That's cute.
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Venus Verticordia
- Thread starter Wragg
- Start date
Hmm, could you sit still there, Barb, head this way, that's it!
I just want to capture the way the blanket drapes over your kno... err your ti..... err, your splendid figure!
Working on a chain gang, working on a chain gang, crushing rocks, rewarded with a lash, working on a chain gang ...
Oh yes, I hope it's my turn in the treadmill soon!
In Victorian times, the euphemism 'knockers' would certainly have caused
much less shock-horror than that dreadful word 'breasts'
In Victorian times, the euphemism 'knockers' would certainly have caused
much less shock-horror than that dreadful word 'breasts'
oh, leave it to those Victorians 
Senator Tree sat on a distinctly uncomfortable chair at a distinctly shabby table in a distinctly shabby and uncomfortable room. A Police Constable stood, solid and silent, by the door, and any attempt at conversation with him had failed utterly. Tree had long since given up the futile effort and sat in gloomy silence, contemplating the peeling paint on the opposite wall, that had once rejoiced in the name of ‘whitewash’ but was now a dirty grey colour.
Eventually the door opened and a man walked in and plonked himself down onto the chair opposite Tree. For a moment he regarded Tree lugubriously, then he opened the conversation.
“Good Morning. I am Inspector Slave of the Detective force. You are Mr Tree?”
“Senator Tree,” corrected Tree. “Senator Theodore Hiram Tree, to be precise.”
“There we reach our first problem, Mister Tree. The list of United States Senators is a matter of public record. There is no such person as Senator Tree. Indeed, since you at least claim to be an American citizen, we have taken the liberty of contacting the U.S. Embassy, and they have never heard of you. There is no record of anyone by the name of Tree entering Great Britain over the past few years. Your problem, Mister Tree, is that you do not seem to exist.”
“But, my passport….?”
“Your passport, Mister Tree, is quite unlike any passport that I have ever seen in my life. I have no idea how you made it, but it is not even a half-hearted attempt at a fake. It’s as though you imagined what a passport might look like, and knocked it up. The picture was a nice touch, but the date stamps? 2015? 2016? Who are you trying to kid, Mister Tree?”
Tree was already bored with this ‘Mister Tree’ line. “Well, Mister Slave…”
“Inspector.”
“Indeed. As I was saying, Mister Slave, and since you mention it, I’ll level with you. The reason my passport looks like it does, and carries the date stamps that it does, is because it was issued to me in early 2015, just over a year ago.”
The inspector gazed at Tree in silence.
“I flew into Heathrow yesterday, because I had business in London. On my way back to the airport, my driver took a sudden left turn, and I found myself here. And now.”
The inspector gazed at Tree in silence.
Tree gazed at the inspector in silence.
Eventually Slave spoke. “You flew.”
“I didn’t sprout wings, I flew in an aeroplane. A Boeing 747.”
“I have enjoyed your fantasies, Mister Tree. Very much. ‘Boeing 747’ has a nice ring to it, and it does your imagination great credit. Now let me tell you what I think. I think you have somehow contrived to enter Great Britain via a ship or ships unknown. I think that you are being given sanctuary by your compatriot Miss Moore. I think that while you are here you are helping yourself to works of art which you will then take back to America for reasons of your own profit. I think you were at Rossetti’s studio merely to….how do you American’s put it? ‘Case the joint.’ That’s it.” He placed a small piece of card, about the size of a playing card, on the table. “Care to tell me what that is?”
By this time Tree was truly furious. However, he was astute enough to realise that decking the Inspector was not going to make things better, despite the short-term satisfaction he would derive from doing so. He reached out and took the card, and looked at it with disfavour.
“It is a small card with a drawing of a squirrel on it.”
“Your card.”
“No. I have never seen it before in my life.”
“PC Sprout!”
“Sah!”
“There is a package outside the door. I’d be obliged if you would fetch it.”
“Sah!”
The PC disappeared, returning in moments with a package. Slave unwrapped it, and placed it on the table in front of Tree. “Care to tell me what that is?”
“That,” said Tree, confidently, “is a painting by Dante Phlebas Rossetti, called Venus Verticordia.”
“Correct. The same painting reported stolen from Lord Jollyrei’s home in Gloucestershire the day before yesterday.”
“I….I…..” stammered Tree.
