The day was crisp and Bert was smartly turned out in his civilian Sunday best: a worn brown suit, coordinating flat cap, and a borrowed red tie of a deep shade.  In the close communal environment of the section house - the name given to the police-owned property that accommodated unmarried officers - Bert had taken a fair amount of ribbing for his attire and obviously blossoming love life.  Some of his colleagues lewdly told Bert where he should be sticking his truncheon, Bert replied to his fellows where they could shove theirs.

His practiced amble slowed as he checked addresses, then he spied crates on the pavement and frowned as he doublechecked the address on the card she had given him.