Postcard from the Edge

Lt. Argyle found a museum postcard from the Paris Louvre in Professor Taasche's in-basket. There was a Lyons postmark from a week ago and an inscription which read, "Je ne le trouve pas." -M

It all Fits

"What do you think about that, boss? The guy just doesn't appreciate a sense of humor. He ran off like a scared rabbit." Brummer scratched his chin fiercely.
I asked him what he thought of Franklin as a suspect. "As a suspect, I like him," Brummer said. "He would look very nice on the witness stand, if he would take the stand of course, and he would provide evasive, equivocal answers which would be amusing for the jury." Brummer looked at me with deep concentration.
"Yeah," I said. "Rabbit trails leading everywhere and nowhere. I don't like him either."
Brummer said, "I like him for something else, I don't know what. I don't think he killed Taasche, but he's covering something else up."
"That probably is a good evaluation. I don't even know why I am here Brummer. You think like a well oiled machine."
"Lt. Argyle, if you weren't here I would think like a rusty wheel, and that's a fact, sir."

Kings of Comedy

“Very smart, Brummer. I wish that you had been the culprit: then we might not have a dead body lying around for us to deal with,” I remarked dryly.
“That you would not, sir, I assure you. I would have killed the Professor somewhere else, and not bothered with the theatrical set-up which our killer found necessary.”
Franklin was looking unnerved and as though he might be moving into a medical crisis. I asked him, “Do you have a blood-pressure problem, Mr. Franklin?”
His face was red as he said, “No, but I will if you people don’t let me get to my meeting.”
Officer Brummer put a hand onto Mr. Franklin’s elbow, gripping him firmly. “When you say, ‘You people’ are you intending the sort of meaning that one might use when he says he can’t get anything out of the White House now that you people have taken charge?”
I tried to calm Franklin down by telling him that Officer Brummer was sensitive about his ethnic heritage and didn’t cotton on to having slurs made about his familial heritage.
“What sort of ethnic heritage is that?” Franklin shouted. “Near as I can tell both of you are descended from demented comedians. You are supposed to work for the city and all you do is play word games.”
“Do you hear that, Brummer?” I remarked. “Mr. Franklin has learned our secret. Now we will have to clap him in irons and hold him incommunicado until we can administer the mind-sweep.”
Brummer looked very devout, bowed slighty and intoned, “Yes, My Master.”
Franklin paled, then bolted.

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