The other day I received an email from a Mayfair solicitor I had never heard of. It asked two questions: does my wife own a house in West London? And did she know it had been sold?

The respective answers were ‘yes’, and ‘absolutely no’. For more than two years, Penny’s little property in Fulham, which she cherishes as her children’s future inheritance, has been let to tenants. Never has she thought of parting with it.

Yet this lawyer stunned us by declaring that his client — a young woman who appeared in distress on his doorstep — had bought the property after having written a seven-figure cheque for it; secured the keys and received planning consent for alterations; booked builders to install a new kitchen. The utilities had also opened accounts in her name.

Max and Penny Hastings, pictured, were stunned when they were told her property in Fulham had been sold

We were appalled. What, in heaven’s name, was going on? Once we stopped having fits, we learnt the good news. Penny still owned the property.

Her continued legal title to the house was not disputed: the Land Registry (which is responsible for holding records of property or land), smelling a rat, had declined to register the sale.

The real victim was the supposed purchaser.

This young woman — who paid the full amount with no mortgage — had been duped into handing over £1.35 million to the alleged vendor. The money was last seen on its way to a bank in Dubai.

It was a major fraud and — so we have learnt from the Metropolitan Police — an increasingly common one.

As many as 21 linked frauds against ‘high value’ homes are being investigated by the Met’s Falcon (cybercrime) unit — with huge sums fraudulently disappearing into Middle Eastern bank accounts. Seven people have been arrested.

Over recent years, we’ve all become accustomed to identity crime — a hazard of modern life for credit-card holders and banks, involving the theft of hundreds, sometimes thousands of pounds.

However, once houses are at stake, the money is of a different order of magnitude. We were astounded to discover that a house could be ‘sold’ without physical possession of the deeds.

Nowadays, such transactions take place electronically, without anybody seeing boring old parchment titles. To a layman this seems crazy.

And what did the lawyers and estate agents involved in the ‘sale’ of Penny’s house to this duped young woman think they were doing?

Of course we all know some estate agents suffer a reputation for ripping people off, but this affair indicated Olympic-class bungling.

I am unable to name the firm which handled the letting of Penny’s house, because her lawyer is roasting them over a slow fire and they are not quite cooked. But here is the story.

Her previous tenants moved out in June. The agents informed us that they had found a replacement. His name was Kevin Hafter, though it now seems certain this was a stolen identity.

The house, pictured, was 'sold' by a fake vendor in a fraud scam that cheated a woman out of £1.3million

He told the agents that he was divorced, with three children, and wanted to move in immediately, taking a two-year lease.

The agents said his references were ‘provided through a credit referencing agency, Van Mildert, and deemed as acceptable’. The agents’ contract with Penny disclaims responsibility for checking references, but if they do not make some credible shot at this, what is the justification for taking their fat percentage in commission?

He declared an annual income of £110,000 as an asset manager for a firm called Credence Partners. He paid the deposit and collected keys at the end of the month.

As a housewarming gift, Penny left a bottle of champagne in the house. To which he responded with an email, saying: ‘I was pleasantly surprised by your kind gesture. I am sure after moving in, it will be just what the doctor ordered.’

At this point, all seemed fine. However, one aspect of the deal that would have rung alarm bells — if we had known of it — is that ‘Mr Hafter’ made all payments to the agent in cash.

As soon as ‘Mr Hafter’ took possession (he never installed any furniture) we have learnt that it was placed with the estate agents Foxtons of Fulham Broadway.

They set about marketing it, though I would have thought the simplest online check would have shown that the house had recently been let.

‘Mr Hafter’ claimed to be acting on behalf of a Penelope Hastings — my wife’s name, of course — who, he said, lived in Chicago.

A price was swiftly agreed with an eager client. And a firm of licensed conveyancers acted for the alleged seller.

So, who masqueraded as my wife? This is one of the scariest parts of the story: the ease with which a person can hijack another’s identity.

We learned that a woman from Catford, South-East London, had changed her name to ‘Penelope Hastings’ by deed poll. Having done this, she secured a passport declaring her to be ‘Penelope Hastings’.

