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CUFF LINK IN LONDON By B. Bruce Wolf Battered raincoat, crumpled hat Triple "E" shoes, short and fat Leaves an impression wherever he's sat Never Spent time at a laundrymat Wife and children, white black cat Bronx apartment, friendly rat.
Twenty years ago, Cuff Link opened an office in the Bowery district of New York City. He was young and inexperienced, but was determined to become a private detective. After years of blundering and ineptitude, Cuff decided to pack it in and move to the home of his childhood detective heroes. Upon moving to London, England, things were not looking up until...
The call came 'round Teatime With Cuff amidst a nap. Fumbling the telephone he listened to the chap Mutter something of a crooked scheme That he wants on Cuff Link's lap. At first he thought it but a dream, until he felt his slap.
Scotland Yard was surely lost. Sherlock out of town. The Saint was indisposed, No Avengers to be found. Cuff Link was the last resort. Knowing this he frowned, "I'm as good as all of them?" He shuddered at the sound.
A Crown Jewel caper as always, The only British crime That Limeys ever take time for For fear of lost Tea Time. The Guard were drunk or on the take, The velvet soaked with wine. They became the suspects; An accident? Or design?
Cuff had eyed the record books None had needed the dough The Crown Jewels were unpawnable Or they would surely show. A conspiracy, he thought a joke The Yard would not impose They didn't have a motive But Cuff's curiosity rose.
He checked the kingdom IRS happy to report That Scotland Yard was audited, with money ever short The agency was going broke and needed to resort To selling off the Crown Jewels to some waiting foreign port.
Another case was cracked and solved, The Yard investigated, The Jewels recovered at the pier Cuff for his fee now waited The check came in the morning mail And with that check he fainted They'd taxed way ninety percent With an audit indicated.
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