There had been a beastly murder in the country house where I was staying with some friends. It was very puzzling and no one could figure out who had done it or why.

So I went around the neighbourhood and made a few enquiries. It turned out to be not that difficult to solve and, just before bed on Saturday evening, I said to the assembled group of people,

“By the way, I shall unmask the criminal—tomorrow! Goodnight, all.”

“Wait—wait,” said Billy, “D'you think that's wise?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, people might want to know, er, what exactly went on there. You know. A ghastly murder and everything.”

“Three murders, actually,” put in Emma, “if you count the people who've been murdered to cover up the original murder.”

“Was it the vagrant spotted in the woods last week?” demanded Thurstley.

“Who? Oh, no, that's your dad,” I explained, “He's been in an asylum for the past twenty years. He's harmless. You ought to get in touch with him, actually. No, the key thing was when Mrs Beevemeel mentioned that she had received a telegramme from her half-brother in Africa, when everyone knows—but you see what I mean, it's waaaay too complicated to get into right now. Anyway, the real killer is right in this room. G'night!”

And then I headed off to bed. Everyone made a big fuss. Staying with people can be fun, and nobody wants to be a spoilsport, but you can't just do what other people want all the time.

Labels: Culture and Guidance Miscellany