It would violate the promise made by Ms. Madison were she to be in the bath when the 'phone rings. So she will be taking it easy on the sofa instead, looking out over St James' Park, waiting for her long-suffering date, Michael Rake.
"Good evening," she tried her level best to sound efficient and business-like, "Ms. Madison, secretary to the Green Man. Can I help?"
"You won't have heard my name," a muffled voice came down the line.
"If you were speaking like that when you said it," Ms. Madison replied, "I'm not surprised. What's the matter?"
"Don't you want to know who I am?" the voice became louder.
"Since it's almost eight and I'm going out," the blonde sighed, "there might be a reason for that. Still, what's the problem, and how might the Green Man solve it? And how did you get this number?"
"It was given me by the Green Man," the voice replied. "I am Nicholas Crotch-Harvey, director of the King Arthur Centre at Glastonbury. A man was killed here earlier this evening by a man claiming to be Merlin."
"Lots of men," Ms. Madison shook her head, "claim to be famous dead people."
"I know," the director became more agitated, "but this one vanished in front of a large group of toruists - into thin air. And before then, he told them that King Arthur was returning. A guide tried to object, but got run through by a javelin."
"I didn't know Merlin carried weapons," Ms. Madison still viewed the whole thing as a wind-up. The name hadn't helped.
"He didn't, you dumb [we have deleted the word he used so as not to offend those of delicate sensibilities]!" The august director yelled, causing Ms. Madison to jump. "There was a man in armour with him, and he was armed! Something is happening down here, and whatever it is, it's..."
He was suddenly cut off. The only sound Ms. Madison could hear was someone chanting in pig-latin.