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“I read the first line of the letter. ’Catastrophe, Basil of Baker Street! I require your presence, and yours alone, at once! These artifacts have graced my household for generations! The very honour of my revered name is at stake!’”
“Pfft. Hysterical overreaction. This is merely a commonplace little burglary. I recognise the signs.” Basil’s face showed only annoyance. “And out at his country home? This is surely a matter for the local police. I am not on retainer to look for lost plate or jewelry in the countryside, Dawson – not while dangerous crime runs rampant in London.”
I looked at the coat-of-arms atop the letter, which featured an enormous and elaborate letter T surrounded by wreaths of baroque décor. “Even I can deduce that this letter-writer is a pompous fellow. Listen to this, Basil. ‘Money is no object’ – another aristocrat who thinks he can buy your attentions. ‘Surely none of your current clients are as renowned nor as amazing as I.’” I snorted in derision, and my voice took on the unctuous tones that the words in the letter commanded. ‘My home is the finest on the River, and your agency would acquire a good deal of prestige from your association with it.” I had to stop reading for a moment because Basil was laughing so hard; I joined him.
“Oh dear Providence, what a windbag.” Basil righted himself, taking deep breaths to regain composure. “I am very sure, Dawson, that this fellow’s ‘burglary’ consists of a maid moving the objects whilst dusting, or he himself losing the items down the back of his clothes-press.”
“Agreed. The country police should handle this one. Or he could simply ask his friends to come over to his home and help him look for the deuced things. Oh, and he repeats how very rich and respectable he is.” I looked up and grinned at my still-chuckling friend. “Should I tell this unfortunate that you have a medal from Her Majesty on your mantelpiece?”
“And break his heart?” Again we laughed long and hard. “No, Dawson, a simple rejection should cover this one. You do have a delicate way with words for sensitive clients – and non-clients.”
I nodded, and pulled down the stationery that bore the emblem of our agency - our names and “Consulting Detectives” in a simple, elegant print. I inked the quill and began the diplomatic address.
Dear Mr. Toad: