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It was Christmas Eve, and I'd just finished trimming the tree in the office of our brownstone at the corner of West Thirty-fifth and Baker Streets. My boss, Harry Slothe, World Famous Private Investigator, was in the parlor with the door closed and the television tuned to the Impossible Foxx Christmas Special. When the doorbell rang, I went into the hall for a look through the one-way glass door we'd had installed after Thanksgiving. They say that everyone on earth has an exact double, and I was looking at mine on the front stoop. He even had on the same shabby suit and brown wingtips. Then I remembered that the glass had been installed backward, with the see-through side facing the stoop.
I paused to look at my reflection, adjusted my underwear and removed some dry mucous from my nose, then opened the door. The three guests were staring at me in revulsion. I smiled, recognizing them all and gestured them inside. None took my extended hand as they entered the hall.
As they hung their coats on the pegs, I looked them over. They hadn't aged much since last year. Professor Helmut Gold, spectacled with unkempt hair, mustache and beard, taught Old Testament Studies at City College, and he had both tenure and a decade or so on his two colleagues - Dr. Frank Incense, Professor of African-American Studies, whose dark skin reflected the red and green lights, and Professor Masaharu Myrrh, Professor of Oriental History, and the youngest of the group.
I let the three wise men into the empty office with their gifts. Dr. Incense glanced at his watch. "Mr. Slothe isn't in?" he inquired. I assured him that the great detective would join us shortly, knowing as I did that the Impossible Foxx Christmas Special was nearly over. I watched the men place their gifts on Mr. Slothe's billiard-table-sized desk - their annual "thank you" for my boss' work on "The Case of the Codependent Co-ed."
Ordinarily, I would have been more careful about packages in the office, since every Christmas there was a running feud between the evil Harvey Von Ludwig and the inscrutable Dr. Chow to see who could blow up my boss first. But these guests had a history of gifts that were no more dangerous than neckties and aftershave.
In minutes, the connecting door from the parlor opened, and the enormous detective wheeled his 382 pounds into the office. He spoke before I had a chance to present the trio. "Ah, Joseph, do I detect the fragrance of Dr. Incense's cologne? And I presume, Doctor, that your two colleagues are present as well?" The three approached Mr. Slothe, and each took his hand in turn, wishing him a Merry Christmas. But as the last man returned to his chair, I noticed a peculiar look on Mr. Slothe's face. Something was definitely amiss.
I passed out eggnog, watching for some sign from the gigantic sleuth. "We've each brought you a little something, Mr. Slothe," said Professor Myrrh in a slow measured tone. "Small tokens of our gratitude."
"Indeed," replied the enormous detective. "The three of you continue to honor me with gifts at Christmas, and still I find it a strange ritual, since none of you celebrates the holiday. Professor Gold celebrates Chanukah, Dr. Incense observes Kwanzaa, and Professor Myrrh celebrates the obscure Oriental holiday of Obiwankenobi."
"That doesn't mean we can't take this opportunity to show our appreciation," said Professor Myrrh.
"Yes," Professor Gold seconded, "after all, you celebrate Christmas."
"True enough," agreed Mr. Slothe. "And as the Old Testament says: 'Be tolerant of other peoples and their faiths.'"
"Here, here." The four drank their eggnog. Dr. Incense - whose bill was still outstanding - was the first to set down his empty glass. He rose from the uncomfortable wood chair, probably anxious to leave before Mr. Slothe brought up the debt.
"Gentlemen," said the gargantuan gumshoe, his upper lip dripping eggnog, "I believe that, this year, I shall break with tradition and open your gifts while you are present, so that I may properly thank you."
"Oh no," Dr. Incense replied quickly, "You should wait until Christmas morning. I'm sure we would be embarrassed, wouldn't we, Professors?"
"On the contrary," said Professor Gold. "I would enjoy watching Mr. Slothe open my gift."
"As would I," agreed Professor Myrrh with a sly grin.
"Joseph, your firearm, please. It will be necessary to detain these gentlemen while I call for Inspector Kramer. But perhaps you have already guessed what secrets each of these men is hiding?"
I HADN'T. HAVE YOU?
Mr. Slothe knew from the handshakes that something wasn't right, specifically, that two of the men were not who they appeared to be. It wasn't Dr. Incense, whose cologne the humongous investigator recognized instantly. It was Professor Gold, who turned out to be the evil Harvey Von Ludwig, who did not argue the obviously false quote from the Old Testament with which Mr. Slothe tested him. And Masaharu Myrrh - the inscrutable Dr. Chow in a clever disguise - who did not protest the patently phony holiday of Obiwankenobi. Each of the men had brought a deadly scorpion, wrapped as a gift; and each would have been thrilled to see their evil scheme come to fruition as the Brobdingnagian detective opened their gifts.
It turned out that Dr. Incense, who was the only guest who did not want to be present when the gifts were opened, had actually brought a bomb, in an attempt to get out of paying his bill.