THE WODEHOUSE MURDER CASE “You know perfectly well I can’t divulge any details of what he—” Mephistopheles’ jaw dropped and he applauded again. “You tricked his name out of me! Just like Professor Wodehouse.” “Pongo?” Suzanne stepped away from him with a gasp. “So you are the murderer!” “He’s the murderer!” Pongo pointed dramatically at Mephistopheles. “You can’t believe a word he says—that’s what they do down there, they lie!” “And it’s sheer coincidence your father almost drank cyanide right after changing his will?” Suzanne looked as if she wanted to run from him, but she pluckily stood her ground. “Though that was rather a long shot.” “True,” Mephistopheles said. “That was one of your weaker plots, Monty.” “I’m aware of that,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m assuming you had to improvise because Pongo couldn’t convince his father to return to Tiffin Manor.” I pointed 32 - december 2012
dramatically myself, at Pongo. “What was it going to be? Tragic crash, broken neck, you and Suzanne survive?” A cold thought seized my guts. “Or was she doomed too? After all, you had no use for her once you’d gotten the will changed, did you?” “You make me sound as though I planned it from the first!” Pongo’s face wore the injured expression that had gotten him out of many a scrape in the past. “It started as a joke—I’d sought to summon Ix, the minor pox demon, to give my father a few dozen boils on his bum.” “What?” Gouty tried whacking Pongo over the head with his cane, but his son ducked out of reach. “Devil take you—er, no offense, Mephistopheles—and I’ve told you not to use words like ‘bum’! It’s common!” “Dash it, Pater,” Pongo protested, “how many times have you written me out of the will now? Me always having to wonder if you were going to pop off before you could write