We are presently sitting in the Moff's lounge and in true Victorian fashion we have a bottle of Tesco 799 penny gin and Moff is playing some delightful music on the computer (well technology marches ever onward) while to complete the picture Old Nick entertains us with readings from Roger's Profanisaurus.

My head felt like it had gone six rounds with Rocky Marciano when I came round. It was the kind of ache you get after sticking your head in a cement mixer full of hyper active monkeys on methedrine for an hour, after being whacked on the back of your noggin with tyre iron.

I was in a dark tiled room with my hands and feet tied to the frame of chair. The only light a bare electric bulb hanging from the ceiling.

"So you have decided to rejoin us at last Mr Harlowe." a sibilant voice hisssed in mildly accented English

Seated before me was a tall Chinaman, dressed in long black oriental robes, it was the devil doctor Few Menchew. His piercing green eyes bored into mine from the dome of his long shaven skull.

"I must apolgise for my means of inviting you to my little lair, my lascars can be somewhat enthusiastic in their administration of of the thuggee scarf and cosh." he stroked his long Manchu whiskers.

"We have been watching you for some time Mr Harlowe, and I have a simple question for you if you would be so kind to help me. I have for some time been anticipating a delivery of the seeds of the purple lotus flower, a narcotic so deadly that it will enable me to commence my plan for world domination. It was on this flight. You havn't seen the suitcase have you?"