When the telephone - or more accurately, Sir Parlane's mobile - rang a few minutes later, Dominic urged him to answer it: "they saw us coming in, Christ if we hadn't made it we were sitting ducks, so they know we're here," and with some bravado, MacFarlane did, said: "actually, I can't talk at the moment, there's a rather aggressive door-to-door salesman been pounding on ours and we're waiting for the police," but the person on the other end who spoke wasn't interested in such flippancy: "sounds like the Malt's given you a little pot-valour, Sir Parlane, but if you are up to something, be assured that we have a tight perimeter and there is no way you will get off the island, so. . . . ." which was when MacFarlane cut in on him: "just so you know, this is a self-contained, bomb-proof sealed unit, there's no way you can get in and we can survive more than a year down here, so why don't you just fuck off and tell your bosses that it didn't work. . . . ." but MacFarlane was also interrupted: "we're not here about the simony, with statements from The Bishop of Buddleia and the Archbishop of Archway, we'll leave that to the Church of England to proceed against you and we're not interested in your financial scams—though I can't speak for the Financial Conduct Authority—and before you hang up, you might want to reflect on the refulgence of Ranulph Ochan'toshan, he does seem a little bit more flamboyant today and I find that the more in-your-face he becomes, the more nuggets of truth are contained in his stream-of-consciousness ramblings, a bit like automatic writing, you see, the truth has a way of insinuating itself among the lies, I think it's called a subconscious desire to get everything off his chest," but MacFarlane had ended the call and was staring bleakly at Doubleday: "if they've got Ralphy, you know what that means—he'll talk and walk and sell us down the river, if we can't get to the portal. . . . ." and Doubleday smiled: "it'll have to come to us!"