The Hollywood climax, in fact, produced immediate dividends, as far as money and publicity were concerned. But in particular, it produced, in Charles Bannister’s hotel suite, one April evening, a man called Jack Lett.

Charles Bannister was alone, and rather tired, when the caller’s card was brought to him; Esther and Mrs Bannister had already gone to bed, and he was thinking of doing the same, aided by a highball long and strong enough to serve for half a dozen night caps. ‘Jack Lett – Novelties’, proclaimed the card, in an unusual form of script reminiscent of second-century Chinese: the name meant nothing to him, and the word ‘novelties’ conjured up a vision of coloured paper hats with ‘Kiss and Tell’ inscribed upon the brim … But there had been many such visitors, some of them worth seeing: it was part of a pattern of success which Charles Bannister had no wish to vary. He said to the waiting bellhop: “Send him up,” and added a touch more whisky to his highball. He would go to bed in half an hour instead of a quarter.

He did not go to bed in half an hour, or anything like it. Jack Lett was not that kind of man, and the occasion proved to be not that sort of occasion.

The visitor who presently shouldered his way into the room was a tough, bustling, stocky character who looked like a salesman’s dream of himself next year. He was small, square, olive-skinned, alert: he carried, clenched in one over-burdened hand, two fat briefcases, and a green hat with a curly and aggressive brim. He came forward briskly, almost running, the other hand outstretched, and said: “Captain Bannister?” His voice was like his hand – outstretched to clasp the customer. “Hope you don’t mind my butting in this way – I wanted to meet the brains of the organization!”

Charles Bannister frowned. This was the sort of moment when he reminded himself that, but for a trifling irregularity, he might have been commissioned in a Guards’ regiment. He said coldly: “I’m Captain Bannister, yes. What can I do for you?”

“It’s the other way around, Captain.” Not put out by this chilly greeting, the man laid down his hat, and the briefcases, and smiled at Charles Bannister as if the latter had just paid him some extravagant kind of compliment. His voice – harsh and yet winning, warm as a patch of carpet in the sun – filled the hotel room. “It’s what I can do for you … I’m Jack Lett. You’ve seen my card. It says ‘novelties’, and it means just that.” His hand darted out, seized the nearest briefcase, and drew something from it. “Now just tell me how you like this.”

‘This’ was an ornament made of coloured plastic. It had the same shape as the trio of monkeys – one guarding its eyes, one its ears, one its mouth – familiar to most people over the cautionary directive, ‘Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil’. But the three figures were not monkeys: they were human, and female; and the face of each was a very fair imitation of Esther’s. At the base of the ornament was the legend: ‘Be like Esther Costello’.