Part 1 - shrill, tweed, and jodhpurs

Setting the scene (prepare to avert your eyes) with bold prints and bolder puns.

“The name’s Malonely, Always Malonely. I’m a tough cop, an’ people call me Always when there’s a murder mystery to be solved… Who’s the stiff broad on the carpet?”

“That’s not a broad, that’s my deceased spouse”, said a voice in a three-piece-dog-tooth-check suit”.

“So you’re not denying it’s a carpet? That’s mighty suspicious in my book: ‘Murder Mystery Solver Malonely’ available in most bookshops, or I can do you a signed copy and an extra chapter if you confess to icing your missus. Then I’ll shoot you here an’ now and save the taxpayer the expense of a trial”.

“That’s ridiculous”.

“You mean ‘preposterous’, be careful now, I’ve shot people with more entertaining grammar, count yourself lucky”.

“Don’t you mean fortunate?” said a voice from the corner.

“You richies never count yourselves fortunate, you hire cheap suits to count for you, but don’t try to bamboozle me with numbers now, I’m a letters man through and through, A-Z, M-N” said Malonely. “So you’re the wise guy, huh? What’s the past participle on the broad on the carpet?”

“That’s my recently deceased mother you are referring to, it is also my carpet”.

“So you admit to knowing the rug and the vic?” said Malonely, “What’s your name and what’s your grammatic relationship to your recently deceased mother?”

“My names Thebes, and we were similarly inclined diphthongs”.

“Golly the gosh” said an excitable voice in tight-fitting-beige-coloured-cavalry-twill jodhpurs, “there’s a deceased parent on the Moroccan dhurry on the parquet floor. I’ll jolly well wager my monthly allowance that beastly butler done it”.

Malonely spun on his heels and before he could say, “You can’t trust the lower orders…” he had fallen in love with the leather-booted vision of upper middle class shrillness that had just entered the room. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, big feet”.

“I like a gal with big feet” thought Malonely to himself, “or cavalry-twill jodhpurs”,

“I’ll beat the crap out of your manservant, and he’ll be singing like a guilty budgie quicker than you can say ‘shag my sheepskin dhurry for breakfast’. And what is your sweet name?” said Maloney to the shrill vision of loveliness he had just fallen in love with.

“You can use my riding crop”, said Fanny the twill jodhpur-ed vision of shrillness, “it worked on Mummy. Daddy and Thebie put the boot in occasionally but I did most of the really vicious stuff. It’s only fair I receive most of the inheritance, and that’s in compliance with Mummy’s written wishes. It’s what she wanted. I watched her write it in her will this morning, and it just so happens the beastly butler was crossed out of it.”