“The same painting that was ‘replaced’ with a picture of a squirrel, just like this one, that has been left at a dozen crime scenes over the past eighteen months!”
“I…I….” stammered Tree.
“The same painting that we discovered in your carriage this morning.”
“I…I….” stammered Tree.
“If you were going to tell me that you purchased it” (Slave consulted his notes) ”in 2016, and were going to ‘fly’ home with it in your” (another check of the notes) “Boeing 747, I’d advise you to save your breath for the judge. Mister Racing Rodent, we’ve been looking for you for a long time, and I have a list of your activities that’s as long as your arm. Frankly, Mister, I’d be surprised if you don’t swing for your crimes!”
And, with those encouraging words, he was gone. Tree wished he had decked him.
Eventually the door opened and a man walked in and plonked himself down onto the chair opposite Tree. For a moment he regarded Tree lugubriously, then he opened the conversation.
“Good Morning. I am Inspector Slave of the Detective force. You are Mr Tree?”
“Senator Tree,” corrected Tree. “Senator Theodore Hiram Tree, to be precise.”
“There we reach our first problem, Mister Tree. The list of United States Senators is a matter of public record. There is no such person as Senator Tree. Indeed, since you at least claim to be an American citizen, we have taken the liberty of contacting the U.S. Embassy, and they have never heard of you. There is no record of anyone by the name of Tree entering Great Britain over the past few years. Your problem, Mister Tree, is that you do not seem to exist.”
“But, my passport….?”
“Your passport, Mister Tree, is quite unlike any passport that I have ever seen in my life. I have no idea how you made it, but it is not even a half-hearted attempt at a fake. It’s as though you imagined what a passport might look like, and knocked it up. The picture was a nice touch, but the date stamps? 2015? 2016? Who are you trying to kid, Mister Tree?”
Tree was already bored with this ‘Mister Tree’ line. “Well, Mister Slave…”
“Inspector.”
“Indeed. As I was saying, Mister Slave, and since you mention it, I’ll level with you. The reason my passport looks like it does, and carries the date stamps that it does, is because it was issued to me in early 2015, just over a year ago.”
The inspector gazed at Tree in silence.
“I flew into Heathrow yesterday, because I had business in London. On my way back to the airport, my driver took a sudden left turn, and I found myself here. And now.”
The inspector gazed at Tree in silence.
Tree gazed at the inspector in silence.
Eventually Slave spoke. “You flew.”
“I didn’t sprout wings, I flew in an aeroplane. A Boeing 747.”
“I have enjoyed your fantasies, Mister Tree. Very much. ‘Boeing 747’ has a nice ring to it, and it does your imagination great credit. Now let me tell you what I think. I think you have somehow contrived to enter Great Britain via a ship or ships unknown. I think that you are being given sanctuary by your compatriot Miss Moore. I think that while you are here you are helping yourself to works of art which you will then take back to America for reasons of your own profit. I think you were at Rossetti’s studio merely to….how do you American’s put it? ‘Case the joint.’ That’s it.” He placed a small piece of card, about the size of a playing card, on the table. “Care to tell me what that is?”
By this time Tree was truly furious. However, he was astute enough to realise that decking the Inspector was not going to make things better, despite the short-term satisfaction he would derive from doing so. He reached out and took the card, and looked at it with disfavour.
“It is a small card with a drawing of a squirrel on it.”
“Your card.”
“No. I have never seen it before in my life.”
“PC Sprout!”
“Sah!”
“There is a package outside the door. I’d be obliged if you would fetch it.”
“Sah!”
The PC disappeared, returning in moments with a package. Slave unwrapped it, and placed it on the table in front of Tree. “Care to tell me what that is?”
“That,” said Tree, confidently, “is a painting by Dante Phlebas Rossetti, called Venus Verticordia.”
“Correct. The same painting reported stolen from Lord Jollyrei’s home in Gloucestershire the day before yesterday.”
“I….I…..” stammered Tree.
“The same painting that was ‘replaced’ with a picture of a squirrel, just like this one, that has been left at a dozen crime scenes over the past eighteen months!”
“I…I….” stammered Tree.
“The same painting that we discovered in your carriage this morning.”
“I…I….” stammered Tree.
