WackyMeetsPractical wrote:I was thinking The Unreveal.
narrativedilettante wrote:I thought the first Echo was connected to Holmes, not Poirot, from Mr. A's comment about the character whose post led us to the Echo being the one the Echo is relevant to.
YouHaveFailedUs wrote:UNWILLING SUSPENSION IS INDEED STRONG ENOUGH TO WORK.
Adell wrote:WackyMeetsPractical wrote:I was thinking The Unreveal.
I think that fits pretty well with the first echo. Crazy prepared works too, but the unreveal really seems like the joke of that particular echo.
"You wanted to see me?" A rather proper man asked as he walked into the room.
It was a rather large room with no furniture and a slightly low ceiling. The only light came in from through the windows on the east side of the room, with the curtains removed to bring in maximum light. The room only had one door going in and out. As the man entered, he approached another man who had placed himself on the far end of the room. This other man was the private detective, Hercule Poirot.
"What am I stepping in?" The first man asked, lifting his foot to examine. The bottom of his boot, normally black, was now covered in a white liquid. "Is that paint?"
"Indeed it is, Hastings." The detective answered. "Just layed down a fresh coat myself."
"Could you have warned me?" Hastings asked Poirot.
"There would've been no point in that." Poirot answered. "Now try to get to me without further disturbing the floor."
Hastings looked around him, searching for a dry path, but as far as he can see, the entire floor was covered in wet white paint, and Poirot was cornered in on the other side of the room.
"I cannot." Hastings answered. "It isn't possible."
"It would appear so." Poirot answered. "But it was done. Our victim was a painter. He was painting the floor in this very room. He was in a situation that I find myself in now. And he was stabbed in the back and killed. Yet the floor was not disturbed. And according to the timeline we've created based on our interviews with all of the residents and guests here, there simply wasn't enough time for the paint to dry since our victim finished painting the floor, and the moment his body was discovered. Our murderer, who ever it may be, some how managed to get in and out of this room, murder our painter, and managed not to leave a single trace. But how can he move across this floor without leaving a footprint or any mark at all?"
"Maybe," Hastings began to postulate, "He walked across this floor, and murdered the painter. But before he left, he put down a fresh coat as he walked out, so that it looked like it hadn't been disturbed."
"I thought of that." Poirot answered. "But would our murderer take the time to paint the entire floor of the room after committing a murder?"
"He doesn't have to paint the whole floor." Hastings replied. "Just the part he walked over. Just a very narrow path."
"You saw the floor just as I did shortly after the murder was committed." Poirot told him. "The floor had a nice even coat. Very professionally done. Had our murderer repainted his path, that path would've dried differently than the rest of the floor. It would've been obvious what had happened."
"I see your point." Hastings told him. "But I see no concievable way a murderer could've gone in and out of this room. Perhaps the painter killed himself?"
"You're suggesting that our painter, after laying down a fresh coat of paint onto this floor, just got so depressed that he pulled out a dagger and stabbed himself in the back?" Poirot asked him.
"No, I guess not." Hastings answered. "But this is impossible. There's just no way."
"But there must be." Poirot insisted. "It happened."
"Well, I can't think about it right now." Hastings told him. "I need to get out of this paint and change my shoes."
As Hastings left, Poirot pulled out an old photo from his coat pocket.
"Old friend, you were always good at cases like these." The detective spoke to the picture. "Can something like this be truly impossible? Is there someway a murderer can get in and out of this room without touching the floor?"
And then he stood in silence, staring at the photo, as if waiting for a response. And he must've gotten it, for a few moments later, he replied.
"That's it! I think I've got it. Thank you Monsier." He replaced the photo back into his pocket and headed out to prepare his trap.
Several hours later, Poirot was found outside of the manor in which the murder had been commtted. He was standing over by the woods that neighbored the house. The ground beside him was covered in brambles and leaves.
Several of the residents were now filing out of the house to join him.
"What is the meaning of this?" The elderly woman who owned the house asked the detective. "Why did you call us all out here?"
"Indeed, wouldn't it be better to do this inside?" A rather snobbish looking man asked.
"Perhaps, but there is something I'd like you all to see." Poirot answered, then he gestured. "I'd like you all to stand over here."
The residents all did as they were instructed, each one being guided into a very specific spot by the detective.
"What is the point of all this?" Another man with a fancy monocle had asked.
