What Ho!
Sir Robert frog marchs you back into the breakfast hall and sits you down, wiggling his howitzer about dangerously.
"Oh, well done, Sir Robert!" cries the horrible old Ghastley, clasping his hands together.
"No great trouble, milord. As black hearted criminals go, he was no trouble at all."
You feel that it's a good time to be indignant. "Now, see here Sir Robert..."
"Silence, you!" says Sir Bob, a bit rudely. He seizes the dinner gong and starts drumming out an S.O.S.
Your fellow inmates of the manor start pouring in, all a bit bewildered.
Mr. MacGillicuddy steps up to Robert with the morning paper under his arm. "Hey, is it time to eat again? You Brits eat at the weirdest times. Could've sworn we just had breakfast."
Sir Robert Burton-on-Trent smiles evilly. "No sir. What has happened is that I have collared our begonia thief."
Various reactions ensue. MacG looks surprised, Fatty shoots you a dark look, and the loathsome Cuddy smirks and looks innocent.
You realize that you have a little triumphant moment coming. You clear your throat delicately, causing Sir Bob to start visibly.
"Ah, but I am not your begonia thief."
"Prove it," sneers Sir Bob, a bit unclear on the rules of evidence. You enlighten him.
Putting your monocle on, your stare at him imperiously. "You see, in order to be a begonia thief, one must have begonias. And that, Sir Bob, is precisely what I DON'T have! Non habeas corpus quid pro quo, as it were," you say triumphantly displaying your knowledge of legal latin.
Sir Bob grunts. "Obviously, you've stashed them somewhere. I say we search his room."
You cock a superior eyebrow at him, unfortunately causing the monocle to tumble out of the socket. Recovering yourself, you wave your arm casually. "Go forth and search, you silly man. I dare say you will find my room quite begonialess." You smile, pleasing visions of Sir Robert pleading for forgiveness dancing through your head.
The dinner party marches down the hall to your room. You unlock the door and throw it open with one of your patented grand gestures. You turn to the crowd.
"Search away!" you cry. You notice that they are all staring at something in the room behind you. You slowly turn back towards the doorway.
There, tastefully centered in the middle of your bedspread, is a large pot of what must indisputably be african begonias.
"Oh, well done, Sir Robert!" cries the horrible old Ghastley, clasping his hands together.
"No great trouble, milord. As black hearted criminals go, he was no trouble at all."
You feel that it's a good time to be indignant. "Now, see here Sir Robert..."
"Silence, you!" says Sir Bob, a bit rudely. He seizes the dinner gong and starts drumming out an S.O.S.
Your fellow inmates of the manor start pouring in, all a bit bewildered.
Mr. MacGillicuddy steps up to Robert with the morning paper under his arm. "Hey, is it time to eat again? You Brits eat at the weirdest times. Could've sworn we just had breakfast."
Sir Robert Burton-on-Trent smiles evilly. "No sir. What has happened is that I have collared our begonia thief."
Various reactions ensue. MacG looks surprised, Fatty shoots you a dark look, and the loathsome Cuddy smirks and looks innocent.
You realize that you have a little triumphant moment coming. You clear your throat delicately, causing Sir Bob to start visibly.
"Ah, but I am not your begonia thief."
"Prove it," sneers Sir Bob, a bit unclear on the rules of evidence. You enlighten him.
Putting your monocle on, your stare at him imperiously. "You see, in order to be a begonia thief, one must have begonias. And that, Sir Bob, is precisely what I DON'T have! Non habeas corpus quid pro quo, as it were," you say triumphantly displaying your knowledge of legal latin.
Sir Bob grunts. "Obviously, you've stashed them somewhere. I say we search his room."
You cock a superior eyebrow at him, unfortunately causing the monocle to tumble out of the socket. Recovering yourself, you wave your arm casually. "Go forth and search, you silly man. I dare say you will find my room quite begonialess." You smile, pleasing visions of Sir Robert pleading for forgiveness dancing through your head.
The dinner party marches down the hall to your room. You unlock the door and throw it open with one of your patented grand gestures. You turn to the crowd.
"Search away!" you cry. You notice that they are all staring at something in the room behind you. You slowly turn back towards the doorway.
There, tastefully centered in the middle of your bedspread, is a large pot of what must indisputably be african begonias.