Smoothing down his iconic velvet jacket – today in a dashing midnight blue – Mr Rafferty Pryce tipped the doorman as he entered Agency HQ, and collected his morning paper.

Colleagues waved and grinned as the tall, lean man swept past, polished brogues tapping out an infectious rhythm on the dull linoleum floor, his lined face smiling gently – the face of a man who had worked hard for his position.

Not like some of the upstarts they give jobs to for nothing these days…

The Agency took cases on behalf of several hundred clients the world over – and the most important were always represented by Mr Rafferty Pryce – eccentric, debonair, detective extraordinaire.

Closing his heavy oak door behind him, Rafferty headed straight for the phone and dialled for one of his most loyal clients.

“Miss Onyx? I have some very interesting news for you!”

The voice that replied sounded surprised.

“Really Mr Rafferty? I’ve had some already this morning…”

“Oh yes? And what was that?”

A pause.

“Well… That you are dead.”