I used my one phone call to ring Ian Devine and explain my situation. He said he would pop round in the morning until I explained that I had bought him an extra large pie for Christmas and had it with me at the police station.

“I’ll be round with Wicks and Grantham to spring you from the big house” he said, obviously under the influence of American television. Their rescue plan was simplicity itself Wicks disguised himself as a Dutch priest and Grantham was his head nun – Sister Van Basten – and they were in Bendaton for the annual Carols and Edam concert. They said they needed directions to the church and, when Constable Forkwitt was out in the street pointing their way to the church, Ian Devine snuck in dressed as a Christmas tree and blew the door off my cell using his exploding balls. He had brought me a f-a-i-r-y costume and told me that, if spotted, I should sit on his head and hope no one noticed the incongruity. I squeezed into the outfit and we dashed from the cells.

“Evening” said Constable Forkwitt as we rushed past him.

“Good evening” I said in a falsetto.

“Hang on – aren’t you the Christmas fairy?”

“I am.”

“Cool. I knew you existed. My mummy said you were invented by evil men and grubby bankers.”

“You’re thinking of Jonathan Powel” I said wittily.

“Who is he?” asked the dense Forkwitt.

I gave him a fascinating historical lecture, the gravitas of which was, admittedly, lessened by delivering it in a f-a-i-r-y costume but never the less it was packed with technical information and would make a very good article for “Doctor Who” Magazine if ever I feel moved to write for that squalid little rag ever again. It’s not that I’m bitter in anyway at having received my one thousandth letter of rejection only the other morning.

“I don’t understand” said Forkwitt. I hadn’t got time to explain any further so used my intelligence to escape from the situation.

“Happy Festive season” I wished.

“Thank you. Tell Santa that I want a big hat for Christmas won’t you?”

“I will” I lied. We met up with Wicks and Grantham and jogged back to Brent Towers, stopping for Ian Devine to catch up with us every seven yards.

“Where is my big pie?” asked Ian Devine once we got back home.

“That was a ruse” I said honestly.

“A… ruse…?” he gasped, clutching his stomach and giving it apologetic hand gestures for misleading it.

“I was in jail and if I was in jail I couldn’t stop them from… I couldn’t give you all your gifts.”

“Gifts, Dennis Brent?” said Grantham. “Will it be as poor as last year’s bottle of Bargainsave tomato ketchup?”

“Oh no – it will be considerably superior to that” I said honestly. “But in true Hercule Poirot style I intend to summon all my friends and family to Brent Towers for a grand unveiling.”

“How mysterious, Dennis Brent” said Ian Devine. “Speaking of Hercule Poirot, have you any thoughts about my reindeer head?”

“One problem at a time, Ian Devine. And priorities dictate that mine comes before yours.”

“Also alphabetically” observed Wicks sensibly.

“Good point” I told him warmly.

“Shall we have a small glass of sherry and a mince p-i-e?” suggested Grantham.

“Excellent notion. You prepare the comestibles while I telephone father, mother, Donald Brent and Miss Bobbins.”

I made the necessary calls and they agreed – with varying degrees of reluctance – to join me at Brent Towers for the dishing out of Christmas gifts. I decided to clarify a point or two with Mr Grade while I was out of my acquaintances company.

“Mr Grade – this is Dennis Brent – tall chap with a moustache.”

“What can I do for you, Mr Brent?” he asked through my earpiece.

“I just want your word as a gentleman that you will tell me where the bomb is once I’ve given my acquaintances their festive gratuities.”

“If they like them.”

“Of course they will like them” I snapped.

“If we deem that they like them enough to fulfil our verbal contract then I’ll tell you where the bomb is. If not then we’ll destroy your house.”

“But you’ll kill the very people that you wanted me to make happy” I pointed out.

“It’s Christmas – there are bound to be casualties.”

“Then my life and the lives of my family and my acquaintances depend entirely on whether they have the good taste to appreciate my taste in gifts?”

“Exactly.”

“This time I really think it could be the end” I gasped.

21:59:58

21:59:59