable politician. He picked it up and turned it on. Whoever had just tried calling Abbott had left a voicemail. Ben put it on speaker, so Wolf could hear too, and played the message.

‘Hello, this is Andrew Laverack of the Seaward & Laverack Literary Agency in London, calling with regard to your manuscript, “The Pandemonium Club”. I’m sorry to say I have, ah, bad news. After much consultation with my colleagues here, it was felt that your manuscript isn’t a good fit for us, after all. Despite the book’s obvious commercial potential, I’m afraid that due to the extreme nature of the subject matter and the risk of legal issues arising from its content, particularly in light of some of the allegations made, we have opted to decline.’

Laverack paused a beat, sounding as if he wanted to say more but was uncertain. He went on: ‘I know you must be disappointed, as am I. If it’s any consolation, this was not a unanimous decision. In fact the reason I’m calling like this is to say that, for my own part, I still believe that this book could be dynamite. But sadly my senior partner could not be persuaded to share my point of view and was ultimately unprepared to take the risk. However I’m sure that another literary agency might feel differently, and I wish you all the best of luck with the project.’

Laverack signed off and the message ended.

Ben now understood what the name of the document referred to. Abbott had been writing a book. One that was evidently so hotly controversial that the boss of Laverack’s agency was afraid to touch it. Laverack himself had sounded bitterly disappointed, even resentful, going out on a limb like that to make his personal feelings known. It seemed as though the agents must have argued long and hard over the matter.