"Oh gosh. Been so long since I read the book." He really needed to pick it up again. "If memory serves, identification papers were planted on the body of some poor soul to cheat me out of my rightful inheritance. Left to me by the King of Rubbish. Don't laugh, it's true" But he was chuckling himself as he said it. Old Charlie had been great at memorable characters, not so hot at subtly.
Laughingly he admitted. "It wasn't that great a mystery. That wasn't Dicken's strong suit, so fate just deals out the appropriate Karma. No detectives rushing in to save the day. More's the pity."
"Cheers. What else do you do when you're not solving mysteries? Do you dance perhaps?" He whispered in a mock-conspirital tone. "Don't tell anyone yeah, but unlike some people think or say, you can dance with someone just to dance here, nothing else. I do it all the time."
It took a second. "Wait a tick, you're one of the blokes that came...my uncle did too."