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272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1947
"There is an expression on my the tip of my tongue which seems to me to sum the whole thing up. Or, rather, when I say an expression, I mean a saying. A wheeze. A gag. What, I believe, is called a saw. Something about Joy doing something."
"Joy cometh in the morning, sir?"
"That's the baby. Not one of your things, is it?"
"No, sir."
"Well, it is dashed good, " I said.
And I think that there can be no neater way of putting in a nutshell the outcome of the super-sticky affair of Nobby Hopwood, Stilton Cheesewright, Florence Craye, my Uncle Percy, J. Chichester Clam, Edwin the Boy Scout and old Boko Fittleworth--or, as my biographers will probably call it, the Steeple Bumpleigh Horror.
"Well, I am afraid I must be popping," I said. "Most important appointment. Frightfully jolly, seeing you again."