“If you were going to tell me that you purchased it” (Slave consulted his notes) ”in 2016, and were going to ‘fly’ home with it in your” (another check of the notes) “Boeing 747, I’d advise you to save your breath for the judge. Mister Racing Rodent, we’ve been looking for you for a long time, and I have a list of your activities that’s as long as your arm. Frankly, Mister, I’d be surprised if you don’t swing for your crimes!”
And, with those encouraging words, he was gone. Tree wished he had decked him.
RacingRodent
Consul
Tis okay he can deck Racing Rodent when he meets him at the Coffee Shop later
Hang on wait...I'm Racing Rodent, what the heck did I do?
Love the post Wragg
In Victorian times, the euphemism 'knockers' would certainly have caused
much less shock-horror than that dreadful word 'breasts'
Oh I say, my dear, I do believe I have found a .... ahemmm ... now, what would be the proper euphimism ... oh yes, I do believe I have found ... oh, I just can't say it ... you know what I mean, dear.
Methinks Tree wishes he was back on his deck at the Tree House swilling a Jack Daniels. Do you think it would help, Senator, if I shed my blanket. Perhaps I could distract him enough for you to deck him after all?
RacingRodent
Consul
I think such a vision would deck the average upstanding man all by itself...or at least bring him to his knees
This is so brilliant, I'm loving it!
If we're in 1874, Jules Verne's best-known novels would have been on all the railway station bookstalls
(including From the Earth to the Moon (1865), in which the Baltimore Gun Club build an enormous cannon
to fire three of its leading members to the Moon
), so Tree's Boeing 747 would have intriguedInsp. Slave as 'stranger than fiction'
It is brilliant stuff, Wragg!
Indeed. I am after all, a peer of the realm, and that painting was to be a gift to my dear Thessela. I am, shall we say, a bit put out. And think of poor Thessela; I do so hate to disappoint her. So very glad that our efficient constabulary has recovered it, but now it will doubtless be held as "evidence". Very inconvenient and boring for me, but more for you, eh? T.H. Tree might just come to mean "The Hanging Tree", you know.
I say! Rather a good play on words there, don't you think? Clever, what. Do you see it? "Hanging Tree" could have a double meaning... Well, I thought it was slightly droll.
Anyway, well done Inspector, catchin' the blackguard like that. Why do you suppose a chap named Tree would use a squirrel on his card? Oh, wait. Squirrels climb trees don't they?
Thought we wouldn't figure that one out, didn't you, Mr. Tree, or should I say, "Mister Tree-Climbing Squirrel"?
Indeed. I am after all, a peer of the realm, and that painting was to be a gift to my dear Thessela. I am, shall we say, a bit put out. And think of poor Thessela; I do so hate to disappoint her. So very glad that our efficient constabulary has recovered it, but now it will doubtless be held as "evidence". Very inconvenient and boring for me, but more for you, eh? T.H. Tree might just come to mean "The Hanging Tree", you know.
I say! Rather a good play on words there, don't you think? Clever, what. Do you see it? "Hanging Tree" could have a double meaning... Well, I thought it was slightly droll.
Anyway, well done Inspector, catchin' the blackguard like that. Why do you suppose a chap named Tree would use a squirrel on his card? Oh, wait. Squirrels climb trees don't they?
Thought we wouldn't figure that one out, didn't you, Mr. Tree, or should I say, "Mister Tree-Climbing Squirrel"?
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Dash it, Jollyrei, I should have made you the detective!It is brilliant stuff, Wragg!
Indeed. I am after all, a peer of the realm, and that painting was to be a gift to my dear Thessela. I am, shall we say, a bit put out. And think of poor Thessela; I do so hate to disappoint her. So very glad that our efficient constabulary has recovered it, but now it will doubtless be held as "evidence". Very inconvenient and boring for me, but more for you, eh? T.H. Tree might just come to mean "The Hanging Tree", you know.
I say! Rather a good play on words there, don't you think? Clever, what. Do you see it? "Hanging Tree" could have a double meaning... Well, I thought it was slightly droll.
Anyway, well done Inspector, catchin' the blackguard like that. Why do you suppose a chap named Tree would use a squirrel on his card? Oh, wait. Squirrels climb trees don't they?
Mind you, I reckon Old Slave is doing just fine.
But, poor Tree.
For once in his life he tells the Gospel truth, and no one believes him!
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
But, poor Tree.
