‘Another thing,’ said Mr. Vulgurian. ‘I counted five cigarette ends and four used matches on the floor of the lift this morning. What do you think of that?’

‘Someone must have used a lighter, R.V.,’ said Sir Prestwick.

Mr. Vulgurian stopped in his tracks and inspected Sir Prestwick with an eye for detail.

‘Tummy troubling you this morning, Prestwick?’

‘Oh, well, you know, R.V. . . .’

‘Tell me if you don’t feel up to work. I can always struggle through on my own.’

‘I’m perfectly all right, R.V.’

‘Pour yourself a glass of Malvern water. Take a dry biscuit. Don’t mind me.’

Sir Prestwick jumped up and hastened across to the sideboard next to which Mr. Vulgurian was standing.

‘Pour me a glass, too,’ said Mr. Vulgurian. ‘Where was I? Ah – five cigarette ends and four used matches in the lift. I want you to send a memorandum to all departments detailing what I found and reminding everyone that the lifts are used by visitors to the building who may well base their impression of Amalgamated Television on what they find on the floor.’

‘What they find on the floor. I have that, R.V.,’ said Sir Prestwick, struggling to pour the Malvern water and take a note at the same time.

‘Appeal to their better natures.’

‘I’ll make a note of it, R.V.’

‘Wherever and whenever possible, Prestwick, we must appeal to the staff’s better natures. They have them, if we have the confidence to trust in them. That’s one of the fundamental principles of good management.’

‘Better natures – exactly.’

‘Always treat a man as you would wish to be treated yourself, be he the humblest doorman in the firm.’

‘Do as you would be done by.’

‘It’s good human relations. It’s good business. It’s good ethics.’

‘It certainly is, R.V.’

Mr. Vulgurian paused and stroked his hair, doing to it as he would be done by.

‘Speaking of ethics,’ he said, ‘aren’t we building a new ethics department for a theological college somewhere?’

‘For an automation research institute,’ said Sir Prestwick, brightening up a little.

‘Yes, something of that sort.’

‘I was hoping we’d have time to talk about that, R.V., because I’ve got some rather good news. They’re getting the Queen to come down and open it.’

‘Really?’

‘So I hear, R.V.’

‘Good, Prestwick, good. Very good. Pour yourself another glass of water.’

Mr. Vulgurian reflected with a broad reflective vision.

‘How did they manage it?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, R.V.’

‘I wonder how they managed it. I seem to remember you couldn’t get us the Queen to open this place.’

‘No, I couldn’t, R.V.’

‘And you couldn’t get the Queen Mother, either.’

‘No.’

‘Nor Princess Alexandra.’

‘No.’

‘Nor the Duke of Kent.’

‘No.’

‘Nor the Duke of Gloucester.’

‘I got the Duke of Bedford, R.V.’

‘You got the Duke of Bedford.’

Mr. Vulgurian took out his penknife and scraped abstractedly at a particularly protuberant knobule of pink paint on the Riopelle.

‘How did they manage it, Prestwick? Are they able to pull strings? Is that it, Prestwick?’