It was a thick, early edition with the plates, and Dutt was frowning at it through his reading glasses. When Gently entered he put it down. ‘Hello, chief. Have a good evening?’ Gently grimaced and took a chair. He closed his eyes and leaned backwards. ‘I’ve been having a go at this Dickens bloke . . . they must have been a rum lot in his day! I reckon he overwrote, you know. Blinking great paragraphs and long sentences.’ ‘It went down big when he wrote it.’ ‘Perhaps we’ve got on a bit since those days. I don’t know, but I’m not with it. I reckon he did things the hard way,’ ‘What did you have for tea?’ ‘Bangers and chips with an egg.’ ‘Any good?’ ‘So-so. Bangers don’t vary much, chief.’ Gently opened his eyes slightly. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘What’s her name?’ ‘Lady Buxhall.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Lady Buxhall. Lord Buxhall’s missus.’ Gently opened his eyes wide, then closed them again. ‘Nuts,’ he said. ‘You’ve delusions of grandeur.
