the rain continued to fall through the long dreary weekend as inspector overwith of the criminal investigation department made his researches into the murder of the world famous detective m francois flan.
ursula, the other surviving guests, and aunt amanda passed the time playing bridge and backgammon, discussing the sad state of the world, and answering inspector overwith’s tiresome and intrusive questions as best they could, and with such grace as they could summon.
finally, at a few minutes before midnight on sunday, inspector overwith summoned the guests into the drawing room to reveal his conclusions.
inspector overwith cleared his throat. “let me begin,” he began, “by summarizing the case.”
the guests nodded politely, no one challenged the inspector’s statement, and he continued.
“m flan , the world famous detecive, was murdered in his bed sometime between five o’clock and eight o’clock on friday evening.
he was stabbed in the heart with an ordinary kitchen knife that could have been purchased at walmart or costco, on amazon, or dozens of other stores or online sites.
there were no fingerprints on the knife.
the door to his room was unlocked, and anybody could have entered it at any time.
the window to his room was likewise unlocked. although the room was located on an upper floor, a ladder was found in an unlocked shed nearby, and showed signs of recent use.
although all of the occupants of the house, guests and staff, had been seen constantly by other occupants during the time the murder must have taken place, nobody could account for every minute of their time.
m flan had no enemies among the occupants of the house, and no one with a motive to murder him.
three of the guests - miss chuff, sir devilish keene, and cardinal gogol, are world famous detectives themselves, so they could not have committed the crime.
ms amanda sutcliffe, the hostess and owner of the house, is well known and highly thought of in the community, is noted for her good works, and gives unreservedly to numerous charities and civic organizations, including the democratic and republican parties, so she can be ruled out.
mr jonathon sutcliffe is a billionaire, and was passed out drunk when the murder took place, so he can be eliminated.
morris, the butler, and the other servants have been employed by ms sutcliffe for many years, and can also be eliminated.
the only persons left not accounted for are professor molcroft-lawgiver, the world’s greatest mathematician, and ms ursula underwood, a niece of ms sutcliffe’s invited for the weekend. besides being vouched for personally by ms sutcliffe, both professor molcroft-lawgiver and ms underwood are left handed, and the knife was driven into m flan’s heart by a right handed person.
all the suspects being thus eliminated, we are left with two possible conclusions - that the murderer is an unknown person whose identity will never be discovered in a hundred million years, or - the most likely solution - that the murder was of supernatural origin.
thank you,” the inspector concluded. “ you are all free to go about your business.”
“excuse me. sir,” morris, the butler, spoke up. “may i make a couple of observations?”
“please do,” the inspector replied with a barely perceptible hint of annoyance.
“you say that no one had a motive to murder m flan. but three of the other guests are also world famous detectives. might not professional jealousy in the case of one or more of them been a factor?”
“i considered that possibility, and rejected it.”
“and here is something else,” morris went on, ”have you considered the possibility that some of the guests might not be who they seem? that they might be impostors?”
“look,” the inspector replied, “do i tell you how to carry a drink on a tray, or give upstairs maids their marching orders? you do your job, pal, and i’ll do mine, all right?”
“very good, sir.” morris dropped his gaze. “but may i make one final observation?”
“and what might that be?”
“bigfoot has been reported in the area.”
“well, there you go!” the inspector exclaimed. “thank you, my man. you’ve cracked the case! i will send you a couple of tickets to the policeman’s ball.”
“thank you, sir.”
the guests being free to go, and the storm having abated slightly, ursula said goodbye to aunt amanda, and made her way outside to her car.
driving down the dark road back to the city, ursula saw a hulking figure walking down the road. it stopped when it heard the car and waved her down.
it was bigfoot. ursula stopped and opened the door for him.
“a rotten night,” ursula observed as she restarted the car.
“it was worse before,” said bigfoot.
“yes, it was. you know, there was a murder back at the house, and you got blamed for it.”
“again! i get blamed for everything! life is so unfair.”
“isn’t it, though,” ursula agreed. “i don’t know why people can’t be more trusting.”
bigfoot just sighed in response. ursula found an oldies staton on the radio and they listened to it all the way back to the city.
so ended ursula’s account of her weekend.
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