Everyone said, well almost everyone, that Sir Oliver and Lady Vivian Morton had the perfect marriage. Naturally, there were some who would disagree, but the consensus was that it was a marriage made in Heaven.

Indeed, it was. Sir Oliver, head of Morton Industries, was at the peak of his career and his ladder of success seemed destined to climb ever higher. Lady Vivian, his partner in every way, was just as successful in her own right. Not only did she have an expert’s grasp of the intricacies of the entire business, she was also head of the research department, overseeing especially their latest dramatic development – the invention of the industrial poison they had labelled, XP1.

Such was her concern, however, for its lethal potential that she had insisted that an antidote be manufactured in tandem, even though the poison was to be used only for industrial purposes.

Their mutual success in their enterprises had help them to amass a vast fortune, one that led to the re-building of Morton Manor, a grand old mansion which had been in the Morton family for more than three centuries, set in the lush acres of  Surrey.

Lady Vivian supervised not only the re-building of the great manor, but also its furnishings and fittings, all of which were of the highest quality. Its completion and subsequent grand re-opening ball was an occasion long to be remembered in the high social circles, of which they were most certainly the centre.

But it was not just their success in business that had made a happy marriage; they actually were very much in love. It was plain for everyone to see. They doted on each other. Wherever they went, people could not help but notice the happy glow that seemed to emanate from them as they walked into a room, or merely sat at a dinner table.

Yet in spite of all this happiness and good fortune, dark clouds loomed ominously upon the horizon; not, it must be said, in their marriage, far from it. But there were others whose aims were very much different from theirs.

Several high-ranking employees of Morton Industries had succumbed to the blandishments and financial inducements of an organization so secret that no amount of research could uncover who they were, or whom they represented.

The executives seemed not to care that the poison could be used as a chemical weapon; rather, it was their crude hopes of becoming immensely wealthy themselves that proved to be their motivation. The fact that they had not yet managed to secure the secret formula for XP1 was not for the want of trying; but with the resources at their disposal it was only a matter of time before their goal would be achieved. Lady Vivian’s chief chemist, Alan Tunstall, was the only person in the company, other than herself who had access to the formula and he was as loyal to her as a dog to its mistress. The plotters had tried everything to get Tunstall to release the information to them, be he had remained implacable.