Even before a squeak had emerged from News Corp, the eighth day of the saga was every bit as instructive as the seven that had gone before. Before lunch, it emerged that the News of the World's informal payroll reached into the royal household, with protection officers reportedly taking bungs for providing contact details for – among others – the Queen. Next Scotland Yard put out a statement, which complained about leaks that were jeopardising its ongoing investigation, and pointed the finger in the direction of senior News International staff. A little later, the Guardian and BBC revealed that the previous prime minister had been subject to extensive NI prying. Gordon Brown's treatment was striking in two particulars. First, the intrusive practices were not restricted to the NoW – which dents NI's ability to revisit its favourite "one rotten apple" defence. Second, questions will be asked about how the Sun obtained details from medical information on Mr Brown's infant son and why Rebekah Brooks, as editor, decided to publish a story, based on the material, about the child's serious illness.
At around the time this story was breaking, Rupert Murdoch produced his latest breathtaking gambit. Five days after closing the country's bestselling newspaper in order to secure the quick-fire acquisition of 100% of BSkyB, News Corp signalled there was no real hurry. It was suddenly happy to have the matter referred to the Competition Commission. Even in these shaming times, Wapping retains at least the appearance of dictating events up-river in Westminster, and a few minutes later, Jeremy Hunt was on his feet in the Commons explaining that a referral which he had bent over backwards to avoid would after all be going ahead. And so a bunch of technocrats will now spend months poring over statistics about market share and weighing arguments about vertical integration. Important work, certainly, but work removed from the outrage gripping the country.
The prime minister, who stuck to his timetabled speech on public services, still has not grasped that this is no moment for business as usual. He could, and should, have attended the Commons, where it was left to the hapless Mr Hunt to answer questions about judgments made by his boss. It was David Cameron's decision to bring the former NoW editor Andy Coulson into No 10, despite warnings passed by, among others, the Guardian.
Word about the NoW's dealings with a convicted criminal during Mr Coulson's period at the helm reached Mr Cameron's chief of staff, Ed Llewellyn. Did Mr Llewellyn pass them on? In any event, what sort of vetting did Mr Cameron order – no matter his desire to offer an offender "a second chance"? Already, and for the first time since the election, there are tentative signs of Labour and Lib Dem politicians reaching out across party lines, in an anti-Murdoch alliance. Mr Cameron must tidy things up quickly, if he is to avoid serious cracks opening up in his coalition.
Ed Miliband was in spirited, forensic form in the chamber. But the immediate parliamentary opportunity for him, and the immediate threat for Mr Cameron, receded. It had been to force a vote in the House demanding upon the referral. Now that both Mr Murdoch and the government have acceded to that, there is no division to be forced on this. But live questions remain about the form referral will take. Will the commission go away and examine plurality narrowly, or will the terms of the reference be broader? And how will Ofcom now proceed?
Cynical onlookers have often been right about Mr Murdoch in the past, and yesterday they rushed to pronounce that he was throwing himself into the Competition Commission to avoid such scrutiny. But after the week that saw the end of the World, it should not be assumed that he has the power to avoid it. The questions for News Corp continue to multiply, as opposed to fading away.