‘Teenagers, they’re all the same.’

The computer beeped.

‘Ah yes, your passport has been cleared. Now all I need is a signature.’ Bertholt slid a handwriting tablet across the desk. A digi-pen was attached to the tablet by a length of wire. Butler took it, scrawling his signature across the line. The signature would match. Of course it would. The original writing was Butler’s own, Colonel Xavier Lee being one of a dozen aliases the bodyguard had created over the years. The passport was also authentic, even if the details typed upon it weren’t. Butler had purchased it years previously from a Chinese diplomat’s secretary in Rio de Janeiro.

Once again the computer beeped.

‘Good,’ said Bertholt. ‘You are indeed who you say you are. I shall bring you to the deposit box room. Will Alfonse be accompanying us?’

Butler stood. ‘Absolutely. If I leave him here, he will probably get himself arrested.’

Bertholt attempted a joke. ‘Well, if I may say so, Colonel, he’s in the right place.’

‘Hilarious, dude,’ muttered Artemis. ‘You should, like, have your own show.’

But Bertholt’s comment was accurate. Armed security men were dotted throughout the building. At the first sign of any impropriety, they would move to strategic points, covering all exits.

Bertholt led the way to a brushed-steel lift, holding his ID card up to a camera over the door.

The bank official winked at Artemis. ‘We have a special security system here, young man. It’s all very exciting.’

‘I know. I think I’m going to faint,’ said Artemis.

‘No more attitude, son,’ scolded Butler. ‘Bertholt is simply trying to make conversation.’

Bertholt stayed civil in the face of Artemis’s sarcasm. ‘Maybe you’d like to work here when you grow up, eh, Alfonse?’

For the first time Artemis smiled sincerely, and for some reason the sight sent shivers down Bertholt’s spine. ‘Do you know something, Bertholt? I think some of my best work will be in banks.’