Previously: Following a mysterious tip-off, The Scribbler visited the Forster Square wasteland at dead of night and found it to be the scene of secret filming involving a space ship and an actor in a silver suit on the end of a long elastic band dangling from a crane. Now read on

As The Scribbler kept watch from behind the mound of rubble, the man with a megaphone called a break and the character in the silver suit, who had by now got to Take 57 of the scene involving his descent to the ground from the spaceship, unhooked himself from the elastic rope and removed his helmet.

"Good God!" gasped the hidden hack. Perched on the top of the silver suit was the unmistakable head of Barrington Thrope, the resting actor. He ambled away from the crowd to light a cheroot and came within earshot of The Scribbler, who hissed: "Barrington! Over here!".

Looking startled initially, Thrope smiled when he saw his old drinking pal and joined him behind the mound.

"I thought you wouldn't be able to resist, buddy," he said in the same accent that The Scribbler had heard when his anonymous informant telephoned the T&A office. "Once I get in character for a role, I like to stay in character," he offered by way of explanation. "And this character is very much an all-American sort of guy."

"Who are you supposed to be?" asked your columnist, pen poised over notebook.

"Neil Armstrong," said Thrope. "The first man on the moon. This is a reconstruction of his historic walk."

"Why?" asked The Scribbler, not unreasonably.

"Don't ask me," replied the other. "Being a jobbing actor in an overcrowded profession, I accept offers of work without asking loads of questions first. I assume it's for some sort of television film."

Before he was able to speculate any further, the director bellowed "Places please". Thrope stubbed out his cheroot, replaced his helmet and strolled across to hook himself to the elastic rope ready for Take 58.

The Scribbler squeezed back through the fence and headed for the office, daydreaming about the glory that would come his way when he filed this wonderful exclusive. At his age he should have known better "We can't run this. NASA, the CIA, MI5 and the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister all say so," declared the Assistant Editor With Special Responsibility for Grovelling to the Authorities the minute The Scribbler walked into his office fully believing that he had been summoned to be praised.

The Ass Ed was flanked by two huge men wearing sunglasses and with ominous bulges under their jackets. They couldn't have been more obviously American if they'd had the Stars and Stripes tattooed across their foreheads. "We've known about this story for some time but we've been sworn to secrecy," he continued.

"But why?" asked The Scribbler. "It's only a TV film."

"No it isn't buddy," growled one of the gorillas. "You might have read recently that NASA somehow managed to mislay the entire official film of the first moonwalk. It was deeply embarrassing for the Administration. Soon it's going to be able to announce that it's found it again. This is the remake."

The other gorilla took over. "But if you mention a word of this to a soul, you'll be on the next space probe to Venus."

Poor Scribbler! Foiled again.