A/N: A random oneshot I came up with earlier today while reading a Campion mystery written by the wonderful Margery Allingham, whom without which we would never have experienced the mystery that is Campion.
Disclaimer: I do not own Albert Campion, or any of the mentioned themes/characters.

MR ALBERT CAMPION
Coups neatly executed
Nothing sordid, vulgar or plebeian
Deserving cases preferred
Police no object

That was what his business card read. Said Mr Campion had always had a fondness for the unusual, the eclectic, and anything out of the ordinary. Occasionally when introducing himself the man usually added 'Expert in fairy stories' onto the end of his speech. This usually only resulted in people looking at him strangely, trying to wonder if the man was serious or joking; whether he was sane, or perhaps insane.

Even Mr Campion himself wondered that on occasion. Born in the year 1900, he was a simple son of a prominent aristocrat. However, unlike his family, he didn't want that sort of life. After attending St. Ignatius' College, Cambridge, he changed his name to Albert Campion, left his family, and moved to London. Thus began his life as what some would call a private detective. Others would call it a life of debauchery. If he were asked which he preferred, Campion would state that he liked the second better. After all, it sounded so much more flowery.

Just like the names that he sometimes went by. The Honourable Tootles Ash, Mornington Dodd, Orlando, and Christopher Twelvetrees were just a small few of the names he had used at one point or another, for various reasons.

He himself was an ordinary man, in appearance at least. He was of average height, thin, with blond hair and round spectacles. He was the sort of fellow that could easily be overlooked, especially without his glasses. He often decided to call himself 'Uncle Campion', when he wanted to comfort a friend or someone in need.

"Tell Uncle Campion all about it," he might say.

Mr Campion had also a horrible habit of being a habitual liar. He told people all sorts of stories about himself with the most serious look possible on his face. And of course, unless they knew him, they would believe him to be serious. Which of course, was another of his faults. Most of the time it was hard to tell whether he was even being serious or simply joking. "I am never more serious than when I am joking," he had once told a very frustrated client.

His jokes could easily get out of hand, either landing him in trouble, or making others very cross with him. Those types were most commonly extremely inappropriate, some stretching so far as to sound like utter insults to the one he was speaking to.

And that's not even mentioning his peculiar 'friends'. Living next door to the police station gave him close access to his good friend the Chief Inspector Stanislas Oates, whom he often called on particularly hard cases that needed Scotland Yard involvement. His own manservant was none other than Magersfontein Lugg, a round, rough spoken, former burglar. "Most promising burglar in the business. He would still be doing it of course, were he still able to make the weight requirement," he would say fondly.

His other acquaintances included men and women on both sides of the law, though the list tended to lean a bit towards the negative side.

And what with these acquaintances, and with his close proximity to the police station, he never locked his front door. Oh no, in fact quite often it was left open altogether.

All in all, Albert Campion was a mystery. No one knew quite what to make of him, even his closest friends.

Turning towards the door of his flat Mr Campion called out to Lugg, "Tie up the horses, old chap. It is time for us to once again embark on a crusade for justice."

Lugg rolled his eyes, used to his master's strange way of saying things, and went to fetch Campion's hat and walking stick. A minute later they were off, the former thief closing the door behind them, not paying any attention to the plaque which read:

Mr Albert Campion
The Goods Department

E/N: So yes, a bit short, and sort of pointless, but there it is.