The Curious Case of the Missing Biscuit in the Conservatory
The Curious Case of the Missing Biscuit in the Conservatory
— A light‑hearted investigation for the Daily Sunflower Chronicle
It was a bright Tuesday that the quiet solitude of Miss Eleanor Wetherby’s conservatory was ruptured by an invisible object: her favourite tea biscuit had vanished.
The biscuit in question, a clotted‑cream biscuit with a thin mint glaze, was left upon the marble counter beside a vase of fragrant orchid. Yet when Miss Wetherby went to reclaim her afternoon snack and the last biscuit was gone, she issued not a call for the police but a delegation of inquisitive suspects to the local tea‑shop kebab bar.
The Suspects
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The Robin – The first suspect was a restless red‑breasted robin who frequented the garden for a daily chat with Mr. Farnworth (the family dog). The bird was found perched on the fern cabinet, majestically puffed feathers. “I didn't steal it,” the robin chirped, pecking at the lace trim meanwhile.
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The Cat‑Mittens – Mr. Cartwright, the family’s feisty orange tabby, has been known to ignore Miss Wetherby’s scoldings and stroll in the conservatory during late afternoon tea. After a thorough search of his tail, investigators found no biscuit crumbs, but a trail of smashed rose petal tips.
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The Mice – A trio of mice, a renowned Rebellious Fabergé Society, was found lounging on the compost bin, one of them attempting to delicately pry the biscuit’s marbled glaze off the platter. They were perorated out in the Hall of Mildew, but their reputation remains unscathed.
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The Sun – An uncanny suspect was the sunshine itself. Evidence from expert astronomer Dr. Bion (an excellent ornithologist and curious town councillor) indicates a strong ultraviolet absorption on the biscuit’s surface. Seemed plausible? Perhaps the biscuit was simply melted into crisp half‑fused raisins. “The biscuit might have been possessed by the sun,” he conjectured.
The Investigation
The investigation, however, was less about systematic interrogations and more about creating a fair environment for the suspects. Miss Wetherby used a discreet tape measure to diagram the biscuit’s original location and a small chalk circle to denote any possible footprints (or feather‑prints). The body of work was presented to a panel of the local museum and horticultural society. The panel took one sip of tea and concluded that the situation was a complex offence – perhaps a “high‑flavour heist” that could only be solved through a robust flavour‑analysis.
They called upon the USDA’s flavour‑optics team – or Andy Caldwell on a mobile phone from the car park. “We can pinpoint the smell of the biscuit after all, thanks to the bumblebee’s olfactory memory,” Andy said with a wry smile. “The biscuit could easily have been recoupled at 30 °C from 6:30 p.m. British Standard Time.”
The Final Verdict
The local lawyer, Undertaker, admitted the sentence to a comedic plea of guilty—"Yes, I didn't steal it either," implied a lawyer. Miss Wetherby, who was known for love of crunch, allowed her lawyer to delete the ordinance by paying a fine of ten English pennies, along with honey to appease the robin.
The case ends with a note of caution for all who love biscuits: Keep an eye on that shining little unpredictability of the ficus.
Essential Tip
- Don’t put your biscuits in the sofa.
- Keep the daisies away from your finger-thumb.
- Simmer the tea for a minute, and a biscuit will face the verdict of crumb detection—set aside 50% of the legal fees in advance.
That is all for the Daily Sunflower Chronicle.
Miss Eleanor Wetherby (5th Avenue, Sun Acres)
Martin and Steps (Treasury of Inventions)
The article has been adapted for the local progress of the Conservatory Gazette; we have removed the real favourite to be moved by the courtesy courtesy of an else.
