Beth Overmyer's Blog: The Blog of Beth Overmyer, page 41
November 23, 2014
Is Your Weather Frightful?
For all of my friends and family getting snow this blustery season: May you stay as snug as my cat "Bug" in a bag. (Doesn't he look happy?)As for us in northern Ohio...
54-degree HEATWAVE!
November 20, 2014
Lord of the Rings Fans: A Gift List
A box set of the books
A map of Middle Earth
Sting letter opener (this is seriously cool! I got one for my cousin many years ago...)
Eleven brooch
___
Just a note/reminder: I am not paid to write these suggestions, and I don't own all the items on the list (though, I have read all the books I recommended in last week's post.)
A map of Middle Earth
Sting letter opener (this is seriously cool! I got one for my cousin many years ago...)
Eleven brooch
___
Just a note/reminder: I am not paid to write these suggestions, and I don't own all the items on the list (though, I have read all the books I recommended in last week's post.)
November 13, 2014
Good Books: A Gift List
Fantasy - The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings (trilogy) boxed set, Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief (YA), Harry Potter series (MG-YA) boxed set
Dystopian (YA) - The Hunger Games (trilogy) boxed set
Gothic Romance: Jane Eyre
Cookbooks: No Whine With Dinner
Historical: Girl With a Pearl Earring (some crude, graphic stuff), A Jane Austen Daydream
Light (historical) horror: The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Phantom of the Opera
MG lit: Wonder, A Monster Calls
Short story: Leapling
Mystery: And Then There Were None, N or M?, A Pocket Full of Rye
Dystopian (YA) - The Hunger Games (trilogy) boxed set
Gothic Romance: Jane Eyre
Cookbooks: No Whine With Dinner
Historical: Girl With a Pearl Earring (some crude, graphic stuff), A Jane Austen Daydream
Light (historical) horror: The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Phantom of the Opera
MG lit: Wonder, A Monster Calls
Short story: Leapling
Mystery: And Then There Were None, N or M?, A Pocket Full of Rye
November 6, 2014
Gifts for the Christian(s) in Your Life
Grace for the Moment by Max Lucado - Twice a day for 365 days, read a short message along with a corresponding Scripture verse. Available from Barnes and Noble for $17.98 (as of 9/16/14.)
Music Inspired by The Story - 2 discs, 18 songs from about different characters/events in the Bible. For the first listen, I had fun trying to figure out who was the point of view character in each song. $11.52 from Amazon (as of 9/16/14.)
God's Not Dead (DVD + Blu Ray) - I found this movie somewhat cheesy but encouraging, nonetheless. $17.99 from Family Christian stores (as of 9/16/14.)
__
BTW - I'm not getting paid to do this, and these aren't really ads. Just trying to help ease the holiday stress B-)
Music Inspired by The Story - 2 discs, 18 songs from about different characters/events in the Bible. For the first listen, I had fun trying to figure out who was the point of view character in each song. $11.52 from Amazon (as of 9/16/14.)
God's Not Dead (DVD + Blu Ray) - I found this movie somewhat cheesy but encouraging, nonetheless. $17.99 from Family Christian stores (as of 9/16/14.)
__
BTW - I'm not getting paid to do this, and these aren't really ads. Just trying to help ease the holiday stress B-)
November 1, 2014
Congratulations to...
Susanne Drazic!
You have won not only the calligraphy set with sealing wax and seal, but the notebook as well!
Please email your address to bethovermyer@gmail.com so that I can ship you your prizes!
Congrats, and thanks for reading and commenting on As a Dog Returneth.
~Beth
You have won not only the calligraphy set with sealing wax and seal, but the notebook as well!
Please email your address to bethovermyer@gmail.com so that I can ship you your prizes!
Congrats, and thanks for reading and commenting on As a Dog Returneth.
~Beth
October 31, 2014
As a Dog Returneth (a Serial): Part VII or the End
With the slightest of smug sneers, Ackerman slipped into his dressing gown and poured himself a small sherry. As the lukewarm amber trickled down his throat, he pocketed his bedside revolver.
"Blasted fools better not interfere," he said. One quick look around the room was now in order. The door to his flat was bolted. Check. The eastern window was open a crack. Check. All he had to do now was hide and wait.
