MI6’s Carolyn, now ostensibly working as a cultural attache in Spain and grudgingly judging sand-sculpture competitions, is also secretly trying to track down The Twelve in order to avenge the murder of her son. Meanwhile, Konstantin is thoroughly enjoying a cushy new gig as the mayor of an unnamed town in Russia.

The final season unfolds as an elaborate hunt and a chase spanning a number of photogenic locations, including Cuba, Berlin, London and a Scottish island. As the women warily circle each other and Konstantin is summoned back into the fray, the body count around them steadily mounts.

The Twelve is Killing Eve’s MacGuffin: it’s not what the show is really about. Unabashedly deployed as a plot device, it’s a trigger for the action and is eventually rendered so incidental that when its members meet their comeuppance, they remain anonymous and off-screen.

In large part, the series is a showcase for a number of talented actresses, providing them with the kind of meaty roles traditionally reserved for men. And it’s a strategy that extends beyond the core cast. Season three, for example, introduces the always wonderful Harriet Walter as Russian Dasha, Villanelle’s new handler. A surly, chain-smoking former gymnast who gets about in shabby tracksuits, she has no qualms about dumping a wailing baby who’s annoying her into a rubbish bin.

Memorably, there is also Konstantin’s mouthy and rebellious teenage daughter, Irina (Yuli Lagodinsky), a chip off the old block who gives as good as she gets. A more recent and equally entertaining addition is Camille Cottin’s single mother, Helene, a chic French killer either working for, or taking revenge on, The Twelve. Or possibly both.

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Because Killing Eve has never been unduly concerned about or constrained by questions of logic and motivation. It’s happy to keep its characters moving across an ever-changing landscape, chasing something, anything, to keep the momentum up in the hope that viewers will suspend disbelief and go along for the ride.

The show regularly stretches the bounds of credulity – realism isn’t the point here, in the same way it isn’t with James Bond – and logic is only likely to slow things down. To ponder a plot development too deeply – like how did Helene manage to spring Villanelle from jail so easily? – is a no-win game. Better to consider the chemistry between Eve and Helene, wonder at the rage of Villanelle and enjoy the seaside ambience of Margate as Konstantin tries to groom a new killer. Enter the mousy Pam (Anjana Vasan), an expert embalmer with a steady gaze and a reservoir of fury concealed beneath her impassive exterior.

Even if it occasionally dips into some dull patches, gets a bit repetitive and generally fails to recapture the thrill of its genre-busting debut season, Killing Eve remains a lively caper. It was fun while it lasted.