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Venus Verticordia
- Thread starter Wragg
- Start date
A couple of wholly irrelevant footnotes 
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1) where Miss Brown was crucified would have been close to the grave
where Dr James Parkinson, discoverer of Parkinson's Disease, was buried fifty years earlier;
2) and 14 years later, in 1888, the body of Jack the Ripper's last victim, Mary Kelly,
was brought from Millers Yard nearby to the morgue attached to St Leonards church.
I can't find a picture of the graveyard in Victorian times,
nowadays it's grassed over and made into a garden.
The vicar must have been a very spiky Anglo-Catholic, saying Compline
-1) where Miss Brown was crucified would have been close to the grave
where Dr James Parkinson, discoverer of Parkinson's Disease, was buried fifty years earlier;
2) and 14 years later, in 1888, the body of Jack the Ripper's last victim, Mary Kelly,
was brought from Millers Yard nearby to the morgue attached to St Leonards church.
I can't find a picture of the graveyard in Victorian times,
nowadays it's grassed over and made into a garden.
The vicar must have been a very spiky Anglo-Catholic, saying Compline
A couple of wholly irrelevant footnotes
1) where Miss Brown was crucified would have been close to the grave
where Dr James Parkinson, discoverer of Parkinson's Disease, was buried fifty years earlier;
2) and 14 years later, in 1888, the body of Jack the Ripper's last victim, Mary Kelly,
was brought from Millers Yard nearby to the morgue attached to St Leonards church.
I can't find a picture of the graveyard in Victorian times,
nowadays it's grassed over and made into a garden.
The vicar must have been a very spiky Anglo-Catholic, saying Compline
'Spiky'..... interesting choice of words, Eul.
If, when watching a murder mystery on TV, I see a vicar, I switch it off and go and do something else.
It's always the vicar wot dunnit
RacingRodent
Consul
We must get to the bottom of this!!!But wait what if there is a butler as well?
Vicar trumps butler, any time!But wait what if there is a butler as well?
Oh no! Here is procedure strictly according to the CF Code of Criminal Procedure. So help me God! Amen!
Nice save
The plain speaking Inspector needs to watch his language in court.
You're Echidna me
Well we've already had a wombat.
Now all we need is a drop bear.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Another good day in court.
I'm a little puzzled by the manner of the foreman of the jury, though. While all the other members of the jury could be seen working out the facts as I gave them, in relation to the stolen paintings, and coming to the conclusion the 'Racing Rodent' was involved, the chairman, a Mr Roland Rattington I believe, looked very bored, as if he'd heard it all before. Something to ponder on the train home.
Re-living the crucifixion scene for the court was rather upsetting. For several years after that event, the sight of that naked nubile girl, with the enigmatic smile, tumescent nipples and gaping .........oh dear, a gentleman doesn't even have the words to describe that particular part of the female anatomy, not in print certainly............haunted my brain, especially at bedtime. Now the image has returned.
I wonder what Mrs Slave has cooked for my tea tonight. Tripe I think I heard her say, looking forward to that. Then an early night. Those images again. Mrs Slave seems a lot more contented lately. Maybe it's the new house.
I'm a little puzzled by the manner of the foreman of the jury, though. While all the other members of the jury could be seen working out the facts as I gave them, in relation to the stolen paintings, and coming to the conclusion the 'Racing Rodent' was involved, the chairman, a Mr Roland Rattington I believe, looked very bored, as if he'd heard it all before. Something to ponder on the train home.
Re-living the crucifixion scene for the court was rather upsetting. For several years after that event, the sight of that naked nubile girl, with the enigmatic smile, tumescent nipples and gaping .........oh dear, a gentleman doesn't even have the words to describe that particular part of the female anatomy, not in print certainly............haunted my brain, especially at bedtime. Now the image has returned.
I wonder what Mrs Slave has cooked for my tea tonight. Tripe I think I heard her say, looking forward to that. Then an early night. Those images again. Mrs Slave seems a lot more contented lately. Maybe it's the new house.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Adult drop bears have frighful fangs.Well we've already had a wombat.
Now all we need is a drop bear.