With a chuckle he looked down at the dummy stuffed in his bed. If that didn't confuse his prey, then, well, perhaps he was finished. Ackerman toasted his nemesis and downed the last of the bottle.
As he blew out the lights, he heard a faint rustling noise coming from what he assumed was the window. This was it. Quietly as he could, Ackerman slipped between the wall and his bed.
The old window slid open with barely a creak, blowing in rain and cold air. There was a soft footfall on the window seat, then the creaking of floorboards.
Ackerman prepared his revolver.
Then someone laughed a laugh he had not been expecting to hear. It was a high laugh, much too high a laugh to belong to his man.
"Inspector Ackerman," said a familiar voice. "Please, don't get up."
"Betsy?" he asked. "But I thought… Surely it can't be—"
"Instead of drawing this out with much gloating, giving you the chance to escape, I might add—"
"It had to have been Vervain! He wouldn't touch the punch! Made the excuse that he couldn't drink alcohol. He was taking quinine for malaria, just as Miss Smithe was; that's how he knew about her. You can't be the X—"
A gunshot rang through the night, and feathers flew up in a cloud. Ackerman leapt from his hiding place and tackled the woman to the ground, wresting the pistol from her hands.
"Tell me," he said between ragged breaths as he pinned her hands to her sides, "tell me how and why, and I might let you live to see the gallows. Are you truly the X Murderer?" He could feel her glowering at him in the darkness, felt her body wriggle as his nails dug into her wrists. "You blasted, vile creature. You cost me my career, my wife, my life!"
"How's that?" she demanded.
“Tell me why Miss Prewitt? Mr. Keefes? Mr. and Mrs. Miller? Why Miss Smithe? Why? I had a theory," he interrupted her. "I had a theory, and the Chief thought it was ludicrous. It's the reason I suspected Vervain."
"Let me go, you—"
"A religious fanatic, on the loose, trying to convert the 'lost souls,' condemning the wicked to their 'rightful' damnation."
Betsy tried to break in, "I don't know what you're—"
"It all fit," said Ackerman. "Every last one of the X Murderer's victims were into witchcraft; and I suppose Miss Smithe, God rest her poor soul, will be found to have had such ties. But what would have been your motive? It makes no sense. No sense at all."
They were quiet for a moment. Or, at least, Ackerman was. Betsy continued to whimper and writhe.
"Well," he said at long last, "I suppose that's for the judge and jury to discover. Of course, if you cooperate, I might convince the judge to show some leniency."
"The girls!" Betsy said at once. "It was me who told them to dress as they did. Or, rather, their maids. I'm good friends with both. I dropped a few hints, and they took them."
"Then you laced the punch with poison."
"Yes, yes. But I didn't commit no other murders! I swear it, on my honor."
"On the honor of a woman who just attempted to murder an aging man in his bed?" Ackerman shook his head. "Never mind that, yet. Tell me, it was you who attempted to frame Boyette?"
"Y—No. It wasn't! I swear it. I didn't think I'd get in no trouble for this. He told me I would be taken care of. I did this for him, for love, and now he is—"
Whatever he was, Ackerman didn't find out. A second gunshot rang through the night, this time piercing him in the back, above his heart.
He could just register Betsy screaming as he fell sideways off her. And as he slipped into unconsciousness, the face of Reverend Martin Vervain swam in front of his face.
#
"You were right," said King, looking down at his old friend. "It was Vervain all along. He came quietly, of course, once we stormed your house. He definitely wanted the credit this time." He patted Ackerman on the shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, my friend. We were following the maid, my suspect, you understand. Who knew it was a diversion?" King gave a mirthless laugh. "You knew, probably. But he fooled us all, hiding under your bed like that. Really, you should have headed straight home and not for the pub. Blasted cockiness on your part, I'm afraid." He saluted the casket as it was closed and whispered, "Rest in peace, Eugene."
___
Your final opportunity is here! Comment for a chance to win some a calligraphy set! (US only)
"Blasted fools better not interfere," he said. One quick look around the room was now in order. The door to his flat was bolted. Check. The eastern window was open a crack. Check. All he had to do now was hide and wait.
With a chuckle he looked down at the dummy stuffed in his bed. If that didn't confuse his prey, then, well, perhaps he was finished. Ackerman toasted his nemesis and downed the last of the bottle.
