Another nearly incoherent, incorrigibly nonsensical, and very British outing for narrator Charlie Mortdecai, ""a nice, rich, cowardly, fun-loving art-dealer who dabbles in crime to take his mind off his haemorrhoids."" This time Charlie is forced by some abusive government agency to marry and spy on ""a madly beautiful, sex-happy she-millionaire' who murdered her husband and is no doubt up to no good. And indeed she soon begs Charlie to assassinate the Queen--which he fails to do; so he winds up spending most of the novel at a Training College for spies and whatnot. . . till he's ready ""to play at Secret Agents with Sinister Orientals"" in Asia (where some art-world data does finally become relevant). Chatty, chirpy parody, heavy on leering double entendres and insular references--a sprinkle of giggles but mostly tedious.