Fall of the Mausoleum Club (BBC) 88-09-24 (04) The Prunestone

Summary

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The Fall of the Mausoleum Club: Episode 4 – "The Prunestone"

Podcast: Harold's Old Time Radio
Airdate: October 8, 2025
Original Broadcast: BBC, September 24, 1988
Episode: "The Prunestone" – Part of the “Fall of the Mausoleum Club” series

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Overview

This comic detective spoof set in Victorian England delights in lampooning the locked-room mystery genre. The trenchant wit and sharp dialogue follows the eccentric detective duo Ms. Livia Walcott and Mrs. Eustacia Pidgeon, as they make their way through a string of outlandish murders at Massingbird Hall – all seemingly inspired by the nursery rhyme "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief".

Through a combination of absurd deductions, satire of genre tropes, and linguistic high jinks, this episode satirizes detective fiction while walking its audience through convoluted plotting, over-the-top guests, and increasingly farcical murder attempts.

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Key Discussion Points and Insights

1. Retribution and Purpose at the Mausoleum Club (00:26–02:18)

• The episode opens in the shadowy Mausoleum Club, where a mysterious figure discusses vigilante justice:
  “So, gentlemen, how do you feel now? Well, thanks to me, you have rid the world of General Cheeseman, a power crazed autocrat, and of Captain Trevor…” (00:30)
• The "present purpose” is meting out retribution when the law is insufficient.
• Mrs. Pidgeon and Ms. Walcott are tasked with the dispatching of the apparently respectable but secretly vile Sir Courtenay Massingbird, resigning themselves to the grim job (“An act so vile that it may not be described even here within these crime-soaked walls.” – 00:54).

2. Introduction of Lead Characters and Satirical Tone (03:10–05:32)

• Mrs. Eustacia Pidgeon describes herself in florid terms, boasting of "the Affair of the Murdered Subjunctive," poking fun at literary detective clichés and her own verbosity.
• Ms. Livia Walcott, the more practical of the two, continuously urges Pidgeon to be concise:
  “Just get on with it, Pidgeon.” (03:10, 03:24)

3. Arrival at Massingbird Hall and Social Satire (05:27–07:47)

• The comic bickering continues en route and upon arrival at the eccentric Massingbird Hall, home to Sir Courtenay and a gaggle of guests.
• Sir Courtenay, ever the gracious (if oblivious) host, offers prunes to everyone; prunes are a running joke and play on “the Prunestone.”
• Banter and one-upmanship about detection and bridging etiquette pepper the dinner (Monocle misplaced in the “brown Windsor” soup at 05:32).

4. Dinner, Suspects, and Setting Up the Crime (07:47–08:34)

• Dinner advances with the comedic introduction of Captain Carver, Mr. Taylor (the tailored tailor), and a countdown of increasingly bizarre guests and servants.
• The estate is humorously short on food (“...someone appears to have cleaned out the pantry.” – 06:15).

5. Murder Plots and Burlesque Schemes (08:34–10:49)

• The duo plot Sir Courtenay’s demise, cycling through classically-inspired murder methods in a sendup of detective logic (poisoned mushrooms, a tortoise dropped from above, “an asp concealed in a bouquet”).
• Failed murder attempts and more jokes about convoluted classical methods (10:31).

6. First Murder—Mr. Taylor’s Death (11:17–12:54)

• The plan is upended when Mr. Taylor is found murdered—strangled by his own monocle (a hilarious detail lampooning overelaborate murder weapons).
• Comic investigation ensues, with Mrs. Pidgeon and Ms. Walcott declaring “the butler did it” almost by default (14:13).

