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Every once in a while, it's necessary to call in professionals to undo the "renovations" committed by Peaseporter, our butler and handyman. Because of the work on the old brownstone, we ate dinner in the kitchen that evening instead of in the dining room - I in the company of my boss, World Famous Private Investigator Harry Slothe. Peaseporter had taken away our dinner plates, and Mr. Slothe was still brushing bits of quiche from his lapel when he said, "Well, Joseph, shall we skip our evening session of work and go straight to bath time?"
I shuddered. "Sir, I really think we ought to spend a little more time going over the pending cases."
"I wasn't aware of any pending cases," the gigantic detective said.
"Oh, yes sir," I answered quickly. "There's the - uh - the Lindbergh kidnapping, and the Jimmy Hoffa thing . . . oh, and I still don't think the Professor and the Skipper know who destroyed their bamboo space shuttle."
"Ah, well," the great detective sighed, and wheeled his sixth of a ton out of the kitchen with resignation. I breathed a sigh of relief and followed.
In the hall, we passed two of the Polaski Brothers - Casmir and Gregor - working on the light fixture. Casmir wiped his hands on his greasy coveralls. "We're just changing the bulb here, Mr. Slothe. Then we'll be out of your way for the evening."
"But back tomorrow at six," added Gregor.
As Mr. Slothe wheeled into the office, I turned back to the two brothers and asked, "Where's Ivan?" The two men looked at each other quickly, but before either could answer, Mr. Slothe's voice boomed urgently from the office. "I believe, Joseph, that Ivan Polaski is in here. But I don't expect he'll be doing any more work this evening."
Indeed, Ivan Polaski had buttressed his last joint, for, as I turned the corner into the office, I saw the workman's still-warm body lying on the floor. His head had been crushed, presumably by the ballpeen hammer lying next to him.
It didn't take Mr. Slothe long to get to the bottom of things, and within the hour, he, I, Sergeant Fields and Inspector Kramer were downtown at headquarters, staring across the table at Casmir and Gregor - each of whom was accusing the other of murder.
Casmir, the oldest, spoke first. "It was like this. Gregor and I were in the hallway changing the bulb when Gregor discovered his ballpeen hammer missing. He thought perhaps he'd left it in Mr. Slothe's office where Ivan - poor, poor Ivan - was still working. So he goes to find it, but comes back a few minutes later empty-handed. That was when Mr. Slothe and Mr. Baloney came out from the kitchen and made the discovery."
"That's a lie," exclaimed Gregor. "I don't even own a ballpeen hammer. The two of us were in the hall, as Casmir said, but it was Ivan who had called to us for the hammer. Ivan was making some adjustments to Mr. Slothe's window, and when he called for a hammer, Casmir got down from the ladder and went to the office to give his hammer to Ivan. Then he returned and I thought nothing further of it. Until -"
Inspector Kramer added another stick of chewing gum to the six that were already in his mouth and looked at Mr. Slothe. "I guess this is a dead-end," the hardened policeman grumbled. "One's word against the other's, and no way to know which of them is telling the truth!"
"On the contrary, Inspector," said Mr. Slothe. "They are both lying. I submit that all three brothers were together in the hall before the murder, and both Casmir and Gregor are guilty!"
HOW DID HARRY SLOTHE KNOW THAT ALL THREE BROTHERS WERE TOGETHER IN THE HALL?
Everyone knows it take three Poles to change a lightbulb: one to hold the bulb and two to turn the ladder.