Hambridge, Tuesday 5th January 1884

This document is an attempt to construct a convincing-sounding story to recount to authorities, should questions be asked, which should be based upon as much truth, or at least plausibility, as possible, without however mentioning such unpolitic truths such as our dedicated, systematic and unflinching extermination of a church full of misguided, possibly even innocent, slug-filled abominations known to most as the inhabitants of Broughton-upon-Sea. A running tally of truths and lies shall be kept throughout, and shall be presented at the end for your careful consideration.

I am grateful to Dr A. Gilmore Pitcairn-Strangechild IV for his extensive notes on the subject. All errors or omissions, however, remain mine.

(Before I begin, an aside: any Court of Law in this country would, I surmise, agree with our decision to kill, burn and mutilate a church full of demonic monstrosities. Our case is only complicated because of the lack of evidence, it all having burned away, along with the church and the corpses of our victims. On such trivialities do dramatic events depend; a fact that could be regretted, were it not for the fact that our Laws and Institutions are assuredly what has made the British Empire what it is today. It is therefore right, according to all the principles that we hold dear, that we should be forced into freelance demon-extermination on the borders of legality; and assuredly, such a mighty kingdom as our own would not have been allowed to gain such pre-eminence if such was against God's will. Thus, without fear of contradiction, I conclude that God himself meant us to burn down the Church.)

The central premise of this presentation is a total and blatant lie, or rather a series of blatant lies; namely: a) we did not cause the death of Mr O'Keefe (a lie which has already been accepted by the authorities, thus laying the groundwork for our later, more ambitious, attempts at concealment and betrayal of the laws of our country); b) we were not in the Church at the time of the massacre; c) we did not single-handedly kill, burn or exorcise to death a whole church full of innocents; d) we were, in fact, hunting snipe. We left suddenly, without collecting our affairs from the Broughton Arms, after e) an unfortunate hunting accident. Persicue, being quite the worse for wear after a truly dedicated lunch, mistook Cadwalliter, or possibly some other vague, blurry object, for a snipe and shot him in the foot; Cadwalliter reacted instinctively, fired his own weapon, catching Persicue in the chest.

(Five lies so far, more to come.)

Fearing his days are numbered, despite the best efforts of the good Doctor, Persicue insists that the party withdraw immediately to Persicue Hall that he may at least die in the house of his fathers rather than some drab seaside town where he has no family connections. Alternatively, the whole party retreats out of embarassment, or possibly because, all being in a similar state of excitement and confusion, none of them can think straight. Anyway, Persicue is the unchallenged leader of the group and has the final say on everything; being aristocracy, he is practically required by law to behave in an eccentric and possibly foolish manner.

(Six, however you count them.)

The point is: after turning up a few days before, a) claiming to be here for the snipe season, b) wandering around churches, c) behaving strangely on trains, d) talking a lot in the Inn then e) suddenly disappearing, our group is probably being talked about a lot in Broughton-on-Sea, unless of course we managed to massacre all the people we met during our stay (which, although unlikely, is not completely without the bounds of probability). Our response will rest on the powerful three-pronged defence of Aristocratic Incompetence, Ignorance and Alcohol.

(Six lies, five truths. Most of which are trivial and/or anecdotal, however.)

Persicue left his shotgun at the Inn before going out to hunt snipe; bizarre behaviour, it may be thought, uncharacteristic of anyone who seriously intended to shoot game birds. But Persicue was not being serious about it all; he took his pistol instead, because it was More Fun That Way, or because it seemed like a Good Idea At The Time. (These two phrases sum up our defence quite neatly; it may be useful to memorise them for later use.) A considerable number of our party were not obvious snipe-hunting types; certainly, the good Doctor and I had no reason to be there, nor had Jim, unless we account for Persicue's reasonable desire to always be surrounded by at least two servants at all times. But this is not a problem: again, it was More Fun That Way. Jolly good show, don't you know, hunting snipe; why don't you come along and join the fun? This will explain the late arrival of Cadwalliter (Persicue only remembered him on arriving at Broughton-on-Sea, thus the delay); mine was of course due to the vast amounts of work teachers have to take home.

I have no explanation for the good Doctor's disappearance, or his re-emergence later on with blood leaking from his ears; but nor does anyone else, least of all the good Doctor. On this matter we may, I think, agree a draw.

After careful tallying up of the lies and truths in this story, we are left with eight lies and seven truths. Strict arithmetical comparisons do not, of course, account for the grotesque and blatant nature of the lies, and the almost coincidental and anecdotal nature of the truths; therefore, attempts should be made to redress the numerical balance to conform more with our general intuitive impression of this opportunistic recounting. Therefore, I humbly offer a ninth, gratuitous, lie of my own: I am actually quite tall.

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