I have always done my not-insignificant best, to make of my time on Earth, an example which might prove beneficial to the young, whom, I am given to understand, embody the future of our species and, dare I say it, race, upon this globe which, as a mighty poetaster has observed in time of golden memory, [illegible] damn it my pen has blotted.

Very well, I shall continue. I should like to state at the outset, that the price my stationer charges for a simple steel nib is a travesty, and a blight upon the name of commerce. Also, and I say this with due consideration, I believe it is unarguable that he does, in fact, water his bottled ink. If this continues I shall be reduced to scratching upon foolscap with a goose quill and oak-gall ink.

Our story so far.

‘Ashford!’ Pomfritz’s voice echoed from the ceiling. ‘What are you doing out of your hole?’ Inwardly, I cringed. Outwardly, I attacked.

‘Detection, Lieutenant. Have you heard of it?’

‘That’s my job, Ashford. I asked about you.’

‘Who poo’d in your pudding, Lieutenant?’ You may as well know, Pomfritz brings out the schoolboy in me, to an inconceivable degree. He had already caught me on the back foot, and no good would come of it.

It was a dark and stormy night, followed by a dark and stormy morning, and leading directly into a dark and stormy day. In early afternoon the clouds abated for a period, but by evening the weather had returned, and continued d. and s. throughout the night-time hours. The second morning was dark, but not stormy.

I had not left my rooms for some days, as there was tea and jam, and nothing outside to engage my attention. In the afternoon, however, the insatiable ‘gas’ meter having consumed my last ha’penny, it became necessary to make a sally.