It was midnight. An owl hooted from above while the bats in the belfry of the cathedral nearby were on night patrol. As Lady Flora approached their usual bench in the centre of the public garden, she noticed that the silhouette of Sir PM was in doze mode; she could hear a faint, repetitive snore.

“Pheroze, I seem to have disturbed you,” she deliberately shrieked, hoping that the loud tone would shake off his slumber. “Ah…oh…yes, my lady. All is well here. Just a forty-wink thing,” he replied sheepishly. Something was off, and Lady Flora wasn’t going to let her friend off the hook. “Out with it, Pheroze; it’s unlike you to be sleeping at this hour. Where have you been these past few days? Even Percy[the pigeon] returned from your home with my undelivered note,” she enquired.