‘I am — or rather I was — a sort of universal uncle, a policeman’s friend, and master-crook’s factotum. What it really boiled down to, I suppose, is that I used to undertake other people’s adventures for them at a small fee. If necessary I can give you references from Scotland Yard, unofficial, of course, or from almost any other authority you might care to mention. But last year my precious uncle, His Grace the Bishop of Devizes, the only one of the family who’s ever appreciated me, by the way, died and left me the savings of an episcopal lifetime. Having become a capitalist, I couldn’t very
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