A brief post tonight, as it's getting late, and despite it having been my half day, there seems to have been a great deal to do. But enough of all that.

Mr Bryan's been on duty tonight, and I learn that the first instalment of 'Newton's Got Talent' took place under his direction and production. A perfectly splendid initiative, and one that might locate the stars of the future. Parents, be prepared: you could be living on your private island yet.

Our wonderful cleaners identified a hip-flask behind one of the beds earlier today, and brought it to Mrs C with grave countenances. It fell to me, as you would expect, to investigate this matter, and to sort out this dreadful crime. It had, as custom demands, to be taken seriously, for the potential for significant action was considerable.

I adopted my Chief Inspector mode, enquiring of the owner the provenance of this object. And why, I wondered, should it be behind the bed of its owner. And from the other side of the table in the gloomy soul-less room with no more than a single unshaded lightbulb I questioned into the night. Oh, don't worry: I just thought that sounded rather appropriate. We were actually very comfortably seated on the chairs in our drawing room, and the lighting was very pleasant, provided as it was by a number of decorative table lamps from the Far East and other places.

"Oh that!" was my suspect's rejoinder, as I pulled the item from my pocket and placed it dramatically on the coffee table. "I got it out of a cracker at Christmas. I put apple juice in it."

Oh yes, nice one. He wasn't off the hook yet. I undid the lid and sniffed. H'm. I needed back-up. D.I. Bryan was outside: I proferred the hip-flask in front of his nose.

"Apple juice, Lewis?" I enquired. (Actually, I said 'Matt', but Lewis sounded topical.)

"H'm. Apple juice, sir." he replied. (He didn't say 'sir', btw.)

"Of course it is. Not as stupid as you look, are you?"

"No, sir. Incidentally, you might just want to tap the side of it: plastic, I think you'll find. Like something out of a Christmas cracker."

He'll go a long way, will that lad.

Goodnight.