knicks255
TMF Expert
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- Feb 8, 2012
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A CHAT REQUESTED STORY BY KNICKS255
“Gentlemen!” Inspector Morten trudged across the dining hall, holding his notepad in one meaty fist and pistol in the other. “After hours of copious investigation, I have solved the mystery of the murder of Leopold Stubbs,”. He stomped his black, shined boots upon the tile, still caked in blood. “Right on this. Very. Spot.” The congregation gasped dramatically and began to wildly murmur. “But, good Inspector!” said a tall, shriveled man, clad in a white suit and shaking as he tepped forward. “Noone has ever been murdered at the Butler Convention before, assuredly you will need more time!” Morten’s trenchcoat unfurled behind him as he twisted himself around to face the speaker. “Jebediah Hobbes!” he said, pointing his iron revolver at the man. “Of course you would want to stretch this out!” With a sneer, he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet careening through Hobbes’ heart. “Just like you stretched your handkerchief around the neck of Mr. Stubbs!” The remaining butlers stared, silently shocked at the sudden shooting. “You see, gentlemen, I found signs of choking on the victim’s neck, and impressions of a curious tulip pattern! Just like the pattern on Hobbes’ beloved hankie.”
The butlers began to clap, nodding and muttering agreement. “Good show! Yes! What a deduction!” The sounds of the crowd’s approval, however, were short lived, suddenly interrupted by the distinct crack of a gunshot. A fat, mustached butler fell to the ground with a gurgle. He was dead. “But, Hobbes could not have committed this crime! For you see, his kercheif is stained. Not with blood, but with the cocktail sauce that came with the shrimp at tonight’s festivities! Hobbes, as I learned, is allergic to shellfish!” Another gasp came from the butlers. “So...it was Smithers?” “Indeed, Montesor! Jeremiah Smithers, with his infinite hunger for shellfish...and murder. He was the only one to partake in the shrimp tonight, and thus he had to have done the deed! And so, the case is closed.” Morten put away his revolver, still smoking, and walked out the door. “Wait...if Smithers was the killer, then why did the inspector shoot Hobbes?” asked another butler, balding with a billowing beard. Smash! The glass window broke, a bullet streaking through, colliding with the skull of the bald man, killing him. All of it happened in an instant. Panic returned to the dwindling crowd, or at least as much panic could be expressed in a group of prim and proper butlers.
The Inspector climbed through the window, smiling. “BUT IT COULD NOT HAVE BEEN SMITHERS, as I’m sure Sir Ezekiel Willikins knew. After all, he was the one who convinced Smithers to try the shrimp, as Smithers was on a diet! Thus, after he forced the fat man into consuming the seafood treats, he waited for Smithers to go wash the sauce off his hands, dipped his own into the sauce, and used Hobbes’ handkerchief to kill Mr. Stubbs!” The remaining few butlers looked awkwardly at one another. “Inspector, this is quite preposterous, you realize that-” BANG! Montesor dropped dead. “Of course I do! It was all a trap for you, Mile Montesor! Only you knew of Smithers diet, as he posted it on his blog, “Daily Thoughts Of Smithers!” Only one man ever checked his blog, and as the comments section will corroborate, it was you. Rest in peace, scoundrel!”
The two butlers left stood, staring as-BANG! The one on the right was shot! “But only he, Jeeves Jeeveson, has T-Mobile service on his smart phone! Thus only he had access to the blog entry, since we’re in this backwoods manor! That means he checked the blog, told Montesor of a new entry, told WIllikins as well, tricked Smithers, stole Hobbes’ handkerchief…” Morten took a deep breath, his face sweating. “And murdered Leopold Stubbs!” As the inspector looked up, he saw the final butler fleeing the room, screaming at the top of his lungs. “However, it was not Jeeveson who killed Leopold Stubbs. After all, Leopold Stubbs was an old man, whose hobbies included using cocktail sauce to cover up the veins on his own neck, and wore a tight, tulip patterned tie! So, as I have deduced, Leopold Stubbs died of natural causes! Meaning…” With a final flick of his wrist, the inspector shot his last bullet into the corpse of Mr. Stubbs. “Leopold Stubbs killed Leopold Stubbs.” Looking around at the bodies of the butlers, he shrugged. “Took a little guesswork. Need a vacation. Case closed.”
