“I am much distracted,” Violet Crepuscular confides in her readers, “by police officers digging up my back garden. I am sure I haven’t buried any bodies there! But I must proceed to Chapter CCCV of my epic romance, Oy, Rodney.”
It seems the editors of Upholstery World have gotten wind of Lady Margo Cargo’s handsomely upholstered wooden leg, the only one of its kind in England, and sent a reporter to interview her. He arrives at her luxurious country house just as she is about to serve tea to her two fiances, Lord Jeremy Coldsore and his friend, the American adventurer, Willis Twombley. She thinks they are the same person. When she sees them together, she think she needs new glasses.
“Madam, my name is Archibald Cruxley and I am a reporter for Upholstery World–” But Twombley interrupts him.
“Well dog my cats–a reporter! You must be here to ask me about my famous shootout with the Plankton Kid!”
“Er, really, sir, I’m only here to interview–”
“I know, I know–it’s hard to believe!” cries Twombley. He digs into his back pocket. “But here’s a picture to prove it!”
Everyone stares fascinatedly at the array of plankton. “All them little critters–that’s why he was called the Plankton Kid,” explains Twombley. “He had all of Dodge City eatin’ out of his hand, till I came along and plugged him.”
“What was he doing with all that plankton?” wonders Lady Margo.
“Don’tchu fret yore pretty little head about that, honey! It was sort of a callin’ card–every time he shot someone, the Plankton Kid used to stuff some plankton up his nose.”
“I say!” Lord Jeremy explains. “Wasn’t that dashed disrespectful to the dead?”
“Not the victim’s nose. His own nose–he stuffed it up his own nose,” Twombley elucidates.
Ms. Crepuscular breaks in with some harsh words for the police, who have just uprooted her begonias.
