The inside workings of a Private Detective...

Bogg opened his mouth to let out a sort of ‘aargh’ noise. No sound came out although his jaws were gaped quite widely. His eyes were open even wider and the eyeballs bulged unnaturally
in their sockets. As someone shook the door impatiently, the clip broke on the clothesline. The elastic travelled back to the winder mechanism on the far wall at several times the legal
speed limit and catapulted a drip-dried sock at an even faster speed directly into Boggs open mouth. It was still there when he opened the door.

Ms Daffodiltuliptree (not her real name but as Bogg could never understand her whenever she said her name, this was one of the various ones he called her) was ninety-four years old. Never
a very tall person, she had now shrunk further with age and illness and was therefore only ever so slightly taller than Bogg.

“Where’s my Tibbles?” she demanded.

Bogg blinked. His face was still as white as his beard and much whiter than his mouth-protruding sock.

“You told me you could guarantee quick results. Five days is not quick,” she pointed out.

Bogg blinked again.

“Sorry, have I interrupted your dinner?” Mrs Daffodiltuliptree suddenly seemed concerned.

Bogg blinked back in reply.

“Please find my Tibbles,” she implored meekly. “OR I WON’T PAY YOU!”

Leaving the stunned Bogg still blinking, she turned her heels and returned to her apartment, where she promptly turned her heels the right way ‘round again. Bogg blinked at the now empty corridor and closed the door. Perhaps he had better find Tibbles.

Three very strong cups of coffee later, J.Bogg Det., P.I. was ready for some crime solving. Although he didn’t actually plan on leaving the hotel, he put on his raincoat and trilby hat so that he could feel the part. Feeling the part always helped him to think and in Boggs case, thinking needed all the help it could get. Of course, after the episode earlier with the remote control, there were some other parts that Bogg wished he could feel but couldn’t yet. He hoped the numbness would go away later. Meanwhile, to the job in hand. Before opening his door, Bogg lit a cigarette. He didn’t like cigarettes but wanted to make sure the image was right in case anybody saw him. ‘Aha’, people would say (or so he thought), ‘there goes a clever and successful private investigator’. This thought always made him feel good. With positive thoughts flowing, he strode out of his room to solve the case.

Grinning with confidence, he stepped out of his doorway and onto his beard. He swiftly fell flat on his face, squashing both his nose and the cigarette...