They hunt by ambushing ground dwelling animals from above, waiting up to as much as four hours to make a surprise kill. Once prey is within view, the Drop Bear will drop as much as eight metres to pounce on top of the unsuspecting victim. The initial impact often stuns the prey, allowing it to be bitten on the neck and quickly subdued.
Bush walkers have been known to be 'dropped on' by drop bears, resulting in injury including mainly lacerations and occasionally bites. Most attacks are considered accidental and there are no reports of incidents being fatal.
Most victims are unsuspecting tourists. Australians know that spreading toothpaste behind their ears works as a repellent.
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Gosh, Repertor!
Shall I tell you a most astonishing thing?
In all the years I've known them, neither Phlebas nor Primus Pilus have ever once warned me to put toothpaste behind my ears!
And I thought they were my friends!
R.B. stood up, and went straight on to the attack.
“So, Inspector, when you searched my client’s premises, you found plenty of spare copies of the Racing Rodent’s cards?”
“No.”
“No? Is that no, you didn’t find any cards, or no, you didn’t search his premises?”
“Mr Tree stated that he lives near a coffee shop in Pacific, Missouri. A mansion known as the ‘Tree House’.”
“Pacific, Missouri?”
“It is a small town in the United States, sir. A railway line was begun there towards the Pacific Ocean, in 1853, hence the name. I wrote to the Sheriff of Pacific, sir, and he was kind enough to inform me that there is no Coffee Shop and no Tree House. I challenged Mr Tree on the subject and he said…he said that nothing in the centre of Pacific survived the fire of 1891.”
“The fire of 1891. Seventeen years in the future.”
“I can only repeat what he told me, sir.”
“But he told it as though it was an historic fact.”
“Forgive me, sir, but he spoke of a Boeing 747 as though it is a historic fact. Mr Tree has a vivid imagination, and he appears to believe that by making up stories about the future he will avoid the consequences of his criminality in the present.”
“So you have noted inconsistencies in his account of the future?”
“No, he is too clever for that.”
“Surely, if he was clever, he wouldn’t rely on some fantasy about the future? Actually, inspector, he is either very clever, or…..” he paused, “or he is telling the truth!”
Cries of ‘Rubbish!’ and ‘Does he think the jury were born yesterday?’ until Old Dutch banged his much overused gavel.
R.B continued. “How, Inspector, have you demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that my client stole the Venus Verticordia?”
Slave’s voice was forceful, his tone slightly condescending, “because I caught him in possession of it and he has yet to furnish me with a satisfactory explanation of how he came by it!”
“Unless he really did purchase it in in 2016?”
Slave remained silent, regarding R.B. with a pitying stare.
Fife pointed out, “Inspector, you are bound to answer Counsel’s questions.”
“Very well, my Lord. The suggestion is totally ridiculous. Time travel is impossible.”
“And yet, my client has ‘made up’ a total and consistent history between now and 2016.”
“Oh come, sir. War with Germany? Twice? Unthinkable. Atomic bombs that can destroy entire cities? Ridiculous. Men flying to the moon? Laughable. He even informed me that women would get to vote for their Members of Parliament! That one day, the United Kingdom would get a female Prime Minister, by the name of ‘Mrs Thatcher’!”
By now even the judge was howling with laughter. Wragg was sobbing with mirth. Even Barb had to admit that there was no chance of a woman prime minister, any more than a woman Pope.
R.B. could see that he was getting nowhere. He’d tried, God knew he’d tried. But, to be honest, he didn’t really believe it himself.
Once the court had settled down, he asked Slave, “Please would you summarise the reasons that you believe my client to be the murderer of Miss Brown.”
“I will. He takes size 12 shoes, he likes crucified women, and he has no alibi.”
“Did you establish whether Dorothy Brown was known to my client?”
“He claims never to have heard of her.”
“I see. How common are size 12 shoes?”
“Pardon?”
“It is a simple question, Inspector. How common are size 12 shoes?”
“I…I don’t know. Not very, I should think.”
“May I ask, who in this court wears size 12 shoes, other than my client?”
Half a dozen men raised their hands, including two members of the jury. And the Earl of Cruxton.
