"Because colour separation overlay doesn’t work in the real world."

"They might" said Francois Devine when he finally arrived on the scene.

"Unless they see the world through a television screen, I hardly think it’s likely."

"But they DO see the world through a television screen – it’s a sad indication of the decline of the socio-economic paradigm of modern Britain. The television set has become a de facto social circle for the average person as a combination of alienation and deprivation has ostracised them from what had previously been considered normal social behaviour patterns" said Francois Devine.

"Firstly, that is namby pamby, liberal, wet-behind-the-ears twaddle presumably from one of the trendier and less rigid universities. Secondly, it isn’t true as I spend copious amounts of time watching a television screen and I couldn’t be more socially rounded. And thirdly, even if what you say is true, we’re still dealing with the minority which can tear itself away from Top of the Pops and wants to burgle my house."

"You make one or two reasonable points" mumbled Francois Devine. "Perhaps our plan was a little precipitate."

"You could say that."

"I just wish you’d use a little imagination at times, Dennis Brent" sighed Francois Devine.

"I had my last drops of imagination squeezed out of me when I was six years old. I suggested it might be a jolly good idea for someone to write a prequel to the Nativity. There seemed plenty of scope for a really good story. The teacher didn’t see it that way and humiliated me in front of the whole school by telling me all about the Old Testament. I learned on that sad day that no good ever comes from imagination."

Francois Devine and I stood in silence (though I could hear him licking his lips). Our silence didn’t last long as silences are wont not to do.

"Oooh look – the Quantel button works" yelped Melba. We turned to look at the monitor and six copies of Brent Towers were spinning around the screen and turning different colours as they flew by. "Smart."

"At least the cloth affords you a little privacy" suggested Francois Devine hopefully.

"On the contrary – the bright colour is already attracting the more primitive hoodlums." I pointed off into the distance and we saw several shadowy, hooded, grey-faced figures pointing at the huge yellow cloth and gaping at its brightness.

"Melba" said Francois Devine suddenly. "Take down your cloth. It was a good idea on paper but you didn’t think it through."

"Sorry" said Melba pathetically. "Should we try again with a blue screen?"

We tutted at Melba and went inside without him.

It was only after Melba had sloped off in a well-earned state of despair than I realised he was just the man I was looking for. Even Melba would be enough to ward off the hoodlums and criminals. He wasn’t big or clever but he was alive and that seemed to be all that was required. I tried calling after him but the burst of sound merely caused him to lose his footing and fall down a crevice while becoming wrapped in his large yellow cloth.

"Francois Devine, would you mind?" I began with absolutely no expectation of success what so ever.

"I would dearly love to, Dennis Brent, but I have a five minute window in my schedule and believe the kitchen to be adequately stocked for a spot of hedonism. Would you excuse me?" I made to follow him and discover once and for all what hedonistic pleasures he gets up to when alone and well stocked but a snapping twig in the garden reminded me that we were not alone.

My silent vigil was disturbed by the telephone ringing. I hoped it would be Doctor Flapjack with something in mind to relieve the burning sensation (now worsened by the recent flood of air through the valley) but it turned out to be an anonymous voice with a tale to tell.

"Brent?" it asked.

"Dennis Brent speaking" I replied for I had no reason to lie. Yet.

"I’ve got something for you."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. Does it sound like a threat?"

"When you’ve been threatened as often as I have, almost anything can be a threat. Someone once said ‘I love you’ and it turned out to be a warning of menaces to come."

"Well I’m not threatening you. I’ve got something you might be interested in."

"Explain."

"I have in my possession a physical object which might be something you would like to own as it would fit in with your established collection patterns."

"I didn’t mean explain what you said, I meant explain what you mean. What do you have?"

"I can’t tell you. But it is a beauty. Can I call round and show it to you?"

"Is that a threat?" I clarified.

"You’re a careful man, Mr Brent. I admire that. I’ll be round shortly."

"You’ll have to come round the back."

"Is that a threat?" he asked.

"No. My front door… doesn’t work. So you’ll have to use the large hole instead. And no, that’s not a threat."

"You’ll know me because I’ll be the man with the carnation in my button hole, a copy of yesterday’s Bugle under my arm and a small brown paper parcel in the inside pocket of my raincoat. And I’ll be wearing a raincoat."

"I think I’ll know you because you’ll be the only person visiting me this afternoon" I replied short temperedly…

"That too" he conceded.

It sounded quite exciting even if it almost certainly was a trap. There were only two things I had to make absolutely sure of – firstly that I wasn’t taken in by a no-good fraudster seeking to lumber me with a forgery and secondly that Francois Devine didn’t know anything at all about this potentially exciting meeting."

I shushed myself when Francois Devine came in, sweating slightly after his hedonism and drinking an isotonic drink.

"I was listening on the extension – it all sounds most mysterious" he said.

Drat.