The Case of the Greengrocers' Apostrophe's
“Yes, Mr. Deane”, he said, his bow tie wabbling beneath his mutton-chops, dewlaps, and flews. “Those ‘in the know’ were limited to a select few: you, Harry, and I. But, as you may know, three can keep a secret only if two of them are dead. And the total is still wrong by one!” He produced, like a stage-magician, an enormous horse-pistol.
When the ringing had stopped in my ears, I stood and dropped my revolver into my coat pocket, without replacing the spent cartridges. I next stepped to the door, placed my grey Homburg topper on my bonce, and reached for the door-latch.
Then I turned back and, with both feeling and velocity, addressed my toe-cap several times to the back of his head. “It’s you, Harry, and me, you pitiable solecist. You, Harry, and me!”
Thus ended The Case of the Greengrocers’ Apostrophe’s.
Next: The Case of the Overextended Metaphor