So Arthur just waited there in his little office with the glass panelled door sign written with ‘Arthur Pendragon Private detective’. A knock came at that door.
“Come in,” he called.
A woman entered.
“How do you do,” he said.
“How do you do,” replied the woman.
“Can I help you?”
“Can you help I?”
Arthur tried to bite his tongue, starting to steam, “I am sorry Madam but when I ask you a question I want you to answer it but not with my own question.”
“…not with my own question,” repeated the woman.
“It’s you isn’t it Fawh? You’re pretending to be a female client aren’t you?”
“You’re getting angry,” sang Fawh.
“How do you know?”
“You’re shortening your words.”
“That’s beside the point, why are you pretending to be a female client?”
“‘Cause I’m bored.”
“Make me a cup of tea then to say sorry for winding me up.”
“Can’t I just say sorry?”
“Sorry.”
“Yes.”
“No, I meant sorry you just cannot say sorry.”
“Pretty sorry?”
“Just make the tea.”
Fawh went out to make the tea.
YOU ARE READING
The Detective One
Sci-FiThe Fifth book in the Arth Series. Arthur and the rest are cooped up in the cowboy/detective dimension. Mr. White-not-Black has been murdered and they must find the culprit. Yes it is supposed to be funny.
