Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Yet it continues...

"Ahhh," Basil unstoppered his mouth of his pipe (which had long since gone out) to pronounce,
"My later incarnation of Peter Cushing had several run ins with that colonial fellow, as Sherlock and again in Return of the Cybernauts with Diana Rigg." Here Basil gazed into the middle distance in raptuous remembrance of Diana.
"Colonial, my dear Sherlock?" Mr Gorby inquired mildly, having removed his hat on his entrance he now tossed it towards the hatstand behind him.
"Oh,...yes. Your Queensland Banana Bender lot did away with the Legislative Council in Qld Parliament today in 1922. Ever so slightly not quite cricket."
Turning to Margaret, Mr Gorby finally answered her query,
"No, I'm sorry to say I've had no word of him for many a year, now. It equally pains me to inform you I shall not be joining your group as I'm a Red Herring slipped in by the writer (who's run out of Granny Smith apples as inspiration) also, I'm here to look meaningfully at Alleyn and question him on Arthur Desmond."
Startled, Alleyn raised his eyebrows and repeated,
"Arthur Desmond?  The Kiwi trouble maker?"
"Come, now, Alleyn, surely you're aware that The Bulletin published Desmond's Song of Te Kooti today in 1889?"
Alleyn shrugged, replying, "I find it more thrilling to my policeman's soul that the first trams in London began gracing Bayswater for a mile on this day in 1861,"
Poirot minced forward in his perfectly shining shoes and glared at the two antagonists,
"Mon Dieu, next you will accuse moi of being the ringleader in 1670 claiming Canadian Lake Erie for France! Faire attention, mes amis, for there is a cunning plan at work here to distract us from our goal. Non, not the work of our apple-less writer, it is far too clever for her."
Margaret interjected with,
"Well, I'm only here to track down Rupert but of course I'll lend a hand, as it were," earning an icy glare from Hercule.
"There is nothing more to be gained from this abode, we must go forth and seek our answers out there," Poirot pointed to the front door to emphasise the last words as he gathered his hat, gloves and cane from the hall stand.
A flurry of movement saw them all exiting the house just as a passing charabanc caught Margaret's eye.
"Oh, hello!" she enthusiastically waved to the driver and girls, the latter who were vitually hanging from the open windows of the vehicle.
"Rupert?" Foyle asked, squinting at the rapidly retreating motor bus.
"No, dear Alistair Sim, Miss Fritton 1.0. He's a favourite of Brian, you know," Dame Rutherford bragged.

2 comments:

Brian Hughes said...

I still reckon Peter Cushing was the best Dr. Who ever.

Jayne said...

He doesn't do justice to the handcuffs and chains :P

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