Post by Nalkarj on Mar 23, 2018 21:51:59 GMT
“The ‘Ack!’ of Roger Murdgoyd”
England, between the wars. You are Roger Murdgoyd, a well-known writer of detective stories, and you’ve just been invited to Sir Reginald Morrissey’s country-house, Fonts, which is so famous that I don’t even need to describe it. As you enter the massive manor, you’re amused: this whole scenario could be right out of one of your books! Well, well, life imitating art and all that, and as long as there’s not a—well, you know, there couldn’t be, that’s just too silly, and…
The penguin-ish butler, Mutters, leads you into the dining room, where you meet your host and fellow guests:
Sir Reginald Morrissey, Bt., a rather doddering elderly gentleman, the wealthy founder of the Morrissey Museum, and the local magistrate, married to…
Lady Beryl Morrissey, his much younger wife, who—you notice—is paying more attention to...
Patrick Vert, a daring young Irishman (on the flying trapeze?) who may talk too much for his own good and is engaged to...
Rose Carstairs, a lovely girl and Sir Reginald’s niece. She sighs, and you notice that she’s currently in a conversation with the loquacious…
Prof. Peter Lyle, a Morrissey Museum archaeologist who resembles Ichabod Crane. He’s as annoying as ever, but your attention is distracted by the entrance of…
Col. John Derwent, an enormous big-game hunter and one of Sir Reginald’s oldest friends. And, last but not least, you see…
Blanche Marple, not exactly a guest but rather Sir Reginald’s secretary, a remarkably efficient woman who yet seems out of her element at this great gathering.
A perfect setting for a… No, no! You won’t say that word, even to yourself. You write the damn things for a living, after all—and why murder-mysteries? Why not something straightforward, like children’s literature? Or cookbooks? Or even…
Mutters rings the gong and announces that dinner is served. Everyone shuffles off, but Miss Carstairs rushes up to you and begs to know about the next book you’re writing. You describe The Clue of the Invisible Giraffe, careful not to spoil anything, yet somehow she still accurately guesses that it’s the wife who done it. Dear God, now you’ll have to change that…
Dinner is—well, what can you say? Sir Reginald argues with Prof. Lyle over the conduct of the local museum, Lady Morrissey and Miss Carstairs get into a big argument (about a seemingly minor point) that Mr. Vert tries to break up, Miss Marple injects minor comments whimperingly, and Col. Derwent screams throughout. Lov-e-ly. You sit and nod.
After dinner, you head off to the library to find a good book and (after wandering about for a bit) find it. Alas! seeing that Sir Reginald only reads about—again!—entomology, of all subjects, you try to head upstairs for bed. No such luck. A shot rings out. Of course it does.
You run and see all the lights on in the study. Sir Reginald is dead. Lady Morrissey, his wife, stands over him with a gun, screaming…
A remarkably detailed police-sketch of the first floor.
The police arrive soon after—led by the masterly Inspector Allsby, who quickly reads the situation.
“English country-house murder,” he snaps, “but a simple one, it seems.”
No such luck, as you, experienced in these things, know: (1) the post-mortem determines that Sir Reginald was stabbed, not shot, (2) the gun in her hand had not been fired, and (3) there was no smoke in the room. Oi! What of the seemingly ironclad case against Lady Morrissey now, Inspector? Well, er, well—ahem!—well… Where were all the suspects? Insp. Allsby interviews them one-by-one, fretting by the ballroom door as each suspect’s turn comes to be called. You volunteer to be interviewed first—get it all done with and all that.
You were in the library, as you know. You tell your tale to the inspector.
Miss Marple was helping the maid, Betsy, to lock and bolt the main door. They were there for several minutes. Did they hear or see anything out of the ordinary? Why, yes, Inspector! A woman ran past the door—at least, she thinks it was a woman—yes, well, it could have been a man. She looked outside but saw nothing more. Anyone with a motive to kill Sir Reginald? Why, no, Inspector, there couldn’t possibly be…
Patrick Vert says that he and his fiancée, Rose Carstairs, were in the conservatory. After some badgering, they admit to Insp. Allsby that they were arguing loudly because Rose claimed that Patrick was actually in love with Lady Morrissey. Heard and saw nothing unusual. Poor Rose, flushed, is still angry from their argument. A reason to…? Rose thinks that Patrick certainly had a reason to kill Sir Reginald; Patrick cannot believe that his fiancée just said that. Ainsi l’amour.
