I was waiting for my bus to Buckingham Palace to pick up my rifle when my mobile recieved a message. I thought it was Rab Butler sending me snapchat messages about his illiterate wife. However, the message was from a myseterious source, claiming that there was a problem with some NHS legislation. I haven't been prime minister for a long time so I though nothing of it. That was until I saw the contact number the message was sent from: 80085. I smirked at first, thinking it was a prank message, but then I remembered; The co-ordinates of my treasure were oddly similar to the text message. I threw on my bowler hat and picked up my cane, ignoring the bus that had just arrived. I ran as quickly as I could to Hyde Park, without the aid of public transport to aid in my camoflage, and reached the last known location of my stash. I took my remote detonator out of my pocket and blew open the ground beneath me. My fears were confirmed when I noticed that the chest that normally housed my gold bars was absent and a note was left in its place: "I have the gold now Clem. If you ever want to see it again meet me at the Old Docks at midnight tonight." The note was unmarked and had the vague scent of lacquer oil. Now I don't know if you're familiar with your wood preservation techniques but this type of lacquer is used to protect sporting instruments from decay. It was at that point that I realised who was responsible for this heinous crime. I quickly went home and assembled the cabinet. I told them my predicament and they said that they would be willing to help, if I got a new dishwasher for the house. So after much screaming and Bevan nose-breakings, I agreed to buy 4 and a half cases of Carlsberg Export for the house to share. I actually got a great deal on 'em because they were 1 for 1.5 at Morrison's. A plan was set up; They would wait by the dock with a collection of blunt instruments and I would approach the area at the specified time.

As the event horizon drew near positions were met and I waited near the solitary lampost. A cloaked figure rose from the shadows and addressed me with chilling clarity. I identified myself and just as he was about to speak, I gave the signal and everyone jumped out at once. Except for Roy Jenkins, but then that's what I get for putting non-cabinet members in my plans. They beat him to within an inch of his life. He sat there motionless, his shoulders heaving under the stress of his laboured breathing. "Why?" he asked, as if I was under trial. "You stole my gold; You tell me." I replied. He said that he didn't steal the gold, but that it was stolen by my arch-nemesis. Embarrassingly, I was unsure of who this was. I asked him and he said one simple word: "Wood." I knew what that mean. It was all clear now. I knew what had to be done. The lacquer oil, the wooden dock, the missing wooden chest. Something was oddly connected about all of these things, and I knew what. For some time now, the future cabinet has been leaving me distracting emails about how eventually I will fall, but I haven't read them for two reasons: For one, I don't negotiate with terrorshits and two, I have a monopoly on the timber industry, so they've been using wood-based threats for years to "Send me a message." Up to this point I ignored them, but now I knew what had to be done. I had to investigate this further and figure out who had it in for me for so long. I would not rest until the identity of my greatest foe was revealed.


...


Oh ♥♥♥♥ yeah, Puzzle Agent. Good puzzles, decent writing - 12/1