"...This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent."-- John 6:29
“Oh look, Mr. Christie,” said Mrs. Stringer from the other side of the dinner table. “They’ve made a game out of us.”
“A game?” Christie looked up from his spaghetti and slurped a noodle quickly into his mouth, splattering his nose with sauce in doing so. “What kind of game?” Christie obviously had a snoot full of more than tomato sauce.
“Why, a boardgame, of course.”
“A boardgame? Like Chess, you mean.”
“Yes, like Chess, only different.”
“It has cards.”
Mr. Christie soaked in the information that Mrs. Stringer had given him. It was apparent that he was having problems with his mental digestion. “If it has cards,” he stated, “then it must be a card game.” He took a sip of wine.
“No, Mr. Christie. It’s definitely a boardgame, but with cards.”
“Hello Christie, Mrs. Stringer. How’s the dinner? Have you heard about the game?” Mr. Marple pulled sat down and poured himself a generous portion of wine.
“I was just telling Mr. Christie about it. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Not so wonderful, I expect.” Mr. Marpel gave his opinion. “Did you see all the cards?”
“Sounds like a stupid game already.” Christie mumbled. “What’s on the silly cards, anyway?”
“Why, Christie,” Marpel seemed agitated. “They’re clues, of course.”
“Clues? What clues?” Mrs. Watson chimed in from nearby. “May I join you?”
“Please do, dear. It’s awful being the only woman here with these two.”
“You were saying about clues? I should know clues. After all, my husband is the Mr. Watson of…”
Marpel waved his hand as if to wave away the rest of what she was going to say. “Yes, yes…we all know who your husband is. You’ve gotten many miles from his name, to be sure.”
Mrs. Watson huffed. “And of course, you being a Marpel hasn’t gotten you anywhere, I suppose.”
“Of course it has. The same as the rest of you. Don’t be ridiculous. I simply don’t go bandying about my aunt’s name just for the attention.”
“Attention! Attention!” Mrs. Stringer said. “I love attention!” She smiled at her own joke.
“What about the bloody clues?” Shouted Christie! “Someone said something about the clues! Where are the clues!”
“Oh hush, you lush.” Said Mrs. Watson. “Oh…that rhymed!” She and Mrs. Stringer both giggled. “More champagne dear?” More giggles.
Marpel sighed in exasperation. “The cards are clues, you see. You do see don’t you? There are many, many clues and the players match them up, you see.”
“Why do we need so many clues? And look,” Mrs. Watson said. “There are fingerprints and footprints and spots.” She paused, thoughtful. “What are spots, I wonder? And how do you make footprints on a ship on the water?”
“Spots are undoubtedly blood spots!” Christie spoke rather loudly.
“Blood, surely.” Said Marpel. “But possibly mud or food or other identifiable evidence. Criminals always leave something behind.”
“How very clever!” Mrs. Stringer seemed genuinely surprised. “You sound just a bit like my husband on one of his silly train mysteries.”
“Not so clever.” Said Christie. “Boring, really.” He was in his cups, now. “Even old Watson doesn’t need that many clues. Hades! Even my own wife doesn’t need that many clues! Har har har!” With the last ‘har’ Mr. Christie fell splat on the floor, unconscious from liquor.
The three others leaned over to look at him, none making any effort to assist. “Well,” said Mrs. Watson. “At least we know he didn’t do it!”
They all laughed until they were quite sore-cheeked.
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Stringer. “Why do you think they need so many clues. And why are we only allowed in the dining room, the bar, the pool and deck? What if I want to go dancing? Or use the powder room?”
“Where exactly do you think the pool is located?” asked Mrs. Watson. “I don’t remember a pool on the steamer last time I was here. I think I would like a swim. Perhaps that’s how we leave footprints: by walking from the pool with wet feet.”
“There’s no pool on this paddle steamer.” Marpel said. “And furthermore, it looks as if we are all suspects in this game. Outrageous!”
“No pool? Well, I declare!” declared Mrs. Watson.
“I don’t think I want to play this game.” Mrs. Stringer said.
“And from the looks of it,” said Mr. Marpel, “neither will anyone else.”
- Last edited Tue Jul 7, 2009 4:35 am (Total Number of Edits: 1)
- Posted Mon Jul 6, 2009 5:20 am