And he began to read out a list. And it read as some litany of the damned. As damned as those on the list had been, at my hand. But the list went on and on. And name after name that I didn’t recognize, of folk that I certainly hadn’t put paid to, came one after another, after another. “… And Elvis Aaron Presley.”

“Elvis?” I choked on the name. “I didn’t kill Elvis.”

“How plead you?” asked the voice.

“Innocent,” I said. “Absolutely, uncontroversially innocent.”

“Oh dear,” came the voice of Mr Justice Doveston. “I hope this doesn’t mean that we’ll be here all day. I have an urgent golfing appointment at three. Who represents the guilty party?”

“Guilty party?” I said. “A man is innocent until proven guilty.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Mr Justice Doveston. “So who represents this vicious killer?”

“I do.” A lady now stepped into my eye line. And a very pretty lady too. She had a slim yet shapely figure, hugged by expensive black. And she wore, atop her head of flame-red hair, one of those barrister’s little white wigs, which look so incredibly sexy when worn by a young woman but just plain stupid when worn by a man.

“Ah,” said Mr Justice D, “Ms Ferguson. Always a pleasure to see you in court, no matter how lost your cause.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. I will represent Mr Cheese and it is my intention to prove to the court that, although Mr Cheese is guilty of multiple homicide, he is a victim of circumstance. A pawn in a game so great that it is beyond his comprehension. That a conspiracy exists, which, if the truth of it was exposed to the general public, would rock society to its very foundation. You spoke of lost causes, Your Honour. And indeed I have pursued many. But now I am privy to certain information, which I feel certain will—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Mr Justice. “This all sounds terribly interesting. But do try to make it brief. Let’s get it over by lunchtime, fry this villain and take the afternoon off.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. It is my intention to prove that a secret organization exists, possessed of an occult knowledge. This organization supplies the government of this country with information gleaned from certain sources that …”

“Are you sure this has any bearing on this case?” asked Mr Justice D.

“Every bearing. I will prove that although the hands that caused the murders belong to Mr Cheese, the mind that ordered those hands to commit those horrendous deeds was not the mind of Mr Cheese. The thinking did not go on in his head, the thinking came from elsewhere. From a distant point in the universe.”

I stared at Ms Ferguson and then I glanced towards Dave. Dave was giving me the thumbs-up. He mouthed the words, “I’ve sorted it.”

“This all sounds very esoteric,” said Mr Justice D. “And a less erudite and well-read magistrate than I would no doubt dismiss this line of evidence out of hand. But I like a good laugh and this nutty stuff has a certain appeal to me. As long as it’s over by lunchtime, of course, and we can enjoy the frying. I’ve never seen an electrocution before and I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Quite so, Your Honour. I will try to keep this brief. Might I call the first witness for the defence?”

“As quickly as you can, yes.”

“Then please call Mr Reginald Boothy.”

“Call Mr Reginald Boothy,” called a voice. And presently Mr Reginald Boothy appeared. They sat him down in a chair facing me, which was decent of them, although after a glance or two at Mr Boothy I wasn’t altogether certain. There was something distinctly odd about Mr Boothy. A certain unworldliness. I felt that here was a man who wasn’t what he seemed. And what he seemed, whatever that was, wasn’t what that seemed either.

Mr Boothy was tall and oldish-looking, and in his way was rather handsome. He had gunmetal-grey hair, decent cheekbones and a clipped gunmetal-grey beard. He looked a bit like a graphic designer. Because graphic designers always look like that. It’s a tradition or an old charter, or something.

Mr Boothy wore a very dashing black suit cut to a design that I didn’t recognize and was accompanied by two small and friendly-looking dogs.

The chap whose voice had urged me to be silent was in fact the clerk of the court. He stepped forward to Mr Boothy and placed a Bible into his hands. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” he said.

“As much of it as I know,” said Mr Boothy. “Which is some, but not all.”

“Good enough,” said Mr Justice D.

“No, it’s not,” said Ms Ferguson.

“It will do for me,” I said. Because I recognized if not Mr Boothy, then at least his name. I’d come across it only once before in my life. And I’d never heard of any other Mr Boothy, for it didn’t seem like a real name at all. The only Mr Boothy I’d heard of was the one referred to by Nigel and Ralph, the two young men I’d overheard in the restricted section of the Brentford Memorial Library all those years ago when I was a child. Was it the same Mr Boothy? Who could say? Not me.

“You are Mr Reginald Boothy?” asked Ms Ferguson.

“I am,” said Mr Reginald Boothy. “And these are my two dogs, Wibble and Trolley Bus.”

“Quite so,” said Ms Ferguson. “But I will address my questions solely to you, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m easy,” said Mr Boothy.

“Splendid. So, Mr Boothy, am I right in assuming that you are the head of a secret underground organization, known as the Ministry of Serendipity, which supplies information to the government of this country and in fact influences every major decision made by the government?”

“I’m proud to say so, yes,” said Mr Boothy.

“Er, excuse me,” said Mr Justice Doveston. “But, Mr Boothy, you are aware of what you are saying to this court, aren’t you? You seem very eager to divulge secrets.”

“I’m easy,” said Mr Boothy once again. “I know that nothing I say will go beyond these walls and, even if it does, no one beyond these walls will ever believe it. That is the nature of a real conspiracy. Even if you own up to it, even if you can prove it, people, on the whole, will never believe it.”

Mr Doveston nodded, although I didn’t see him do it. “I wonder why that is,” he said.

“It’s because it’s the way we keep it, Your Honour. It’s the way we want it to be.”

“This we being the Ministry of Serendipity?”

“This we being the powers that run not only this country but the entire world.”

“How exciting,” said Mr Justice D. “But time is pressing on, so please have your say as speedily as possible.”

“Mr Boothy,” said Ms Ferguson, “will you tell the court, as briefly and succinctly as you can, what exactly the Ministry of Serendipity does.”

“It co-ordinates interdimensional communications. Which is to say, communications with the dead.”

“Did you say the dead?.” asked Mr Justice D.

“I did, Your Honour. If I might briefly explain?”

“Be as brief as you like, Mr Boothy.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. Back in Victorian times a scientific genius by the name of Nicoli Tesla invented a number of remarkable things: alternating current, the Tesla coil, for which he is still remembered today, and wireless communications. He sold out alternating current and wireless communications to the Thomas Edison organization. He was a genius, but not much of a businessman. Mr Tesla discovered, when he first perfected wireless communications, that his radio equipment was receiving all kinds of odd noises that he couldn’t account for. He fine-tuned his apparatus and he found he could hear voices. These were not the voices of his employees testing his equipment. These were other voices. But as no other radio equipment existed on the planet, Mr Tesla was somewhat baffled by what the source of these voices might be.[23]