This is the 911 emergency dispatch, sir. What is your emergency?
Well, it's rather embarrassing really. It's my letter opener, you see. It's gone a bit wiggy.
Sir. What was that?
My letter opener, it's malfunctioning, you see.
Did you say your letter opener is malfunctioning, sir?
Yes, that's right.
Sir. This number is for emergencies only.
Quite right. The thing is, my letter opener went a bit dodgy and has gone off and killed quite a good little number of people, you see.
Is this a prank sir?
I suspect not. Unless horrific death is considered a good laugh in this part of the world.
Sir, did you say death, sir? Has somebody been killed?
Oh yes. Quite a lot of people, I should think.
Do you know how many?
Oh, most of them I suspect.
Sir. Have you murdered someone?
Me? Oh heavens, no!
So somebody else committed a murder?
Well... something. As I told you earlier, the letter opener is a bit off.
Sir, letter openers don't kill people, people kill people.
Normally, I would agree. But this is no ordinary letter opener, you see.
Oh really? Why don't you describe this murderous letter opener to me.
Oh, I should think it is about eighteen to twenty-four inches long, razor sharp and made out of rhinoceros horn.
So this eighteen inch razor sharp rhino horn is the murder weapon?
Undoubtedly.
Why don't you tell me what happened, sir.
Well, it all started when I visited Edmond Winslow-Carrington last month. We were in his study having a brandy, sharing our dot com investment nightmares, and then he opened up some of his business correspondence with an platinum rhino horn. It was simply elegant. I decided to procure one. So...
Did this Wilson Carrigan do it?
If by do it, you mean get murdered, then yes. And it is... it was Winslow-Carrington.
Who is the murderer, sir?
Good Lord woman! The letter opener killed them! Haven't you been listening?!
Not this again, sir. What you're telling me doesn't have anything to do with murder, sir.
That is only because, young lady, you didn't allow me to reach the point in my narrative that would ultimately shed some light on our current situation.
Hurry up then, sir. By definition, an emergency takes place quickly. And this one is dragging on. And on.
Oh yes, I see. I'll skip ahead to this very afternoon; shall I?
That would be fantastic, sir.
This afternoon our bridge club had assembled in the sitting room ostensibly to play cards, but in reality everyone had gathered to view my new prize possession. We were having a lovely Malbec and listening to Tchaikovsky.
Tchaikovsky? Wasn't he the cannon guy?
The Overture of 1812 has cannons in it, yes.
Are you almost to the murders, sir?
Yes, quite. Just as I had the letter opener brought out, the music swelled and the cannons boomed. The room exploded in a flurry of grey thunder, flashing horn and torrents of blood. So much blood.
What does that mean? Could you please use less figurative language, sir?
The rhinoceros gored and stomped and generally destroyed everything and everyone in sight. Possibly it wasn't a good idea to startle a live rhinoceros with the sounds of cannons, albeit recorded ones.
You had a live rhinoceros in your house?!
Young lady, it is illegal and socially reprehensible to cut the horn off of a rhinoceros. What am I? Some kind of monster?
Some kind of idiot if you ask me. How many ambulances should I send, sir?
I would think, a couple of custodians with a large basket would be sufficient.
The rhinoceros was drawn by my friend Michael Cronce. He is amazing. I wish I had a tenth of his artistic ability.