As he blew out the lights, he heard a faint rustling noise coming from what he assumed was the window. This was it. Quietly as he could, Ackerman slipped between the wall and his bed.
The old window slid open with barely a creak, blowing in rain and cold air. There was a soft footfall on the window seat, then the creaking of floorboards.
Ackerman prepared his revolver.
Then someone laughed a laugh he had not been expecting to hear. It was a high laugh, much too high a laugh to belong to his man.
"Inspector Ackerman," said a familiar voice. "Please, don't get up."
"Betsy?" he asked. "But I thought… Surely it can't be—"
"Instead of drawing this out with much gloating, giving you the chance to escape, I might add—"
"It had to have been Vervain! He wouldn't touch the punch! Made the excuse that he couldn't drink alcohol. He was taking quinine for malaria, just as Miss Smithe was; that's how he knew about her. You can't be the X—"
A gunshot rang through the night, and feathers flew up in a cloud. Ackerman leapt from his hiding place and tackled the woman to the ground, wresting the pistol from her hands.
"Tell me," he said between ragged breaths as he pinned her hands to her sides, "tell me how and why, and I might let you live to see the gallows. Are you truly the X Murderer?" He could feel her glowering at him in the darkness, felt her body wriggle as his nails dug into her wrists. "You blasted, vile creature. You cost me my career, my wife, my life!"
"How's that?" she demanded.
“Tell me why Miss Prewitt? Mr. Keefes? Mr. and Mrs. Miller? Why Miss Smithe? Why? I had a theory," he interrupted her. "I had a theory, and the Chief thought it was ludicrous. It's the reason I suspected Vervain."
"Let me go, you—"
"A religious fanatic, on the loose, trying to convert the 'lost souls,' condemning the wicked to their 'rightful' damnation."
Betsy tried to break in, "I don't know what you're—"
"It all fit," said Ackerman. "Every last one of the X Murderer's victims were into witchcraft; and I suppose Miss Smithe, God rest her poor soul, will be found to have had such ties. But what would have been your motive? It makes no sense. No sense at all."
They were quiet for a moment. Or, at least, Ackerman was. Betsy continued to whimper and writhe.
"Well," he said at long last, "I suppose that's for the judge and jury to discover. Of course, if you cooperate, I might convince the judge to show some leniency."
"The girls!" Betsy said at once. "It was me who told them to dress as they did. Or, rather, their maids. I'm good friends with both. I dropped a few hints, and they took them."
"Then you laced the punch with poison."
"Yes, yes. But I didn't commit no other murders! I swear it, on my honor."
"On the honor of a woman who just attempted to murder an aging man in his bed?" Ackerman shook his head. "Never mind that, yet. Tell me, it was you who attempted to frame Boyette?"
"Y—No. It wasn't! I swear it. I didn't think I'd get in no trouble for this. He told me I would be taken care of. I did this for him, for love, and now he is—"
Whatever he was, Ackerman didn't find out. A second gunshot rang through the night, this time piercing him in the back, above his heart.
He could just register Betsy screaming as he fell sideways off her. And as he slipped into unconsciousness, the face of Reverend Martin Vervain swam in front of his face.
#
"You were right," said King, looking down at his old friend. "It was Vervain all along. He came quietly, of course, once we stormed your house. He definitely wanted the credit this time." He patted Ackerman on the shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, my friend. We were following the maid, my suspect, you understand. Who knew it was a diversion?" King gave a mirthless laugh. "You knew, probably. But he fooled us all, hiding under your bed like that. Really, you should have headed straight home and not for the pub. Blasted cockiness on your part, I'm afraid." He saluted the casket as it was closed and whispered, "Rest in peace, Eugene."
___
Your final opportunity is here! Comment for a chance to win some a calligraphy set! (US only)
Happy Halloween!
Happy Halloween, y'alls! Are you going to any parties? Dressing up? Trick-or-Treating? Huh? Huh? HUH!?!
...ahem.
If it's not raining, I plan to dress up in my green medieval-y dress. I also have a domino mask I could strap on, but it's molting :-/
And here, for your terror: a creep-tastical selfie of yours truly...
BOO!
...ahem.
If it's not raining, I plan to dress up in my green medieval-y dress. I also have a domino mask I could strap on, but it's molting :-/
And here, for your terror: a creep-tastical selfie of yours truly...
BOO!
