She has just returned, bearing grave news.
The hive is deserted — they have searched it from top to bottom, and there is no sign of Uncle Zoltan.
The only evidence of recent activity is an empty vodka bottle (which is disturbing in itself, as Uncle Z is a lifelong teetotaller) and a letter discarded on the floor.
Polly picked the letter up and read it: it is from Vogue UK Magazine, declining his application for the post of Editor on the grounds that they do not normally employ vespinae for reasons of Health & Safety.
They even spelled his name wrongly, addressing him as Mr Soltan — what more profound insult could there be?
Wilson quickly sorted out a couple of his W Vermilingua OBE — Consulting Detective cards to give to the bees, in case they wish to avail themselves of his professional investigative services...
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