A scream ran trough the Huffington mansion. It came out of the library, turned the corner into the dinning room, and hit the ears of everyone inside.
The maid came out to inform the head of the house, Lord Huffington that Dr. John Smithson was lying dead in the library. She was sobbing as she said this, and was wiping her eyes with her glove that she had removed from her hand. Lady Huffington took her into the kitchen.
“Well what in boody hell is going on?!” screamed Sir Sean McDuff, coming in with his pipe.
“Th-the d-d-docter hasss b-been m-m-murrrderred.” Said Mrs. Smithson.
“Oh, my dear! I’m so sorry!” said Sir Sean McDuff running to Mrs. Smithson’s side.
“Well, lets all be calm here.” Said Lord Huffington coming into the room after seeing the body. “It seems as though he was stabbed with his cane. We will call the detective right away!” Mrs. Smithson was sobbing now.
“But you all seem so calm!” she screamed. “How can you be this way?! My husband has been murdered and all you’re doing is sitting around smoking pipes! I bet one of you killed the doctor, and once I find out who that is I’ll do the same to you!” It seemed as though she was losing her voice from the screaming.
Lord Huffington walked to the window. “Madam I do feel for you, but this is all I can do right now.” he said.
“Well, maybe we should start by-” Madam Curitue was cut off by a doorbell.
“That must be the detective!” cried Sir McDuff.
Lord Huffington ran to the door.
“Hello! I’m so glad you could come. The death has grabbed many by suprize, but I new the best thing to do was call you!”
“I’m sure you did,” said the detective, looking around.
Lord Huffington had a twisted look, watching the detective look around. “Would you like to meet the suspects, the guests at my party?”
“Yes, that would be good,” said the detective.
Lord Huffington lead the detective into the dinning room, where everyone seemed to be in their own little place. The only person that was the slightest bit emotional was Mrs. Smithson. She was a pool of tears, and she was mumbling something that seemed like words.
“I shall listen to all of your stories to find which one of you-and I know is one of you- is guilty,” said the detective. He walked over to Madam Curitue. “I will start with you.”
“Well, I knew the victim,” said Madam Curitue. “Yes I had gone to parties that he did, and I was aquainted, but I did not know him well enough to want to kill him.” Madam Curitue lit a cigarette. “I think that maybe there is more,” said the detevtive, writing something down on his pad. “No, nothing. There is no evidence of anything more, and if there is no evidence, it is not true.”
He looked at her, trying to find some source of a lie, but couldn’t. “You talk as if you are lying, my dear. There is an fact evidence to you having a larger relationship with Dr. Smithson then you lead to believe.” The detective pulled out a form from his briefcase.
“It says here that you went to Egypt with the doctor, but he told his wife that he was seeing a client in Alexandria,” said the detective. “And you only went to Luxor.”