"You'll see in a moment." The detective answered.
"Did you find out who the murderer was?" A young woman with a feather boa asked.
"Not quite, but I'm about to." Poirot answered. "Now you're all standing where you're all supposed to?"
"Indeed we are." The elderly woman shouted. "Can we just begin this? Show us what you want to show us!"
"Alright!" Poirot answered. As he did, he reached for a nearby ax and chopped a piece of rope that was hidden nearby. As soon as he had done though, it had triggered four snare traps, each one lifting up one of the four suspects by one foot, lifting them all a foot above the ground and hanging upside down.
"Whooooooaaaa!" They shouted.
The elderly woman shrieked frantically, struggling to keep her skirt from falling down. The man with the monocle fainted as his monocale hit the dirt beneath him. The young woman with the feather boa was crying. The snobby man simply looked at the detective with a frown.
"Why did you just do this?" He asked angrily.
"I'm finding the murderer." Poirot answered. "You see, I knew the murderer had to have been able to get in and out of a room all without touching the floor. I didn't know how anyone can do that, but then I remembered something I had found in a trash bin earlier today." Poirot pulled out an old newspaper article that had been clipped from a newspaper. "GRAVITY DEFYING STUNTMAN CLIMBS SIDE OF SKYSCRAPER." Poirot read. "This unnamed man was supposed to be in town this weekend to perform this amazing stunt. It involves using suction cups to scale a building. It's a very difficult trick, one that requires many hours of practice, patience, and the ability to withstand heights. I suspected that the only person who could have committed this murder was this very man who could defy gravity and walk across a ceiling without breaking a sweat. And I believed that that man was one of you. But I didn't know who, though I knew it must be the one who could be suspended upside down without freaking out. And I believe I just found that man."
Mr. Poirot undid another rope and released the suspects. As he did though, he rushed over to the snobby man as he attempted to one. He tackled him down and tied his hands together with another piece of rope.
"You are under arrest for the murder of an innocent painter." Poirot declared.
Later, as the police were taking the man away, Poirot looked at his old photograph again. "We did it, old friend. Just like old times."
I believe that it's working. Okay.
Here are the recitals of Hercule Poirot and my investigation of the matter of, uh, Lionel, the cat of Claire Widdicombe.
I must clarify that I am really Hercule Poirot. This is not a joke, I am not a bit crazy. I was brought here on the number 12 [?]... I don't know how. I am going by the fake name Reynald Saint-Jerome, and I am installed in the house of Mme. claire widdicombe for the time being, on the chance that [too fast to understand but probably irrelevant]. But that is not important.
The cat Lionel died in the middle of the night, and I am trying to learn the cause. Why I am doing this, I cannot say. In truth, I found this cat very [asportable?], and I am sure that it found me to be the same. Maybe I'm doing it for Mme. Widdicombe out of gratitude, but, really, there are problems with Mme. She hides in her filth [??] and [?] with the bourgeois, but she is [??], plus one time she tried make a proposition, that Hercule Poirot refused to oblige, right away.
No, I believe that I am investigating the cat's death because I am intrigued by the mystery and the thrill of the chase. I also see and [??...] because [?? does not sound like French]. I have a feeling that there is something bad hidden in this house. And Hercule Poirot refuses to [? leave it be?].
The cat had been generally living in good health, perhaps too good, and died all of a sudden in the night, resting in the salon. He visited his room after me, generally not during the night. He slept [?], in the depths of the house. We must demand to understand the death of Lionel: why was he removed in the middle of the night, while only resting on the sofa in the salon? Right now, the sofa-- My God! The sofa was moved!
Recording (in english) wrote:Poirot (P): Aha!
Servant (S): Monsieur Jerome, what are you doing?
P: Investigating. This couch was moved six inches to hide a <???>.
P: Se magnifique--
S: That is interesting, I've met--
P: Now, you know why Lionel was up in the middle of the night, away from his bed? He was playing a game, as you English say, "cat and mouse".
S: What of it? Seems a trifle--
P: Mademoiselle <???>, only a fool would make facts of a mystery into a trifle. No. Something more here. We have just to be *bump noise* smart enough to see it. And bold enough to look.
*sounds of the furniture being moved*
S: You'll break the wall boards! Madame Widdecombe! *going away* Madame Widdecombe!
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