One day, the two colleagues Bob and Mary had a particularly bad fight. She started getting personal.
"You, who cannot even get a girlfriend."
"I could if I wanted to."
"No way!"
"I could even get married within a month, if I wanted to."
"And who would want to have you?"
"Look, do you want to bet?"
"What?"
"I bet you 10 Euro that I will get married within a month."
"You are engaged?"
"No. I swear. I am the same lonely bachelor today as yesterday and as last year."
"So you do not know who you would marry?"
"There is a candidate, but she does not know she is one."
"And you want to convince this poor girl to marry you within a month?"
"Yes."
"Ok. 10 Euro you cannot."
They shook hands.
"So, do you want to marry me?"
"What?"
"I said, do you want to marry me?"
"I am the candidate?"
"Yes, you are."
"You do not even like me."
"Correct."
"I do not like you."
"True."
"I already have a boy friend, who lives with me."
"Yes, but does he want to marry you?"
"Well, he hasn't said so. Not yet. But one day...."
"You prefer waiting for him to perhaps propose to you one day, or do you want to marry me now. Within a month?"
Mary was taken back. She had never in her wildest dreams imagined anything looking like a romantic relationship with Bob. And yet, here he was proposing to her. He was still the same vile Bob, but he looked kind of cute, when he proposed.
"Here is the phone. Call your boyfriend, whatever his name is, and tell him that you will not come home tonight. You will move in to me."
"Tonight?"
"Of course. It would be very inappropriate to live with someone who is not your fiancé."
"But..."
"I dial the number for you."
"You must be joking."
"Hello. This is Bob – a colleague of Mary's. She has something she wants to tell you. One moment."
He handed her the phone.
"Look, honey. This is... I do not know how to say this... But I will not come home tonight.... No, not tomorrow either. I am going to get married... With another man... You do?... What's her name?... What!... You bastard!.. You utter bastard!... I do not want to ever see you again in my life."
"Well?"
"Yes... We can get married tomorrow, if you want to. The civil register will be open by then."
"Let's wait until the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I have a customer presentation, and you should really finish that report of yours."
She slapped him.
"Yes", she agreed. "Let's go for the day after tomorrow."
After the ceremony, he kissed her passionately. Then he held out his hand.
"My ten Euro, please."
She smiled and handed them over.
"It was absolutely worth it."
"It was, wasn't it. Do you want to play quit or double?"
"What do you mean?"
"I bet you 20 Euro that I can get a divorce within a month."
05 April 2010
04 April 2010
Solving a murder mystery - part one of one
"So mr. Blob was found in his study this morning with a knife through his back. Is that so?"
"Yes, monsieur Poirutte."
"As maid in this house you must have seen everyone who entered the house, right?"
"Yes sir."
"There are no other entrances but the main entrance?"
"There is a back door, but it is not only locked, but it is also jammed. No one has been able to open it for the last few years. Now, there is even a raspberry bush that blocks access to it."
"Good. We will verify that door later on. Now, I want a complete list of everyone who entered the house yesterday evening."
"Well, there was young master Ernest Blob. He came home to pick up his golf gear."
"Did he spend the night here?"
"No. He left as soon as he got his things."
"At what time was that?"
"It must have been... around half past eight I would say."
"In the evening? Why would he need his golf gear at night?"
"He often plays at a golf course in the Midlands. He usually spends the night there and goes out to take an early round."
"We will have to verify if anyone can give him an alibi there."
"He may also have spent the night with..."
"Yes...?"
"I hesitate to say so..."
"Speak out! You must not hide anything. It is vital for this investigation."
"Well, there is a young lady in Rutherford. He sometimes spends the night there."
"So he has a mistress!"
"Oh, she is not his mistress, sir! He weeds her garden to get some extra money."
"Ah, so no mistress."
"Yes, yes. There is a mistress as well, Agatha Sringosh. But she is currently with her father, the mining director, John Sringosh, at his estate in Virginia. They see each other only a few times a year."
"So Ernest is in love with the daughter of a mining director. Presumably mr. Sringosh would not like his daughter to marry a poor man. In other words Ernest has a motive to kill his own father - to inherit his wealth, so he can marry the woman he loves."
"I guess that would be possible, sir, but he did not kill mr Blob. I can assure you that."
"We cannot exclude any theory, no matter how ghastly I am afraid."
"But he could not possibly have killed mr Blob."
"Why do you say that? Are there facts you have not divulged? Speak out, girl!"
"You have not really given me the opportunity yet, sir. I'm sorry sir."
"Well, out with it! What other facts are there that may help us elucidate this hideous crime?"
"The reason Ernest could not have killed mr. Blob, sir, is that I did."
"You?"
"Yes. I got fed up with his contempt and his shouting, sir. I could not help it but I killed him in a fit of rage. Here is a second knife I used for stabbing him in the stomach before I pushed the big knife through his back. Here is the gun I used to shoot him in the mouth, to make double sure he was dead. And here is the empty bottle that held the poison I poured in his dinner last night, to make him drowsy enough for me to kill him."
"Well, I suppose those facts may help us in the investigation. I will add you to my list of suspects."
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, miss. I will call you again, if I need more information. You have been most helpful."
"Thank you sir. Good bye, sir."
...
Next chapter: The butler is innocent.