“And who likes crucified women?”
No hands were raised. Including the Earl’s, though Barb knew bloody well that he loved to play crux with her. She’d been on a cross in the dungeon only yesterday. She let it go – that, too, would have been grounds for divorce.
The Earl leaned towards her, and whispered, “Before you ask, I was visiting Jollyrei in Gloucestershire. I checked my diary.”
“So, no-one likes crucified women,” continued RB. “at least, no-one is proud enough of the fact to advertise it here. But, in fact, for all you and I know, a liking for crucified women could be at least as common as size 12 shoes. Can you assure me that isn’t so, Inspector?”
“I should very much doubt…..”
“I’m not asking for your doubts, Inspector, I am asking for your absolute assurance that there aren’t as many men in this court who like crucified women as those who take size 12 shoes?”
Even the judge looked uncomfortable.
“I must press you, Inspector. Can you give me that assurance?”
Slave looked at him with fury. “No, sir, I cannot give you that assurance.”
“Thank you, Inspector. One final point, if I may. You have told my learned friend the Counsel for the Prosecution what you did on the morning of the 12th February, 1869. What did you do on the evening of the 11th?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I asked you what you did on the evening before Miss Brown’s crucified body was discovered?”
Madiosi stood up. “My Lord, is this question relevant? Inspector Slave is not on Trial for Miss Brown’s murder!”
Fife looked at R.B. “Mr Barrington-Smythe, what is your point, exactly?”
“My point, my Lord, is that my client is not the only person in this court who cannot give an explanation of his whereabouts on February 11th 1869! But I think my point is made, so I have no further questions.”
The remainder of the trial passed with less excitement. Jollyrei told the court of how he had heard noises in the night, and come downstairs to find that the Venus Verticordia had been replaced by a picture of a squirrel. He described in graphic detail how inconsolably upset his wife, the Lady Thessela, had become on discovering the theft. The shock had been so bad that she had required smelling salts. She was prone to fits of sobbing to this day, it had unsettled her completely.
Other owners told similar stories, and then Rossetti and Eulalia both confirmed Tree’s ‘demands’ that he be furnished with a painting of a crucified woman, and that he had been prepared to pay nearly £200 for it.
The only material witness who didn’t place a hand on the Bible and swear an oath was the Countess of Cruxton. The Earl’s cash had seen to that, in one way or another.
The Jury was out for a day and a half. One and a half nail biting days.
Eventually, the court reassembled. Roland Rattington let the Jury in, and he was asked, “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached verdicts upon which you are all agreed?”
“We have.”
“On the charge that, on the night of May 12th past, the defendant, Theodore Hiram Tree, did wilfully and maliciously steal a painting known as the ‘Venus Verticordia’ from the home of Lord and Lady Jollyrei of Owlage Manor, Gloucestershire, how do you find the defendant? Guilty, or Not Guilty?”
Rattington took a deep breath.
“Guilty.”
“So, Inspector, when you searched my client’s premises, you found plenty of spare copies of the Racing Rodent’s cards?”
“No.”
“No? Is that no, you didn’t find any cards, or no, you didn’t search his premises?”
“Mr Tree stated that he lives near a coffee shop in Pacific, Missouri. A mansion known as the ‘Tree House’.”
“Pacific, Missouri?”
“It is a small town in the United States, sir. A railway line was begun there towards the Pacific Ocean, in 1853, hence the name. I wrote to the Sheriff of Pacific, sir, and he was kind enough to inform me that there is no Coffee Shop and no Tree House. I challenged Mr Tree on the subject and he said…he said that nothing in the centre of Pacific survived the fire of 1891.”
“The fire of 1891. Seventeen years in the future.”
“I can only repeat what he told me, sir.”
“But he told it as though it was an historic fact.”
“Forgive me, sir, but he spoke of a Boeing 747 as though it is a historic fact. Mr Tree has a vivid imagination, and he appears to believe that by making up stories about the future he will avoid the consequences of his criminality in the present.”
“So you have noted inconsistencies in his account of the future?”
“No, he is too clever for that.”
