What Ho!
Ghastley slumps into a chair.
"I went out for my morning watering, and when I went to their stand, there was nothing but a few scraps of leftover peat," he wheezes.
"If I get my hands on the villain who took them, I cannot hold myself responsible for the consequences. I haven't been so distraught since the day I found a pair of dirty urchins stripping my prize Astley Apples. Years of careful grafting gone in one dark morning. Well, they got away, but no doubt those two are stewing in a dark cell for some other crime by now. If only they would bring back public hanging!" Ghastley gives a mournful moan and buries his head in his hands.
Sir Bob pats his shoulder. "Couldn't agree more, milord. Now then, the Wumbawumba like to use special snickersnees like this one on their begonia thieves." He fingers his foot long butterknife while looking at you meaningfully.
"Oh, I like your Wumbawumba" says Astley. "They sound like good Tories. But what to do now?" he wails plaintitively.
"Well, a dog always returns to his own...mess, that's what they say," says Sir Bob, looking as if he imagines that that makes any sense whatsoever. "We'll just have to lie in wait. Then we'll catch him!"
Fatty agrees strenuously, while glaring at you for some reason. Cuddy is examining her fingernails and humming, as usual completely oblivious to the world at large.
You cough delicately.
Cuddy looks up, concerned. "Ya ok, dear heart? Sounds like ya got the pneumonia or something."
You wave her off. "No, no, but thank you," you say gallantly. "I was merely going to say that we have what is called a 'locked room' scenario in the mystery parlance. Nobody could possibly have gotten in...."
"That's rot, someone did" says Fatty.
You conceal your annoyance. "....but someone did. Someone who must still be on the grounds....."
"Unless they left on the train this morning," points out Astley.
"Righto. Unless, of course they've flown the coop. But if they haven't and they're still here, then they're still around, is what I'm trying to say."
Everyone stares at you.
"So, um, that is, I thought I might pace about the grounds a bit, questioning folks and whatnot, and thereby collect enough facts to finger the culprit."
Cuddy pats your cheek. "Petey, you really are a looney." Everyone else grunts their agreement and wanders off.
Miss Marple never had to put up with this sort of treatment.
Donning a smoking jacket, you're off to question-
"I went out for my morning watering, and when I went to their stand, there was nothing but a few scraps of leftover peat," he wheezes.
"If I get my hands on the villain who took them, I cannot hold myself responsible for the consequences. I haven't been so distraught since the day I found a pair of dirty urchins stripping my prize Astley Apples. Years of careful grafting gone in one dark morning. Well, they got away, but no doubt those two are stewing in a dark cell for some other crime by now. If only they would bring back public hanging!" Ghastley gives a mournful moan and buries his head in his hands.
Sir Bob pats his shoulder. "Couldn't agree more, milord. Now then, the Wumbawumba like to use special snickersnees like this one on their begonia thieves." He fingers his foot long butterknife while looking at you meaningfully.
"Oh, I like your Wumbawumba" says Astley. "They sound like good Tories. But what to do now?" he wails plaintitively.
"Well, a dog always returns to his own...mess, that's what they say," says Sir Bob, looking as if he imagines that that makes any sense whatsoever. "We'll just have to lie in wait. Then we'll catch him!"
Fatty agrees strenuously, while glaring at you for some reason. Cuddy is examining her fingernails and humming, as usual completely oblivious to the world at large.
You cough delicately.
Cuddy looks up, concerned. "Ya ok, dear heart? Sounds like ya got the pneumonia or something."
You wave her off. "No, no, but thank you," you say gallantly. "I was merely going to say that we have what is called a 'locked room' scenario in the mystery parlance. Nobody could possibly have gotten in...."
"That's rot, someone did" says Fatty.
You conceal your annoyance. "....but someone did. Someone who must still be on the grounds....."
"Unless they left on the train this morning," points out Astley.
"Righto. Unless, of course they've flown the coop. But if they haven't and they're still here, then they're still around, is what I'm trying to say."
Everyone stares at you.
"So, um, that is, I thought I might pace about the grounds a bit, questioning folks and whatnot, and thereby collect enough facts to finger the culprit."
Cuddy pats your cheek. "Petey, you really are a looney." Everyone else grunts their agreement and wanders off.
Miss Marple never had to put up with this sort of treatment.
Donning a smoking jacket, you're off to question-