Eventually Dalgliesh said firmly: 'No, Bill, I shall not parachute into Wembley Stadium holding the book in one hand and a microphone in the other. Nor shall I compete with the station announcer by bawling my verses at the Waterloo commuters. The poor devils are only trying to catch their trains.5

'That's been done. It's old hat. And it's nonsense about Wembley. Can't think how you got hold of that. No, listen, this is really exciting. I've spoken to Colin McKay and he's very enthusiastic. We're hiring a red double-decker bus, touring the country. Well, as much of the country as we can in ten days. I'll get Clare to show you the rough-out and the schedule.'

Dalgliesh said gravely: 'Like a political campaign bus; posters, slogans, loudspeakers, balloons.'

'No point in having it if we don't let people know it's coming.'

'They'll know that all right with Colin on board. How are you going to keep him sober?'

'A fine poet, Adam. He's a great admirer of yours.'

'Which doesn't mean he'd welcome me as a travelling companion. What are you thinking of calling it? Poets' Progress? The Chaucer Touch? Verse on Wheels – or is that too like the WI? The Poetry Bus? That has the merit of simplicity.'

'We'll think of something. I rather like Poets' Progress.' 'Stopping where?'

'Precincts, village halls, schools, pubs, motorway cafes, anywhere where there's an audience. It's an exciting prospect. We were thinking of hiring a train but the bus has more flexibility.'

'And it's cheaper.'

Costello ignored the innuendo. He said: 'Poets upstairs, drinks, refreshments downstairs. Readings from the platform. National publicity, radio and TV. We start from the

Embankment. There's a chance of Channel Four and, of course, Kaleidoscope. We're counting on you, Adam.'

'No,' said Dalgliesh firmly. 'Not even for the balloons.'

'For God's sake, Adam, you write the stuff. Presumably you want people to read it – well, buy it anyway. There's tremendous public interest in you, particularly after that last case, the Berowne murder.'