Boondoggle, Boondoggle, Boondoggle!

Fingernails—clean, clean fingernails—tracked the grooves in the tabletop's woodgrain. The sinnerman's stainless skin and cuff stripes mouthed respectability. A bushy moustache swallowed Rawlbert du Olumenton's thin and treacherous upper lip. In fact, it was enough to bristle his lower lip. Last century's style anachronised through the length of the nobleman's handlebar facial hair.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

He shoved dripping meat into his mouth. The sauce basted the strands of his moustache. The sauce dribbled into the folds of his jowls. The sauce stained smeared teeth.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Come," he wheezed.

"Sir," said the visitor, hesitantly. "I have the casualty report for yesterday."

"No."

"No? Don't you want me to present the report?"

"No," said Sir Rawlbert. "Correct the figures before releasing them."