October 30, 2014
As a Dog Returneth (a Serial): Part VI
"Unable to arrest?" scoffed Mrs. Dent, watching Ackerman's dim figure through the window. "Loophole in the law? What are people about these days, I ask. Honestly."
It was nearing ten o'clock, and everyone had gathered his coat and gloves. No one seemed to want to be the first to leave.
"He seemed like such a kind, decent man," Reverend Vervain said. "I don't believe he could have done such atrocious things."
"I hate to let the man go free, but the law's the law," King said. He shook his head ruefully. "I would like one last word with him before he leaves." The inspector hurried out of the room, through the drafty hall and out the front door.
"Ackerman!" he called out. "I want a word with you."
The man turned, a smile playing across his face. "Yes, Inspector?"
When he was in closer proximity, King lowered his voice. "I don't like this, Eugene; I don't like this one bit. I know what you're about."
Ackerman grinned. "Of course you do. Very clever to pick up on my hints—especially the Africa one."
King scowled. "I'd like to know why exactly we're doing this."
"Don't you see that if our man thought he'd gotten away with it, framing our dear Mr. Boyette, he'd go on his merry way, and we might never hear from him again? No, he must be provoked."
"Are you mad? Taking away his credit like that? That makes our man desperate, more dangerous."
"More dangerous than ever," Ackerman agreed. He reached into his coat pocket and offered King a piece of candy. "Sweet?"
"No. Well, if we're going to do this, we'd better do it properly." He looked around, then led Ackerman to his carriage. "When do you think he'll come after you?"
"Oh, our man's a daring fellow, and rather impatient at that. He'll act almost immediately."
King looked around, half-expecting the villain to leap out at them from the bushes. "I'll send around some of my men straight away."
One hand on the carriage door, the other on King's shoulder, Ackerman said, "No. That's exactly what you mustn't do."
"What? You don't mean to wait for this monster alone? The last thing we need is another murder on our hands. Yours would be a particularly low blow."
Ackerman smiled wryly. "It's got to be me. It's got to be me alone. I've waited too long and worked to hard to catch this rotten scoundrel."
"If this is about credit, you're being foolish."
"Good night, King." Ackerman removed his hand from his old colleague, stepped into his carriage and called for the driver to walk on.
As the carriage disappeared out of sight, Inspector King walked back towards the house. Whether it had been a cat or the wind, he couldn't be sure; but there was a soft rustling in the bushes nearby.
___
Don't forget to comment for a chance to win some a calligraphy set! (US only)
It was nearing ten o'clock, and everyone had gathered his coat and gloves. No one seemed to want to be the first to leave.
"He seemed like such a kind, decent man," Reverend Vervain said. "I don't believe he could have done such atrocious things."
"I hate to let the man go free, but the law's the law," King said. He shook his head ruefully. "I would like one last word with him before he leaves." The inspector hurried out of the room, through the drafty hall and out the front door.
"Ackerman!" he called out. "I want a word with you."
The man turned, a smile playing across his face. "Yes, Inspector?"
When he was in closer proximity, King lowered his voice. "I don't like this, Eugene; I don't like this one bit. I know what you're about."
Ackerman grinned. "Of course you do. Very clever to pick up on my hints—especially the Africa one."
King scowled. "I'd like to know why exactly we're doing this."
"Don't you see that if our man thought he'd gotten away with it, framing our dear Mr. Boyette, he'd go on his merry way, and we might never hear from him again? No, he must be provoked."
"Are you mad? Taking away his credit like that? That makes our man desperate, more dangerous."
"More dangerous than ever," Ackerman agreed. He reached into his coat pocket and offered King a piece of candy. "Sweet?"
"No. Well, if we're going to do this, we'd better do it properly." He looked around, then led Ackerman to his carriage. "When do you think he'll come after you?"
"Oh, our man's a daring fellow, and rather impatient at that. He'll act almost immediately."
King looked around, half-expecting the villain to leap out at them from the bushes. "I'll send around some of my men straight away."
One hand on the carriage door, the other on King's shoulder, Ackerman said, "No. That's exactly what you mustn't do."
"What? You don't mean to wait for this monster alone? The last thing we need is another murder on our hands. Yours would be a particularly low blow."
Ackerman smiled wryly. "It's got to be me. It's got to be me alone. I've waited too long and worked to hard to catch this rotten scoundrel."