“Surely, if he was clever, he wouldn’t rely on some fantasy about the future? Actually, inspector, he is either very clever, or…..” he paused, “or he is telling the truth!”
Cries of ‘Rubbish!’ and ‘Does he think the jury were born yesterday?’ until Old Dutch banged his much overused gavel.
R.B continued. “How, Inspector, have you demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that my client stole the Venus Verticordia?”
Slave’s voice was forceful, his tone slightly condescending, “because I caught him in possession of it and he has yet to furnish me with a satisfactory explanation of how he came by it!”
“Unless he really did purchase it in in 2016?”
Slave remained silent, regarding R.B. with a pitying stare.
Fife pointed out, “Inspector, you are bound to answer Counsel’s questions.”
“Very well, my Lord. The suggestion is totally ridiculous. Time travel is impossible.”
“And yet, my client has ‘made up’ a total and consistent history between now and 2016.”
“Oh come, sir. War with Germany? Twice? Unthinkable. Atomic bombs that can destroy entire cities? Ridiculous. Men flying to the moon? Laughable. He even informed me that women would get to vote for their Members of Parliament! That one day, the United Kingdom would get a female Prime Minister, by the name of ‘Mrs Thatcher’!”
By now even the judge was howling with laughter. Wragg was sobbing with mirth. Even Barb had to admit that there was no chance of a woman prime minister, any more than a woman Pope.
R.B. could see that he was getting nowhere. He’d tried, God knew he’d tried. But, to be honest, he didn’t really believe it himself.
Once the court had settled down, he asked Slave, “Please would you summarise the reasons that you believe my client to be the murderer of Miss Brown.”
“I will. He takes size 12 shoes, he likes crucified women, and he has no alibi.”
“Did you establish whether Dorothy Brown was known to my client?”
“He claims never to have heard of her.”
“I see. How common are size 12 shoes?”
“Pardon?”
“It is a simple question, Inspector. How common are size 12 shoes?”
“I…I don’t know. Not very, I should think.”
“May I ask, who in this court wears size 12 shoes, other than my client?”
Half a dozen men raised their hands, including two members of the jury. And the Earl of Cruxton.
“And who likes crucified women?”
No hands were raised. Including the Earl’s, though Barb knew bloody well that he loved to play crux with her. She’d been on a cross in the dungeon only yesterday. She let it go – that, too, would have been grounds for divorce.
The Earl leaned towards her, and whispered, “Before you ask, I was visiting Jollyrei in Gloucestershire. I checked my diary.”
“So, no-one likes crucified women,” continued RB. “at least, no-one is proud enough of the fact to advertise it here. But, in fact, for all you and I know, a liking for crucified women could be at least as common as size 12 shoes. Can you assure me that isn’t so, Inspector?”
“I should very much doubt…..”
“I’m not asking for your doubts, Inspector, I am asking for your absolute assurance that there aren’t as many men in this court who like crucified women as those who take size 12 shoes?”
Even the judge looked uncomfortable.
“I must press you, Inspector. Can you give me that assurance?”
Slave looked at him with fury. “No, sir, I cannot give you that assurance.”
“Thank you, Inspector. One final point, if I may. You have told my learned friend the Counsel for the Prosecution what you did on the morning of the 12th February, 1869. What did you do on the evening of the 11th?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I asked you what you did on the evening before Miss Brown’s crucified body was discovered?”
Madiosi stood up. “My Lord, is this question relevant? Inspector Slave is not on Trial for Miss Brown’s murder!”
Fife looked at R.B. “Mr Barrington-Smythe, what is your point, exactly?”
“My point, my Lord, is that my client is not the only person in this court who cannot give an explanation of his whereabouts on February 11th 1869! But I think my point is made, so I have no further questions.”
The remainder of the trial passed with less excitement. Jollyrei told the court of how he had heard noises in the night, and come downstairs to find that the Venus Verticordia had been replaced by a picture of a squirrel. He described in graphic detail how inconsolably upset his wife, the Lady Thessela, had become on discovering the theft. The shock had been so bad that she had required smelling salts. She was prone to fits of sobbing to this day, it had unsettled her completely.
