so i wrote a story for an idea that just popped into my head.
It's called "murdrer" because i was sloppy when i typed it. it starts out in my pre-writing points, but then it degenerated into mostly dialogue, and by the end it was basically all regular. it's not about kinky stuff, it's about murder. think of like a sherlock holmes/downton abbey setting. all that stuff.
and it's ok if you don't like it/think it's confusing/don't care about it. Totally fine. i wrote it to get the idea out of my head, and i felt like sharing, but didn't feel like doing the rewrites and replans that i usually try to do.
anyway
murdrer
fancy club
side of the bar, group talking about forming a murder club. hunt down riff raff in the alleys. easy as pie. joking around
professor character overhears, sits down among them. "overheard you last week, chums. seems like you're getting into a messy business, I'd say."
"So what?" gets defensive, professor is calming and settles them down.
"Just a bit of advice. With the right planning and insight, you can see a scenario where just the tiniest puff of breath can power your mechanations to their unstoppable end. Mechanations that play out invisibly to all, providing no clues as to what that grim end will be.
take for instance a point at that ball you threw last Saturday. I was browsing your very excellent display of Indian jewelry when one tiara caught my eye. I mentioned it to your wife, and pointed out that one of the stones, the...ruby on the left edge if I'm not mistaken, seemed to have slight occlusion I'd not noticed in the past. I mention it to your wife, and suggested that she take it to her jeweler, and have him take a look.
the next day a had a cable from her telling me that the entire item was fake. Someone had planted a amazing forgery that was absolutely worthless. My reply back was fairly simple, just a note about how the full piece wasn't worth that substantial of your fortune, but would easily fund a small apartment or something in one of the lower parts of town for a year or so. Perhaps this forgery was chosen to silently pay for something outside of the accounting?
I went along on my day, assured that I had given all the advice that I felt I could. And now gentlemen, I suggest we finish our drinks now, before the constabulary arrive to arrest young Mr. Billiam.
"Arrest?"
Five to one odds on it, if you'd be willing to take it. If your wife were dumber, I'd have let those odds drop, but I think I know her well enough.
Well enough for what?
Well, someone replaced that tiara and had a wonderful facsimile produced to hide the theft. That discounts the servants, who would simply have taken it and run off. So someone of our status then. You're a reasonably upright man, and so you probably don't invite thieves to your parties, and in any case, none of those boys would filch something so small. This makes the under-board accounting theory best, making you the prime culprit.
Next, if you did do that, it would easily cover the costs of a, let-us-say "young female companion" in a decent if discrete manner. That could lead to scandal, and certainly your wife would take it hardest. Faced with these conclusions, it'd be quite likely that she'd rather end it permanently, rather than cope with what the papers would say about her day after day.
Poison would be the most likely, I suspect. Someplace out-of-the-way so she's not disturbed, the music room, perhaps? Then, a servant walks in, sees the results of the deed, and raises all the house. The authorities are there in a flash, and a full search of the house is taken to look for evidence. I'm sure that that hall closet by the rear door that the staff always insists needs to be kept locked will be burst open as well.
I have far less faith in your intelligence that I did in your wife, Sir. You've
been describing this hypothetical club for a few weeks, but your details changed last week. More precise, if you will. Yes, far less intelligent, but the thrill got to you, didn't it? Are they ears? Fingers? The papers don't put much detail in the murder of the poor, but even the worst detective will be able to identify your totems in that closet. The servants will sell you out as well, repeating your own words that "no one opens that cabinet" and "Mr. Billiam has the only key."
So, checking my watch puts us at 4:35, and me with an empty drink. I would call for another, but I suspect those footfalls on the stairway suggest that 5:1 was the correct odds for this wager.
Billiam looked over with a face full of crushing defeat. "Why?"
"Because you thought that your murder game was fun and flawless. You imagined yourself some new Ripper, terrorizing the city for years. In reality, you chose a game that although it can be played in an alley with a knife, it can be played far more effective with two simple sentences.
"Before they take you off for trial and speedy execution, as I suspect this will be my final meeting with you on this earth, I do want to inform you that that tiara was a fake when it was sold to you. I've known since I met you that you were a fool, and seeing that tiara on my first visit to one of your parties solidified that fact.
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