"If this is about credit, you're being foolish."
"Good night, King." Ackerman removed his hand from his old colleague, stepped into his carriage and called for the driver to walk on.
As the carriage disappeared out of sight, Inspector King walked back towards the house. Whether it had been a cat or the wind, he couldn't be sure; but there was a soft rustling in the bushes nearby.
___
Don't forget to comment for a chance to win some a calligraphy set! (US only)
Jane Austen Fan (Austenite) Gift List
Christmas is now less than two months away. Here's a list of gift ideas for the Jane Austen fanatic in your life:
1. Jane Austen Tea - Jane Austen-themed bags of tea. Sounds scrummy! Starting at $14.95 from Bingley's Tea Limited (as of 9/11/14.)
2. The Complete Works of Jane Austen - Pretty self-explanatory. Hardback edition available from Barnes and Noble for $28.39 (as of 9/11/14.)
3. Jane Austen Note Cards - Not sure how many cards are included, but they depict different scenes from Austen's books (at least Pride and Prejudice.) $10.08 from Amazon (as of 9/11/14.)
4. The Pemberley Shoppe! Check out this site for all sorts of cool Jane Austen gifts.
1. Jane Austen Tea - Jane Austen-themed bags of tea. Sounds scrummy! Starting at $14.95 from Bingley's Tea Limited (as of 9/11/14.)
2. The Complete Works of Jane Austen - Pretty self-explanatory. Hardback edition available from Barnes and Noble for $28.39 (as of 9/11/14.)
3. Jane Austen Note Cards - Not sure how many cards are included, but they depict different scenes from Austen's books (at least Pride and Prejudice.) $10.08 from Amazon (as of 9/11/14.)
4. The Pemberley Shoppe! Check out this site for all sorts of cool Jane Austen gifts.
October 29, 2014
As a Dog Returneth (a Serial): Part V
All the interviews seemed to blend into one, and they all ended with the same question, in varying forms: Have you recently been to Africa?
About one quarter of the group said yes, including Mrs. Dent, Reverend Vervain, a frog named Gerald Overs, Mr. Boyette and, according to Reverend Vervain, the deceased Miss Smithe.
No one but Mr. Boyette and Miss Blyde seemed to have motive. Everyone else would have had means of slipping something into the punch, the undoubted source of the poison. Poison was the coroner's immediate ruling upon seeing the body.
Mr. Ackerman followed Inspector King into the large parlor where the suspects sat.
"It could be any number of poisons," King muttered.
"No," said Ackerman quietly. "Not any." He reached into his pocket and produced the bottle he had rescued earlier. "Quinine. A fast-acting poison that yields the same symptoms Miss Smithe experienced before her heart failed: paleness, sweating, fainting and fits. It comes together quite nicely, actually."
"Where did you get that bottle?"
"What? This? This is table salt." He handed the bottle over to King and frowned. "The bottle might have once contained quinine; one can not be certain. I merely found it lying by the piano; an interesting clue."
"'Clue?'" King asked. "So, you're saying this 'quonine' stuff in the punch was the one and only murder weapon?"
"'Quinine.' And in answer to your question, 'no and yes.' It was meant to look like the punch has been poisoned, which, in some respects is true. I'm sure that three glasses or more of that stuff would kill any of us."
"But nobody's died so far besides Miss Smithe," said King through gritted teeth.
"Precisely. Which, I think is a very good clue." Ackerman smiled at everyone's bewildered face. "You are perhaps unaware that Miss Smithe was being treated for malaria?"
There were more mutterings and exchanges of glances.
"Quinine," he continued, "is a poison used to treat cases of malaria, a disease—"
"Yes, yes; I'm quite aware of what malaria is. So, she took a dose of quinine at home, came here, drank the punch—"
"Which was laced with quinine."
"Right, that. So you're saying she unwittingly overdosed?"
Ackerman clapped his hands together. "Bravo, Inspector, bravo."
Instead of looking pleased at the praise, Inspector King looked ready to explode. "But how does this fit in with your theory of the X Murders?"
"'X Murders'?" said Miss Blyde. "That's the second time that's been mentioned this evening."
Mrs. Dent gasped. "You don't know? Why, this very house was home to the first X Murder, ten years ago to this day!”
There was a collective shudder.
