Hastily stuffing the letter into his inside jacket pocket, Rafferty cursed the lapse in his usually excellent sense of perception as he heard footsteps approaching his office. Fast.

At times like this, he could take no chances.

Racking his brilliant brain, he quickly realised that determining the identity of his visitor was all too simple.

The look on his receptionist’s face said it all.

Ava’s eyes had darted to such an angle in the direction of the corridor adjacent to his office that the simple application of Pythagoras’ Theorem gave the visitor’s height at approximately six feet. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, frown lines semi-formed – implying an uncommon visitor, but nonetheless known to her, and evidently superior.

Which by a process of elimination would leave…

“Good day Mr Spence! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

An Agency prodigy, who had arrived on a very selective graduate scheme and flown up the ranks. Nobody threatening. Nobody dangerous.

“Mr Pryce, I think you ought to sit down.”