Colonel Derwent says that in the billiards room, staring out the window, waiting for Sir Reginald to join him. Sir Reginald had said he just had to finish reading and signing some papers. Did he hear or see anything unusual? He vaguely remembered footsteps that he didn’t recognize trailing off… What does he mean, “didn’t recognize”? Well, in the jungle one has to remember noises, Inspector, and he—Col. Derwent—certainly knew his friend’s family’s footsteps. Poppycock, says the inspector, upon which pronouncement Col. Derwent, insulted, storms out.
Professor Lyle says that he was in the lounge, reading an excellent paper (have you read it, Inspector?) written by Harvard’s Prof. Aloysius N. Melchizedek. Did he hear or see anything out of the ordinary? Well, he glanced up and thought he saw a man—or maybe a woman?—run across the lawn outside the window. He did not think much of it and went back to his paper. A grudge? Certainly not. Didn’t he, Lyle, have some words with Sir Reginald at dinner? Why, yes, but no reason to…
Lady Morrissey claims that she was in the ballroom until she thought she’d check on her husband in the study. No one saw her leave. She heard the loud voices from the conservatory (door closed) and thought she shouldn’t get involved; she saw you in the library (door open), looking for your book; and she finally entered the study. She went over to her husband’s chair near the window and—and!—found him dead… She picked up a gun next to him, which she thought was the murder weapon, and screamed.
Mutters, the butler, brought the dishes to the staff in the kitchen. No, sir, he didn’t try to listen in to anything, but nonetheless—well!—he heard noises coming from the study. The study?! Yes, there are secret passageway: one that leads from the conservatory to the lounge and another that leads from the kitchen to the study. Sir Reginald came from a recusant family, and both passageways were created so that Catholic priests could escape to the other side of the house and then listen to hear if the priest-hunters had gone. The inspector seems utterly incredulous.
The inspector re-reads the description of the crime scene, asks you for your recollections, and (upon hearing them) arrests one of the above suspects.
You disagree. You know that someone else killed Sir Reginald Morrissey. Who?
England, between the wars. You are Roger Murdgoyd, a well-known writer of detective stories, and you’ve just been invited to Sir Reginald Morrissey’s country-house, Fonts, which is so famous that I don’t even need to describe it. As you enter the massive manor, you’re amused: this whole scenario could be right out of one of your books! Well, well, life imitating art and all that, and as long as there’s not a—well, you know, there couldn’t be, that’s just too silly, and…
The penguin-ish butler, Mutters, leads you into the dining room, where you meet your host and fellow guests:
Sir Reginald Morrissey, Bt., a rather doddering elderly gentleman, the wealthy founder of the Morrissey Museum, and the local magistrate, married to…
Lady Beryl Morrissey, his much younger wife, who—you notice—is paying more attention to...
Patrick Vert, a daring young Irishman (on the flying trapeze?) who may talk too much for his own good and is engaged to...
Rose Carstairs, a lovely girl and Sir Reginald’s niece. She sighs, and you notice that she’s currently in a conversation with the loquacious…
Prof. Peter Lyle, a Morrissey Museum archaeologist who resembles Ichabod Crane. He’s as annoying as ever, but your attention is distracted by the entrance of…
Col. John Derwent, an enormous big-game hunter and one of Sir Reginald’s oldest friends. And, last but not least, you see…
Blanche Marple, not exactly a guest but rather Sir Reginald’s secretary, a remarkably efficient woman who yet seems out of her element at this great gathering.
A perfect setting for a… No, no! You won’t say that word, even to yourself. You write the damn things for a living, after all—and why murder-mysteries? Why not something straightforward, like children’s literature? Or cookbooks? Or even…
Mutters rings the gong and announces that dinner is served. Everyone shuffles off, but Miss Carstairs rushes up to you and begs to know about the next book you’re writing. You describe The Clue of the Invisible Giraffe, careful not to spoil anything, yet somehow she still accurately guesses that it’s the wife who done it. Dear God, now you’ll have to change that…
Dinner is—well, what can you say? Sir Reginald argues with Prof. Lyle over the conduct of the local museum, Lady Morrissey and Miss Carstairs get into a big argument (about a seemingly minor point) that Mr. Vert tries to break up, Miss Marple injects minor comments whimperingly, and Col. Derwent screams throughout. Lov-e-ly. You sit and nod.