Looking delighted, Mrs. Dent continued. "He always left his mark somewhere, an X, you know. And there was no rhyme or reason to his killings. No mobile operetta… No, that's not the word, it's—"
Ackerman stepped in. "Oh, there was a modus operandi: He never did the same murder twice, or so he thought. Sometimes it was strangling, sometimes it was stabbing, and, in this case, it was poisoning—though, he has done poisoning before, just not this fast-acting. No, what ties all the murders together is the X mark—"
"But, why, we could be dealing with a copycat!" said Mrs. Dent, deflating slightly.
"—And the Gray threads."
King narrowed his eyes. "Gray threads?"
"Yes, Inspector, you will remember that small strands of gray thread were found on the scene of each crime?"
The inspector looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "Yes. But that was never revealed to the public… until your blunder just now."
"Oh, I don't think it really matters any more. The murderer wore gray gloves. The murderer is standing in this very room. The murderer is…I, as a matter of fact."
___
Don't forget to comment for a chance to win some a calligraphy set! (US only)
About one quarter of the group said yes, including Mrs. Dent, Reverend Vervain, a frog named Gerald Overs, Mr. Boyette and, according to Reverend Vervain, the deceased Miss Smithe.
No one but Mr. Boyette and Miss Blyde seemed to have motive. Everyone else would have had means of slipping something into the punch, the undoubted source of the poison. Poison was the coroner's immediate ruling upon seeing the body.
Mr. Ackerman followed Inspector King into the large parlor where the suspects sat.
"It could be any number of poisons," King muttered.
"No," said Ackerman quietly. "Not any." He reached into his pocket and produced the bottle he had rescued earlier. "Quinine. A fast-acting poison that yields the same symptoms Miss Smithe experienced before her heart failed: paleness, sweating, fainting and fits. It comes together quite nicely, actually."
"Where did you get that bottle?"
"What? This? This is table salt." He handed the bottle over to King and frowned. "The bottle might have once contained quinine; one can not be certain. I merely found it lying by the piano; an interesting clue."
"'Clue?'" King asked. "So, you're saying this 'quonine' stuff in the punch was the one and only murder weapon?"
"'Quinine.' And in answer to your question, 'no and yes.' It was meant to look like the punch has been poisoned, which, in some respects is true. I'm sure that three glasses or more of that stuff would kill any of us."
"But nobody's died so far besides Miss Smithe," said King through gritted teeth.
"Precisely. Which, I think is a very good clue." Ackerman smiled at everyone's bewildered face. "You are perhaps unaware that Miss Smithe was being treated for malaria?"
There were more mutterings and exchanges of glances.
"Quinine," he continued, "is a poison used to treat cases of malaria, a disease—"
"Yes, yes; I'm quite aware of what malaria is. So, she took a dose of quinine at home, came here, drank the punch—"
"Which was laced with quinine."
"Right, that. So you're saying she unwittingly overdosed?"
Ackerman clapped his hands together. "Bravo, Inspector, bravo."
Instead of looking pleased at the praise, Inspector King looked ready to explode. "But how does this fit in with your theory of the X Murders?"
"'X Murders'?" said Miss Blyde. "That's the second time that's been mentioned this evening."
Mrs. Dent gasped. "You don't know? Why, this very house was home to the first X Murder, ten years ago to this day!”
There was a collective shudder.
Looking delighted, Mrs. Dent continued. "He always left his mark somewhere, an X, you know. And there was no rhyme or reason to his killings. No mobile operetta… No, that's not the word, it's—"
Ackerman stepped in. "Oh, there was a modus operandi: He never did the same murder twice, or so he thought. Sometimes it was strangling, sometimes it was stabbing, and, in this case, it was poisoning—though, he has done poisoning before, just not this fast-acting. No, what ties all the murders together is the X mark—"
"But, why, we could be dealing with a copycat!" said Mrs. Dent, deflating slightly.
"—And the Gray threads."
King narrowed his eyes. "Gray threads?"
"Yes, Inspector, you will remember that small strands of gray thread were found on the scene of each crime?"
The inspector looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "Yes. But that was never revealed to the public… until your blunder just now."
"Oh, I don't think it really matters any more. The murderer wore gray gloves. The murderer is standing in this very room. The murderer is…I, as a matter of fact."
___
Don't forget to comment for a chance to win some a calligraphy set! (US only)
