October 12th, 2009


Beginning To A Story That May Or May Not Go Much Further

"It's the nanny," the man explained to my friend, Sherlock Holmes.

We both studied him, incredulous.

"The…nanny," Holmes said. He leaned back on the worn velvet of the couch, his grey eyes cool. "You wish this nanny investigated because you believe her a criminal of some sort?"

"No," the man said hastily. Holmes had already established that he was a banker, had a reasonably happy home life, and that his bootblack was unconscionably lazy, perhaps due to some wasting disease. "No, it's not like that. She's clearly of impeccable character." He shuddered, as though the thought were somehow so inconceivable as to horrify.

"Nothing like that."

"Then what?" Holmes queried. There was an edge to his voice. He didn't like his time wasted, and I saw his eyes stray towards his pipe.

"Not a criminal," the man said. "A witch. Mary Poppins is a witch."
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