Clearing up after visitors the previous evening, the Lady of the House stepped into the Shower Room and there before her, lying prone, was A Body…… clearly dead. Very dead. Startled she stepped forward to investigate further. Gently touching the body to make sure it WAS indeed dead….. oh yes….. a small very dead vole.
How did it come to *be* there? The window is sealed, no other obvious entrance apart from the door from The Conservatory which was tightly shut. Perhaps it was left there by one of the guests the previous night – eager to dispose of The Body and place blame elsewhere? Who could it be? The retired Physician? The Forester? The Local Historian? The Teacher?? Or has Fitzgerald (aka Fitzi-cat) been masquerading all this time as a sick kitty when in fact he has been stealthily working his way through the small mammal population of Graemsay? But clever feline that he is, his furry paws could not have closed the Shower Room door so firmly – he *must* have had an accomplice.
Clearly there is a need for A Great Detective….. who should one call upon in such circumstances? Miss Marple? Sherlock Holmes (oh no, not that horrid pipe)?, Poirot (too fastidious), Inspector Morse? Inspector Barnaby (not enough bodies)?