7. The Hunt and a Second Murder (15:39–19:08)

• As they attempt to frame the butler, chaos escalates during an artificial "hunt" (drag hunt) in the grounds.
• Captain Carver is killed—decapitated by a wire stretched between two trees (18:45). Suspicions and alarm grow.
• The pattern of deaths begins to match the “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor…” rhyme, which the detectives comically deduce.
  “These murders are taking place according to a scheme. Don’t you see? Captain Carver, he’s a soldier… Mr. Taylor, he was, well, a tailor... And then there was the tinker.” (21:10 – Livia)

8. Revelation and Confession (22:41–24:28)

• Horace Massingbird confesses under pressure, revealing he killed Carver out of revenge stemming from a past military slight, and tried to cloak his motive as a madman’s spree echoing the rhyme.
• Livia and Pidgeon barter leniency (funny and pragmatic: “You may continue… at least as far as the Rich Man.” 24:17).

9. Grotesque Farce—The Sailor and the Final Murders (24:39–27:35)

• In a further sendup, Walcott and Pidgeon kill the landlord of a local pub, dress him as a sailor, and stage another “rhyme murder” to tie off the scheme.
• Their attempt to murder Sir Courtenay is unwittingly foiled—he dies of a heart attack before they can dispatch him (27:31).
• Horace is found dead with a note confessing, apparently having committed suicide as the "poor man" in the rhyme (27:35).

10. Resolution and Final Satirical Twist (28:07–29:40)

• Inspector Beggar Man and Constable Thief arrive ("...this is my assistant, Constable Thief.” – 29:33) completing the rhyme and wrapping the investigation with a nod to the audience.
• The detectives deflect suspicion yet again, with the Inspector’s wry lines hinting they are the real danger.

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• On justice and respectability:
  “Who could be more respectable? Who could be more worthy of society’s approbation? Yet he… is guilty of a crime so monstrous that it is yet to be brought within the compass of the law.” (00:49 – Mausoleum Club member)

• On the murder plan:
  “Why don’t we drop a tortoise on his head? You know, like Euripides.” (A)
  “It was Aeschylus. And where are we going to find a tortoise at this time of night?” (B) (09:21)

• On logic and detective work:
  “Let’s just say the butler did it.” (B)
  “What? Quelch? Who would believe that?” (A)
  “Everyone. Everyone believes what we say.” (B) (14:21)

• On the murder pattern:
  “These murders are taking place according to a scheme. Don’t you see?...” (21:10 – Livia Walcott)

• Inspector’s Entrance (completing the rhyme):
  “Inspector Beggar Man at your service, madam. And this is my assistant, Constable Thief.” (29:33)

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• 00:26 – Deliberation on Justice at the Mausoleum Club.
• 03:10 – Introduction of Mrs. Pidgeon and Ms. Walcott; setup for comic tone.
• 05:27 – Arrival at Massingbird Hall; introduction to Sir Courtenay and the guests.
• 08:34–09:47 – The detectives plot murder via classical references.
• 11:17–12:54 – Discovery and investigation of Mr. Taylor's murder.
• 14:00–15:22 – “Butler did it” and discussion of detective reputation.
• 16:01–18:15 – Drag hunt set-up and Captain Carver’s grisly demise.
• 21:10–22:13 – Detectives deduce rhyme pattern behind murders.
• 22:41–24:28 – Horace’s confession and negotiation with detectives.
• 24:39–27:35 – Absurd murder of the “sailor” and final deaths at the Hall.
• 28:07–29:40 – Epilogue with Inspector Beggar Man and closing satirical twist.

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Tone and Style

The episode brims with arch wit, wordplay, and irony—a conscious riff on period detective drama and English social manners. Characters banter incessantly, poke fun at their own “successes,” and turn the conventions of country house murder mysteries into pure farce. The entire tone is tongue-in-cheek, with a clear affection for and gentle skewering of the genre.

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Summary:
This episode of “The Fall of the Mausoleum Club” masterfully lampoons the classic detective story, especially its reliance on convoluted logic and social conventions. With its nursery rhyme-inspired killing spree, comic ineptitude of its “detectives,” and a knowing ensemble of eccentrics, it delivers a delicious satire—juicy as one of Sir Courtenay’s prunes.

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Transcript

[A]

Limu. Emu and Doug Limu and I always tell you to customize your car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. But now we want you to feel it. Cue the Emu music. Limu. Save yourself money today. Increase your wealth.

