People nodded. I didn’t bother. ‘Your lights are about to be punched,’ I told Norman.

‘The sole inheritor of the Doveston’s fortune is...’ The solicitor paused for effect. Necks craned forward, breaths were held.

‘Is...’ He produced a small golden envelope from his top pocket and opened it carefully.

Norman nudged me in the ribs. ‘Exciting, isn’t it? This was written into the will.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Is...’ The solicitor glanced at the card. ‘My bestest friend—’

Norman jumped up. ‘Well what a surprise. I wasn’t expecting this.’

‘Edwin,’ said the solicitor.

Norman sat down. ‘Only kidding,’ he said. ‘I told you you might be surprised.’

They brought me round with the contents of a soda siphon.

I was sorry that I’d fainted, because I missed the punch-up. Some people can be very sour losers. Apparently Norman started it.

‘I can’t believe it.’ I gasped, spitting soda. ‘He’s left everything to me.’

‘You’re the new Laird of Bramfield,’ said Norman. ‘How does it feel?’

‘I’m rich,’ I replied. ‘I’m a multi-multi-multi-millionaire.’

‘Lend us a quid then,’ said Norman.

I was really shaking as I signed all the forms the solicitor gave me. Norman kept a close eye over my shoulder, just to make sure that I didn’t sign anything dodgy. The solicitor gave Norman a very bitter look and tucked several sheets of paper back into his briefcase.

‘There,’ I said, when I’d done. ‘I’m done.’

The solicitor smiled an ingratiating smile. ‘I trust, sir,’ said he, ‘that you will retain the services of our company.’

‘Bollocks!’ I said. ‘On your bike.’

Norman shooed the solicitor out and then returned to me. ‘So,’ said Norman, ‘your lairdship, would you like me to show you around your new home?’

I took snuff from a silver bowl and pinched it to my nose. ‘I’ve seen all the house,’ I said. ‘I decorated most of it myself.’

‘There must be something you’d like to see.

‘Ah, yes, there is.’ I sneezed.

‘Bless you,’ said Norman.

‘I would like to see the secret laboratories. See what he’s really been getting up to all these years. All that stuff about the Great Work. All the genetic engineering. All the concocting of strange mind-altering drugs.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Norman, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’d like to see all that too.’

‘Then lead me to them.’

‘Certainly,’ said Norman. ‘Which way are they?’

I made the face that says ‘come on now’. ‘Come on now,’ I said. ‘You’ve got your set of keys. You know everything there is to know about this house.’

‘You’re right there,’ said Norman. ‘So which way are they then?’

‘Norman,’ I said. ‘Don’t jerk me about. You know I’ll see you all right. You can consider that from this minute you are a millionaire too.’

‘Oh, no thanks,’ said Norman. ‘I don’t need any money.

‘You don’t?’

‘No, I’ve got all I need to keep going. Although...’

‘Although?’

‘I could do with another box of Meccano.’

‘It’s yours. A van load. Now where are the secret laboratories?’

‘I give up,’ said Norman. ‘Where are they?’

‘All right then.’ I took a pinch of snuff from another bowl and poked it up my hooter. ‘We’ll just have to search for them. Where do you think we should start?’

Norman shrugged. ‘How about his office? There might be secret plans hidden away.’

‘What a very good idea.’

The Doveston’s office (my office now!) was on the first floor. A magnificent room, all done out in the style of Grinling Gibbons (1648—1721), the English sculptor and wood-carver, so well known for his ecclesiastical woodwork. As well as the bigness of his willy.

Well, probably more so for his ecclesiastical woodwork. But as I am rich now, I can say what I like.

‘The wallpaper really spoils this room,’ said Norman. ‘Stars and stripes. I ask you.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I chose the wallpaper.’

‘Nice,’ said Norman. ‘Very nice too.’

‘You’re just saying that to please me.

‘Of course I am. It’s something you’ll have to get used to, now you’re rich. Everyone will want to suck up to you. And no—one will ever say anything to you that you don’t want to hear.’

‘Don’t say that!’

‘What?’ said Norman. ‘I never said anything.’

We searched the office. We had the back off the filing cabinet. But the filing cabinet was empty. All the desk drawers were empty too. As were all the shelves that normally held all the paperwork.

‘Somebody’s cleaned out this office,’ I said. ‘Taken everything.’

‘He probably left instructions in his will. That all incriminating evidence was to be destroyed. He wouldn’t have wanted anything to come out after his death and sully his memory with the general public.’

‘You think that’s it?’

‘I do. But you’re welcome to say that you thought of it first, if you want.’

‘Norman,’ I said, ‘is the fact that I am now unthinkably rich going to mess around with our friendship?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Norman. ‘I still don’t like you very much.’ I sat down in the Doveston’s chair. (My chair now!) ‘So you are telling me that you have absolutely no idea whatsoever as to where the secret laboratories might be?’

‘None whatsoever.’ Norman sat down on the desk.

‘Get your arse off my desk,’ I said.

Norman stood up again. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘First one up against the wall, come the revolution,’ he whispered.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But the secret laboratories must be here somewhere. I’m certain that if we could find them, we would find the answer to everything. I think that the Great Work was what he lived for. It was the whole point of his life.’

Norman shrugged. ‘Well, believe me, I’ve searched for them. Searched for them for years. But if they’re here, I don’t know where they are. The only secret room I ever found was the secret trophy room.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘At the end of the secret passage.’

‘Lead the way.’

Norman led the way.

It was a really good secret passage. You had to swing this suit of armour aside and crawl in on your hands and knees. Norman led the way once more. ‘Don’t you dare fart,’ I told him.

At length we reached a secret door and Norman opened it with the secret key he’d copied for the sake of convenience.

He flicked on the light and I went, ‘Blimey!’

‘It’s good, isn’t it? Just like a little museum.

And that was just what it was. A little museum. A little black museum. I wandered amongst the exhibits. Each one told its little tale of infamy.

‘Hm,’ I said, picking up a pair of specs. ‘These would be the glasses that Vicar Berry “mislaid” before he lit the dynamite instead of the communion candle. And here’s Chico’s aunty’s leather bondage teapot. And the box bound in human skin that Professor Merlin showed us and you—’

‘I don’t want to think of that, thank you.

‘And what do we have here? A badge-making machine and some badges. Let’s see. The Black Crad Movement.’

‘Wasn’t that the terrorist movement that blew up all those cabinet ministers’ houses?’

‘With dynamite, yes. And look at this. Some charred photographs. They look like stills from a video tape.’

‘The ones that the journalist passed on to his editor, who—’

‘Aaah-Choo,’ I said. ‘As in dynamite.’

‘Urgh,’ said Norman. ‘And look at this blood-stained bow tie.

Didn’t that bloke on the TV, who used to expose government corruption, wear one just like this? They never found all of him, did they?’

I shook my head. ‘But — oh, look, Norman,’ I said. ‘Here’s something of yours.’ I passed him the item and he peered down at it.

‘My yo-yo,’ he said. ‘My prototype yo-yo. That takes me back. Who was it, now, who ended up with the patent?’