A Contentious Conundrum

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which threw up a contentious conundrum. Tommy my cat stood staring out the window. The greying temples, briar pipe, tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbow gave him a distinguished,cat- about-town appearance.
He looked-confident and honest, the kind of cat you would buy a second hand car from.
Tommy knocked his pipe out on my head and said,
"I find myself puzzled and perplexed. Lately Mr Coyle refuses to believe a single thing that Gerry says. Why should that be?" said Tommy. "Why would Mr Coyle reject the word of a former alter boy, long shore man, pimp and musician?"
I went to my handy phrase box, pulled out a piece of paper and slowly read out,"IT!---beggars-be--be---belief."
Puzzled, baffled and ugly,I began to walk the floor with furrowed brow, badly ploughed face and a harrowing look in my eyes.As I walked I kept banging one fist into another until I ran out of fists.
"WHY?" I said,staring at an early house fly, making it look away.
"Why would a man, a solitary man who walks the roads alone at night and hates, loathes and detests compost boxes, WHY would that man doubt the word of Gerald Michael Anderson?"
"The answer lies in the Coyle," said Tommy."Mr Coyle is what is known in the medical profession as a, curious, peculiar cove."
"The dreaded CPC!" I yelled. "There is only one known cure. Mr Coyle must wear a donkey harness round hs neck and be led round Ireland by a blind, red haired, one-legged tuba player."
"Then it's useless," sobbed Tommy. "We will never find a donkey harness in Ireland."
I concurred, covered it up with some old newspapers and went to bed, using the stairs so kindly put there by Mrs Bunty Hovis from number 101, Melrose Place, Ballymena.
Bunty is one of the Derbyshire Hovises, don't you know!
Oh yes! they have a baby grand in the coal shed.