It was a three-pipe problem. Rishi Sunak sank back into a creaky armchair and waited for the morphine to take hold. He picked up a violin and began a painful threnody. Over on the other side of the room, Dr Dowden kept his peace. Downstairs, Mrs Hudson prepared breakfast.
Eventually Sunak broke his silence. He spoke with a dull rasp. “You know, Olive,” he said. “This is the most difficult case of my entire career. Of far more consequence even than that fiend Moriarty. No less than the future of the entire Conservative party is at stake.”
