The Doctor looks at the paper. It was the same one used by the Master, during his rein as Prime Minister, to tell his lies. Didn’t like it then, doesn’t like it now. However, he couldn’t believe the paper was responsible for what just happened. This wasn’t the work of mortals.
He had nothing else to go on, no where else to start, except the offices of the London Herald, and to the point, Madam Astral, the writer of the horoscopes.
The girl in reception laughed. “It’s truly amazing how many people believe Madam Astral actually exists”.
Doctor “Who writes it then?
Girl “Just about everyone in the building, at one time or another. I think yesterday’s was Dave Harris, entertainment editor”.
Doctor “I need to see him, where is he.”
Girl “Hiding I expect, he’s nervy at the best of times, this will probably finish him”.
Doctor “I’m different, I’m here to help”.
Shows the girl the psychic paper.
Girl” Oh, you’re a solicitor. He’s going to need you. Here’s a pass, he’s on the second floor”.
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