ONE little word, covered in phlegm: on such trifles, fortunes are won and lost.

Without that "no" the jury may have given the quiz show conspirators the benefit of the doubt, and with it a cheque for £1 million.

Tecwen Whittock's panic-stricken "no!" was all too audible, so badly had he hidden it underneath a coughing fit. At the time, it did the trick. Major Charles Ingram undertook a rapid about turn from Berlin and marched instead to Paris, the correct answer to the £500,000 question on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?

Ultimately, however, it did for Tecwen, the Major and his wife Diana. The jury had seemed inclined to believe Whittock's defence that his 19 splutters, as recorded by the TV studio microphones, were caused by a dust allergy, rather than being a blundering attempt to signal to the Major.

But that "no" stood out. People simply don't hack up random monosyllables for want of Tixylix. So the trivia trio were exposed as cheats and Chris Tarrant got his money back.

Scandalously, however, the three were allowed to walk free to perpetrate more horrific scams on an unsuspecting and, some may say, dumb public.

Even now the Major and his missus, having scrapped their first book entitled Win A Million!, are probably writing its replacement: Coughing For Pleasure And Profit.

And that is just the start. Judge Geoffrey Rivlin got it right when he described their Millionaire swindle as a "shabby schoolboy trick". As a product of both public school and the British Army, the Major has probably plenty more of those up his slightly fraying sleeve.

It is up to all of us to be vigilant. Following such a high profile case, the team will probably go underground, sticking to daytime television. Plenty of prizes up for grabs there, and no one looking.

We should not expect more expect-oration. An outbreak of coughing during the Weakest Link would be a bit of a giveaway and, given the current SARS scare, would probably empty the studio in seconds.

But the galumphing Major will soon find another shabby schoolboy trick in his locker. Listen out for Tecwen burping the top answer as all the Ingrams assemble on Family Fortunes. Watch carefully to see if Whittock extends a Welsh leg under the Countdown desk to kick Charlie on the shins, once for a consonant, twice for a vowel.

Be suspicious if a paper aeroplane floats down from the Fifteen-To-One studio ceiling, landing with precision on the podium of the sweating man third left. And if anyone targets the Lotto draw machine with a pea-shooter, police will know where to look.

LINGUISTS will be delighted to learn that a new word has been coined right here in York. Stand up PC Steve Howard, of British Transport Police, who described how a graffiti artist his boys had collared was subsequently "de-arrested".

Whether or not the man, known to us only as Dexter, should have been arrested in the first place is debatable. His flour paste daubings strike me as being imbued with the sort of tedium which characterises much modern art. But they wash off in the rain and so seem harmless.

But for the police to de-arrest someone for defacement is a first, as far as I'm aware. It might spark a whole new legal lexicon. Instead of criminals being fined, they might henceforth be de-funded. And those sent down will be told by the beak: "I have no choice but to deliberately de-liberate you."

Updated: 10:43 Wednesday, April 09, 2003