Ms. Madison was, for a change, not dancing with Mr. Rake. Neither was she at the Savoy, as the waiters would have told anyone who asked. Instead, she was sat in front of the fire with her beau, drinking tea. The setting was Michael Rake's stylish penthouse, and Ms. Madison had called around to meet Mr. Rake prior to lunch. The fact that it was now after eight o'clock and they were still there indicated that something had caused her to change her mind.
"This is great, isn't it, Lynette?" Mr. Rake smiled, feeding the young blonde a biscuit. "Staying in, not going out, I mean."
"Oh, you bet," she chuckled softly. "And thanks for New Year's, Mike. It was swell."
"Oh, I agree," Rake smiled, voice soft, "and now I've seen your boss, I'm not in the least bit jealous, Lynette - not after you went to me, back there at Mainstone. Would you like to motor down to my father's place in Surey some weekend?"
"You bet," she breathed softly, "but I never know when the boss 'll need me. And I need to meet my father one of these weekends. He's starting to get annoyed with me."
"And we can't have that," Rake looked solemn. "Not when I'll need to ask him an important question soonish."
"Oh, Mike!" Ms. Madison giggled, "stop it!" In order to emphasise this, she turned on the television.
The picture that greeted her was one of New Scotland Yard. There, outside that breat glass and steel tower was the familiar, if corpulent figure of Superintendent Horace Madison. Underneath were the words, 'London Blackmail Threat.'
She could only gasp with suprise.