Bloody He- Somewhere, angel, this really is a magical mystery tour, Crowley thinks, as he hums Puttin’ on the Ritz under his breath. Doesn’t fit with the demonic countenance to be too cheerful, he admonishes himself, as the doorman’s request that he don a mask causes him to hesitate. An absolutely necessary miracle brings him a black snakeskin mask, edged in red thread, as stylish as the rest of him. The doorman nods, and Crowley passes through into the foyer.
Crowley’s next note is waiting on their usual table, propped on a glass of champagne:
My dear Crowley,
I couldn’t resist stopping at the Ritz for a little nibble whilst I was laying out this banquet of clues for you! It’s hungry work, thinking up all these puzzles for you to solve! While I was working my way through a particularly splendid cream cake, this fragment of song got stuck in my head. It feels unfinished, though; I wonder if you can help me?
Yours, musically,
Aziraphale
