…If Tee’s study was the hub of intelligence, then Miss Hunnyfludd’s office, which comprised no more than a hastily compromised ante-chamber to its plush superior, was the heart…
Thomas Welch was currently making himself at home in the heart of operations and musing about his latest exploits in the name of service…
It was not, upon reflection, the most distinguished of performances from our number one agent.
“They’re already referring to it as The Big Stone Head Affair, Tommy,” said Hunnyfludd disarmingly.
“Oh, they are, are they, Hunnyfludd, and who, precisely, might I ask, are ‘they’?” Welch smiled sardonically and raised a secretly famous eyebrow.
“Why, those in the know, of course, Tommy, those in the know,” smiled back Hunnyfludd, equally sardonically for she enjoyed their little contretemps.
“Then we await with bated breath to see what The Moon will make of it, something infinitely cruder and more phallic, no doubt,” said Welch, moving that bit closer to Hunnyfludd’s desk.
“But what makes you think The Moon will get hold of it, Tommy?”
“Oh, they usually do Hunnyfludd, they usually do… eventually, although I can’t for the life of me think quite how they do so?” Welch leaned over Hunnyfludd’s desk, contriving to be both accusatory and suggestive at the same time. He was largely unsuccessful on both counts.
“Perish the thought, Tommy,” said Hunnyfludd reaching into her handbag utterly unfazed, “but I do have an inkling of your next assignment.”
“Oh really, then you’d better let me have it,” said Welch in that foolishly fearless way of his.
“Blimey O’Riley!” said Welch.
Hunnyfludd smiled, “Quite…” she mouthed dreamily, “so, you had better be on your mettle for this one, Tommy.”
“Oh, I usually am, you know,” said Welch hastily recovering his suave demeanour.
The study door flew open…