The boss would *have* to be called Harold Hughes. I picture an odd, reclusive, haunted man who wears paper gloves and is frightened of germs. Which would actually be sensible if you were in charge of a silicon chip fabrication business, so that you could instil a culture of cleanliness.
I suppose the moral of this story is that you should never conduct an internal investigation into anything without first notifying the boss and his wife, just in case they have a guilty secret or two. I first learned this from the film "Capricorn One", but that was fiction; this story is fact.
"We Brits were bitching and moaning before America had even been discovered!"
British people do not bitch. They mither.