Augustus (never to be known as Gussy) and his valet, Jenkins, were in the dressing room, preparing for the day ahead. The conversation turns to one of Augustus’s rather accident-prone acquaintances.

“I say, Jenkins, what’s the situ with my old chum Bobsie?”

“I believe Lord Bysheston is somewhat indisposed, sir. At his Majesty’s pleasure, I am to understand”

“Good Lord Jenkins! Didn’t know the chap was that deep in the very proverbial! Good Lord!”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Happen to know what trumped-up charge he’s had thrown at him?”

“Not trumped up at all, sir; it appears he was caught in the act by a particularly dutiful member of the local constabulary, sir.”

“The act, Jenkins?”

“I can’t say, sir.”

“Can’t or won’t, Jenkins? Come on, old chap, spill the magic beans! I’m sure we can cook something up to spring poor Bobsie from the clink, eh, Jenkins?”

“I have taken the liberty, sir, of formulating such a plan, sir.”

“Splendid Jenkins, splendid! I know the Bobster can rely on us to come to his rescue in his time of need. Tally ho, and all that, Jenkins. When do we start?”

“Will you be wearing the double-breasted this morning, sir?”

“Dash it all, Jenkins! Care to furnish me with the dastardly act? And your similarly dastardly solution, I dare say, to Lord Bysheston’s predicament?”

“All in good time, sir. The double-breasted?”

Lord Robert Symmons Bysheston was lying on his uncomfortable and narrow bed, watching a fly traverse the cell’s ceiling.

“Me too, old feller, me too. I will give you evens that you make it out before I do.”

Bysheston was oft given to talking to himself, and being banged up in a cold prison cell awaiting trial hadn’t changed that one bit. He was talking to a fellow creature, though, he reasoned, as the sound of heavy, plodding footsteps drew near.

“Bishston! Visitor!”

The cell door opened to reveal Seargant Blatter, now standing ramrod with a suspicious air and a raised eyebrow.

“Visitor, this way,” he said as he swivelled ninety degrees on his left heel and marched off down the corridor.

“I know the way, Sergeant. And it is Bysheston, Bysh-es-ton,” the Lord pronounced as he got up and followed the officer into the corridor.

“Who the devil wants to visit yours truly in this place of all places?” wondered the Lord, out loud.

Jenkins and his Lordship sat opposite each other with a sheaf of papers between them on the rickety metal table.

“I’m up before the beak tomorrow at 2 pm sharp, Jenkins, and I’ve no brief due to an unfortunate misunderstanding with the fellow they gave me. So, what have you in mind, Jenkins?”

“Unfortunate, my Lord?”

“Well, yes. Now I’m here, I’ve realised I shouldn’t have told the cove to sling his hook in such a manner. Told him I was as innocent as a newborn and I’d jolly well defend myself against this outrageous charge.”

“You were caught in the act, my Lord.”

“Yes, well, that does complicate matters a little.”

“Rather a lot, I’d say, my Lord.”

“A lot then, yes, damn it. And drop the Lord thing, Jenkins; my comrades in arms here might expect things of me.”

“Of course, Mister Bysheston.”

“Oh no not - oh, alright. Now, what have you in mind?”

To Be Continued ...