The Case of the Motorized Carriage

After many contemplative puffs on his trademark ivory pipe, the distinct smell of Squire Humbolt Fartington’s aged Persian tobacco permeated through the study. A knowing twinkle in his eye glimmers mischievously. With a deft hand the Squire extricates the yellowed stalk from his impossibly waxed moustache and announces with grand authority, “I have it!” The room stills. “You are a clever snark, there is no doubt, but not clever enough! For you see I am familiar with the ways of the local mendicants and have deduced the reason for the existence of the emptied Ole’ English Forty-Score fine malted beverage we found in your paper bin. You were at the Cat’s Cradle! You were the one sucking the very vitality from Sir David Schwenkington’s motorized carriage! It was you all along… But who, you may ask, was manning the deployment helm at your place of employ? Why, the very hobo you had wished to accuse! Yes, very clever, mister Risk. Train a downtrodden lover-of-the-spirits in your craft so that you may be about causing havoc! The irony is that you have unwittingly moulded a suitable replacment. I am sure this will give you much to ponder as you are processed by the local constabulary. Good day!”