After dinner, you head off to the library to find a good book and (after wandering about for a bit) find it. Alas! seeing that Sir Reginald only reads about—again!—entomology, of all subjects, you try to head upstairs for bed. No such luck. A shot rings out. Of course it does.
You run and see all the lights on in the study. Sir Reginald is dead. Lady Morrissey, his wife, stands over him with a gun, screaming…
A remarkably detailed police-sketch of the first floor.
The police arrive soon after—led by the masterly Inspector Allsby, who quickly reads the situation.
“English country-house murder,” he snaps, “but a simple one, it seems.”
No such luck, as you, experienced in these things, know: (1) the post-mortem determines that Sir Reginald was stabbed, not shot, (2) the gun in her hand had not been fired, and (3) there was no smoke in the room. Oi! What of the seemingly ironclad case against Lady Morrissey now, Inspector? Well, er, well—ahem!—well… Where were all the suspects? Insp. Allsby interviews them one-by-one, fretting by the ballroom door as each suspect’s turn comes to be called. You volunteer to be interviewed first—get it all done with and all that.
You were in the library, as you know. You tell your tale to the inspector.
Miss Marple was helping the maid, Betsy, to lock and bolt the main door. They were there for several minutes. Did they hear or see anything out of the ordinary? Why, yes, Inspector! A woman ran past the door—at least, she thinks it was a woman—yes, well, it could have been a man. She looked outside but saw nothing more. Anyone with a motive to kill Sir Reginald? Why, no, Inspector, there couldn’t possibly be…
Patrick Vert says that he and his fiancée, Rose Carstairs, were in the conservatory. After some badgering, they admit to Insp. Allsby that they were arguing loudly because Rose claimed that Patrick was actually in love with Lady Morrissey. Heard and saw nothing unusual. Poor Rose, flushed, is still angry from their argument. A reason to…? Rose thinks that Patrick certainly had a reason to kill Sir Reginald; Patrick cannot believe that his fiancée just said that. Ainsi l’amour.
Colonel Derwent says that in the billiards room, staring out the window, waiting for Sir Reginald to join him. Sir Reginald had said he just had to finish reading and signing some papers. Did he hear or see anything unusual? He vaguely remembered footsteps that he didn’t recognize trailing off… What does he mean, “didn’t recognize”? Well, in the jungle one has to remember noises, Inspector, and he—Col. Derwent—certainly knew his friend’s family’s footsteps. Poppycock, says the inspector, upon which pronouncement Col. Derwent, insulted, storms out.
Professor Lyle says that he was in the lounge, reading an excellent paper (have you read it, Inspector?) written by Harvard’s Prof. Aloysius N. Melchizedek. Did he hear or see anything out of the ordinary? Well, he glanced up and thought he saw a man—or maybe a woman?—run across the lawn outside the window. He did not think much of it and went back to his paper. A grudge? Certainly not. Didn’t he, Lyle, have some words with Sir Reginald at dinner? Why, yes, but no reason to…
Lady Morrissey claims that she was in the ballroom until she thought she’d check on her husband in the study. No one saw her leave. She heard the loud voices from the conservatory (door closed) and thought she shouldn’t get involved; she saw you in the library (door open), looking for your book; and she finally entered the study. She went over to her husband’s chair near the window and—and!—found him dead… She picked up a gun next to him, which she thought was the murder weapon, and screamed.
Mutters, the butler, brought the dishes to the staff in the kitchen. No, sir, he didn’t try to listen in to anything, but nonetheless—well!—he heard noises coming from the study. The study?! Yes, there are secret passageway: one that leads from the conservatory to the lounge and another that leads from the kitchen to the study. Sir Reginald came from a recusant family, and both passageways were created so that Catholic priests could escape to the other side of the house and then listen to hear if the priest-hunters had gone. The inspector seems utterly incredulous.
The inspector re-reads the description of the crime scene, asks you for your recollections, and (upon hearing them) arrests one of the above suspects.
You disagree. You know that someone else killed Sir Reginald Morrissey. Who?