On Sunday, July 13, 2003 5:53 PM, Reef Fish wrote:
(snip)
> As I poted elsewhere, the identity of the CHICKEN SHIT poster
> is now KNOWN!  Through his own bragging to others on the LIST.

> Why don't we just let THAT chicken shit or any of the others
> who KNOW who this chicken shit is identify HIM ...

Mate!  With all due respects, this is starting to put me in mind of one of
Agatha Christie's, Hercule Poirot whodunnits!  :-)

"Damn it all, Poirot!  If you know who the blighter is, then just say so and
let me get back to me game of billiards."

Poirot turned his back to the blazing log fire and tapped his finger to his
nose.

"Ah!  I know that it could not have been you, Sir Algernon, for at the time
that the incident ocurred, you were upstairs rogering the second story maid,
were you not?"

"Damn your eyes, Poirot!  I should have you horse-whipped for that piece of
insolence, you ..."  Whatever else he might have said was interrupted by the
sound of Lady Cynthia's sherry glass shattering to the floor as she sprang
to her feet.

"Oh!  Algy!  How could you?"  She sobbed.

"Whereas you, Lady Cynthia"  Poirot continued relentlessly, "were down in
the cellar with the Honourable Percy Swinburne, were you not?"

Lady Cynthia collapsed back onto the sofa, a crimson flush spreading over
her cheeks as she gasped for air.

All eyes turned toward the Hon. Percy, seated in a comfortable chair to one
side of the fire.  A silky smirk spread across his face as he delicately
twirled one ends of his moustache with a well manicured finger.

"If, as you say, I was with Lady Cynthia at the time that the ... er!
'incident' occurred, then I could not possibly have committed the crime."
He gazed insolently around the room, fixing his eyes for a brief moment on
each of the twelve guests before addressing himself finally to the butler.
"Could I?"

"A pox on you, Percy."  Shouted Peeves, the butler, whose previous wooden
features showed emotion for the first time.   "You made me do it by
threatening  to tell Sir Algernon about my past and the fact that my limp
wasn't the result of an assegai wound incurred during a skirmish with the
Zulu army, but was, instead, because I was gradually stealing Miss
Margaret's pearls and hiding them in my shoe."

The constable previously stationed by the library doors drew out his
handcuffs and advanced toward Peeves who, like cornered animals sometimes
will, turned a menacing eye on Poirot.  Baring his teeth at the sleuth, he
raised one arm to shield his eyes and then threw his body through the closed
French windows onto the street and the spiked railings that waited below.

"I knew all along that it was the butler who did it."  Said young Bertie
who, throughout the entire proceedings, had munched cheerfully away on the
strategically placed plate of cucumber sandwiches.

"In fact it was not the butler at all"  Said an unperturbed Poirot.  "It was
.... "   :-)))

Strike