"Yes, monsieur Poirutte."
"As maid in this house you must have seen everyone who entered the house, right?"
"Yes sir."
"There are no other entrances but the main entrance?"
"There is a back door, but it is not only locked, but it is also jammed. No one has been able to open it for the last few years. Now, there is even a raspberry bush that blocks access to it."
"Good. We will verify that door later on. Now, I want a complete list of everyone who entered the house yesterday evening."
"Well, there was young master Ernest Blob. He came home to pick up his golf gear."
"Did he spend the night here?"
"No. He left as soon as he got his things."
"At what time was that?"
"It must have been... around half past eight I would say."
"In the evening? Why would he need his golf gear at night?"
"He often plays at a golf course in the Midlands. He usually spends the night there and goes out to take an early round."
"We will have to verify if anyone can give him an alibi there."
"He may also have spent the night with..."
"Yes...?"
"I hesitate to say so..."
"Speak out! You must not hide anything. It is vital for this investigation."
"Well, there is a young lady in Rutherford. He sometimes spends the night there."
"So he has a mistress!"
"Oh, she is not his mistress, sir! He weeds her garden to get some extra money."
"Ah, so no mistress."
"Yes, yes. There is a mistress as well, Agatha Sringosh. But she is currently with her father, the mining director, John Sringosh, at his estate in Virginia. They see each other only a few times a year."
"So Ernest is in love with the daughter of a mining director. Presumably mr. Sringosh would not like his daughter to marry a poor man. In other words Ernest has a motive to kill his own father - to inherit his wealth, so he can marry the woman he loves."
"I guess that would be possible, sir, but he did not kill mr Blob. I can assure you that."
"We cannot exclude any theory, no matter how ghastly I am afraid."
"But he could not possibly have killed mr Blob."
"Why do you say that? Are there facts you have not divulged? Speak out, girl!"
"You have not really given me the opportunity yet, sir. I'm sorry sir."
"Well, out with it! What other facts are there that may help us elucidate this hideous crime?"
"The reason Ernest could not have killed mr. Blob, sir, is that I did."
"You?"
"Yes. I got fed up with his contempt and his shouting, sir. I could not help it but I killed him in a fit of rage. Here is a second knife I used for stabbing him in the stomach before I pushed the big knife through his back. Here is the gun I used to shoot him in the mouth, to make double sure he was dead. And here is the empty bottle that held the poison I poured in his dinner last night, to make him drowsy enough for me to kill him."
"Well, I suppose those facts may help us in the investigation. I will add you to my list of suspects."
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, miss. I will call you again, if I need more information. You have been most helpful."
"Thank you sir. Good bye, sir."
...
Next chapter: The butler is innocent.
18 February 2010
Your child
Bob had never intended to remain a bachelor all his life. However, he enjoyed the liberty of a life on his own, so he postponed Hymen's bands as long as possible. He was now in his early forties and more and more felt like the time was ripe.
One morning, the doorbell rang. He slouched to the door barefoot, past the piles of unwashed t-shirts and posters of Che Guevara and Bob Dylan.
When he opened, there was a stunningly beautiful woman standing outside the door.
"Mr Bob?" she asked. "I am ms Mary from the social department. I come here with your child."
Behind her, there was a small boy in dirty clothes and dishevelled hair.
"There must be some mistake. I do not have any children."
"I did not say you knew him, but it is your child. Sometimes, mr Bob, men get children without knowing it, you know."
"I assure you that I keep track of such things. I may sleep around, but i know with whom, and that is not my son."
"And you always kept track of all women you slept with?"
"Ever since I was a teenager."
"I believe you, mr Bob. Nevertheless, this is your child. Do you remember that school trip to Paris, when you were fifteen? You did not keep as good track of things at the time, did you? One of the girls you met became pregnant."
"Even if that would be true, that was 25 years ago. That child is no older than five. No way that is my son."
"I'm four", whispered the child.
"I never said this was your son, mr Bob. Your son and his wife died in a car accident two weeks ago. This is your grandson. As only surviving relative, you get custody. Goodbye. Be nice to granddad, Eric."
One morning, the doorbell rang. He slouched to the door barefoot, past the piles of unwashed t-shirts and posters of Che Guevara and Bob Dylan.
When he opened, there was a stunningly beautiful woman standing outside the door.
"Mr Bob?" she asked. "I am ms Mary from the social department. I come here with your child."
Behind her, there was a small boy in dirty clothes and dishevelled hair.
"There must be some mistake. I do not have any children."
"I did not say you knew him, but it is your child. Sometimes, mr Bob, men get children without knowing it, you know."
"I assure you that I keep track of such things. I may sleep around, but i know with whom, and that is not my son."
"And you always kept track of all women you slept with?"
"Ever since I was a teenager."
"I believe you, mr Bob. Nevertheless, this is your child. Do you remember that school trip to Paris, when you were fifteen? You did not keep as good track of things at the time, did you? One of the girls you met became pregnant."
"Even if that would be true, that was 25 years ago. That child is no older than five. No way that is my son."
"I'm four", whispered the child.
"I never said this was your son, mr Bob. Your son and his wife died in a car accident two weeks ago. This is your grandson. As only surviving relative, you get custody. Goodbye. Be nice to granddad, Eric."
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