In the firm of Clunk & Clunk, Solicitors, it is the careful routine that any unknown client should be unobtrusively inspected by specialists in every department of its varied practice. The publican, Bryony, was a new client, but he adamantly refused to speak to anyone except Joshua Clunk in person.

He was quite right, of course. There is only one Clunk, a plump little creature, with a shining yellow complexion, his own highly original code of morals and a disconcerting propensity for hymn singing. None of which mattered to Bryony. He had come for help, because he was suspected of murder.

Help in such circumstances is Mr. Clunk's speciality. What Bryony didn't know, though Mr. Clunk soon suspected, was that the little seaside town of Calbay, where he lived, contained more mysteries than one. The town council was oddly secretive. The local and County police were at daggers drawn with each other. And the death of the unfortunate Gussage was only the first in a whole succession of fatal — and dubious — accidents.

And, of course, there was the question of the dead man's shoes. Or, rather, their absence.
At first Mr. Clunk seemed to be baffled. But he waited, like a cat, ready to pounce...