Other owners told similar stories, and then Rossetti and Eulalia both confirmed Tree’s ‘demands’ that he be furnished with a painting of a crucified woman, and that he had been prepared to pay nearly £200 for it.
The only material witness who didn’t place a hand on the Bible and swear an oath was the Countess of Cruxton. The Earl’s cash had seen to that, in one way or another.
The Jury was out for a day and a half. One and a half nail biting days.
Eventually, the court reassembled. Roland Rattington let the Jury in, and he was asked, “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached verdicts upon which you are all agreed?”
“We have.”
“On the charge that, on the night of May 12th past, the defendant, Theodore Hiram Tree, did wilfully and maliciously steal a painting known as the ‘Venus Verticordia’ from the home of Lord and Lady Jollyrei of Owlage Manor, Gloucestershire, how do you find the defendant? Guilty, or Not Guilty?”
Rattington took a deep breath.
“Guilty.”
RacingRodent
Consul
Hum seriously...how does one go about stealing a prisoner?
Oh and well done Wragg
Oh and well done Wragg
While Tree respects the gallant defense presented by Mr Barrington-Smythe, he considers reaching in his jacket and pulling out the 9 mm Glock that managed to make the time travel with him. Although Inspector Slave had discovered it and a half dozen 15 round magazines loaded with hollow point bullets he had been allowed to keep after telling the inspector that it was a semi-automatic pistol capable of firing 15 shots as fast as the trigger could be pulled and reload in seconds. The inspector had demanded to try it and of course it did not work; Tree did not tell him how to arm it nor the 'safety' was on and back then who heard of a safety on a firearm.
The inspector had tossed it back to Tree and told him he could keep his paperweight...
The inspector had tossed it back to Tree and told him he could keep his paperweight...
Gosh, Repertor!
Shall I tell you a most astonishing thing?
In all the years I've known them, neither Phlebas nor Primus Pilus have ever once warned me to put toothpaste behind my ears!
And I thought they were my friends!
Nothing to fear dear Wragg, drop bears are only found in Australia, and to my knowledge they are only found in the bush, where they have struck fear into the hearts of generations of young Australians on school and scout camps, crouched around campfires and huddled in their sleeping bags.
But you could try the toothpaste as a precautionary measure, better safe than sorry old boy
For a while there I really thought he had got off. But with Rattington as chairman of the jury, well . . . . . what else could have happened?
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Phew!!
That counsel for the defence was a tough character. Once it got onto shoes and crucifixions, I admit I nearly lost it.
Interesting question he asked about who likes crucified women. I still can't get the image of Dorothy out of my mind. Does that mean I like that image? I've thought all along it was because of my powers of observation and superb memory that kept the image alive for me; now I think a little deeper, it does cause my loins to stir, and my desire to be intimate with Mrs Slave has increased, and when I'm with her and close my eyes that image appears, and...........
Old Slave, you've got to be careful of these thoughts. Have a walk down to the market and check that the slaughtermen are not still washing the guts and blood down to the river. Then pop into a few brothels, since the Offences against the Person Act 1861 came into force, the police have to check that all the girls are over 13 years old, not always an easy job, but someone has to do it.
That counsel for the defence was a tough character. Once it got onto shoes and crucifixions, I admit I nearly lost it.
Interesting question he asked about who likes crucified women. I still can't get the image of Dorothy out of my mind. Does that mean I like that image? I've thought all along it was because of my powers of observation and superb memory that kept the image alive for me; now I think a little deeper, it does cause my loins to stir, and my desire to be intimate with Mrs Slave has increased, and when I'm with her and close my eyes that image appears, and...........
Old Slave, you've got to be careful of these thoughts. Have a walk down to the market and check that the slaughtermen are not still washing the guts and blood down to the river. Then pop into a few brothels, since the Offences against the Person Act 1861 came into force, the police have to check that all the girls are over 13 years old, not always an easy job, but someone has to do it.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
"If you thought, gentlemen, that this flying machine called 'Boeing 747'is the fruit of Mr. Tree's vivid imagination, then, let me show you this!"
"Oh no! The French have beaten us!"
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
I suppose you were one of them?
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