Thus armed with an official document that matched the name of my wife, a photocopy, shockingly, sufficed for the ‘sale’ of the real Penny’s house, without the woman having to appear. The Fraud Squad swiftly traced her to a prison cell, where she is serving a sentence for other offences.

The detective investigating said that in the past few months the Metropolitan Police has handled many similar cases, including four in which criminals successfully collected the cash for sales.

He said fraudsters look for unmortgaged properties — so no bank or building society has an interest — and select houses whose owners do not live locally.

Thankfully, it is not up to us to pursue the solicitor acting for the hapless ‘purchaser’, who, in August, paid out a huge cheque before the sale was registered.

As for Credence Partners, the firm ‘Mr Hafter’ claimed to work for, the Mail has not been able to establish its current status.

Steve Bilton, managing director of the credit referencing agency, Van Mildert, said: ‘We are satisfied that we have robust processes in place.

‘If and when we are asked to assist into any investigation we will do to the fullest extent possible.’

Foxtons also seem to have plenty of explaining to do. The estate agency is valued at around £500m, has 10-20 per cent of London’s residential market and employs about 1,300 staff. A spokesman said it had done nothing wrong and it was not a case of false identity because the woman ‘vendor’ was in possession of a genuine document (the passport).

He added: ‘This case highlights the ease with which criminals appear to be able to establish new, credible identities, and is something we believe needs to be addressed nationally.’ Foxtons also said it will return its sales commission to the duped buyer.

We were told it was the solicitors’ responsibility to check the identity of the ‘vendor’ — to confirm he or she legally held the title of the property.

Despite the police investigation, the bogus ‘tenant’ of our property (‘Mr Hafter’) has not yet been identified. However, there is only one person in Britain called ‘Kevin Hafter’ — a respected professional, who was understandably furious to learn from the Mail that his name had been used in this manner.

Mr Hastings, who has written history books, right, and his wife, say they were appalled by the situation

It fits how such criminals operate — taking the name of a successful professional makes it easier to satisfy credit checks by rental agencies.

Incidentally, the bogus ‘Mr Hafter’ was seen twice by negotiators for the estate agents. Surely, he must have been recorded on CCTV cameras in the street outside.

Regardless, the crime was managed so professionally it seems likely that ‘Mr Hafter’ has form.

But since he has now vanished with a tax-free million-plus to spend after the young woman he duped paid the money into a Dubai bank account, he could bask in sunny climes for several years.

Yesterday at the house we found a court summons from Hammersmith Council addressed to ‘Mr Kevin Hafter’ — for non-payment of council tax . . . which seems unlikely to trouble him much. Our letting agents (not Foxtons) insistently deny negligence, and say this could happen to anybody.

Absurdly they say they cannot refund the deposit on the property without the consent of the ‘tenant’ — the mysterious Mr Hafter.

We fancy a court may take a bleak view of their conduct, and we feel angry enough to pursue our claims against them to the bitter end.

No wonder my wife remains pretty stunned by the experience, even though she still owns the house.

We dull middle-class folk go through most of our lives instinctively trusting professionals with whom we do business. It seems reasonable to expect estate agents to meet some minimal standards. And if we put transactions in the hands of established solicitors, we assume their diligence procedures protect us against scams.

When letting a property, you always anticipate worst-case scenarios — tenants decamping without paying the rent, or trashing the house. But sell it? Never.

Now we know better.

It is unsurprising that the number of old-style burglaries is declining.

Why bother breaking in when you can steal the whole building?

Why mug a pensioner, when one can make far more by conning them into handing over their bank card — as happened to a friend recently?

Trust is an unaffordable luxury in today’s online world. Scarcely anybody or anything need be what they or it claim, because we never meet the person or touch the goods until money has changed hands.

We have since ensured the Land Registry has our best contact details so we can be alert in future.

Since we have never met the unfortunate young woman who thought she had bought our house, we are unable to commiserate.

Her lawyer has (understandably!) requested that I do not name her.