[B]

Customize and save.

[A]

We save. That may have been too much feeling. Only pay for what you [e-mail] Liberty Liberty.

[B]

Liberty.

[A]

Liberty Savings Very Underwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates Excludes Massachusetts. So far so satisfactory. Will you take a port, sir? No, Medeira, Sir? Nothing. As you will, sir. So, gentlemen, how do you feel now? Well, thanks to me, you have rid the world of General Cheeseman, a power crazed autocrat, and of Captain Trevor, that black hearted shark of the sea. Lay, is this not a worthy occupation than preying on innocents like Clarence Green? Then this is your purpose? To deal with retribution when the law is deficient? Yes, that is my purpose for the present. Take Sir Courtenay Massingbird, a pillar of the economy. Ah, yes, yes, I played bridge with him. A gentleman of means who founded his fortune upon the importing and distribution of poor Massing Bird prunes. Of course, who could be more respectable? Who could be more worthy of society's approbation? Yet he, even he, is guilty of a crime so monstrous that it is yet to be brought within the compass of the law. An act so vile that it may not be described even here within these crime soaked walls. Are you sure? Yes, yes. I shall be glad to learn the manner of his posse. Who was charged with the dispatch of Sir Courtenay Massing Bird? Ms. Walcott and Mrs. Pigeon.

[B]

Yes, that's right, it was us. No, Pigeon, it was we. The compliment is in the nominative.

[A]

Isn't that a little pedantic?

[B]

Oh, I do hope so.

[A]

Enough of this petty squabbling. The sands run through. Have you accomplished the task that I set you? Of course, and more. No, no. I'm keen to hear every aspect of your undertaking.

[B]

Then let Mrs. Pidgen, my constant companion and chronicler these past 15 years, recount the tale in her usual grandiose manner.

[A]

The Fall of the Mausoleum Club Written by James Hendry and Ian Brown Starring Peggy Mount, Dorothy Tooting, Hugh Paddock and Jonathan Cecil Episode 4 the Prunestone My name is Mrs. Eustacia Pidgeon, lately teacher of calisthenics and hygiene at Lady Jane Grey College for the Daughters of Service.

[B]

Just get on with it, Pidgin.

[A]

But I am best known as the constant companion of the celebrated classics detective, Ms. Livia Walker, late teacher of Latin.

[B]

Prose and verse composition at a variety of feminine gymnasia.

[A]

Just get on with it. Madam, you may have read my accounts in the Strand Magazine of such notorious cases as the Affair of the Murdered Subjunctive, the Case of the Butchered Meter, and the Adventures of the Mistress, which.

[B]

Baffled the police of their day as much as Pidgin's convoluted prose style.

[A]

I understood, Lydia, that you wished me to get on with it.

[B]

Yes, yes.

[A]

As ladies well known in society, an invitation to Massing Bird hall was not hard to procure.

[B]

I say, driver, stop here, eh? We'll walk the rest of the way.

[A]

But it's almost a hundred yards.

[B]

Well, you're a gym teacher, aren't you?

[A]

Well, you're a Latin teacher. When did you last speak to a Roman? Pardon?

[B]

Come on, I want to get a good look at the grounds. Ah, the great country houses of England. Well tended lawns, fountains, carp. Oops. Mind you don't tread on that dead tramp. Oh, topiary peacocks. And here, the master of the house waiting on the steps to greet us in person.

[A]

Welcome to Massingford hall, ladies. Have a prune, won't you? Oh, yes, please.

[B]

No, thank you. It would mar our appetites for dinner.

[A]

I think my appetite could probably survive a marring, I dare say.

[B]

Will you show us to our room, Sir Courtenay?

[A]

Of course, Miss Wilcott. There are, of course, a number of other house guests. My son Horace is lodging with me at present. Then we have Mr. Taylor, a local gentleman, and Captain Carver of the regiment. And his lady. But of course, we'll meet them all at dinner. Oh, good. Excellent. Yes, I think you'll like my friends. What friends? I say, are you really detectives?

[B]

Yes.

[A]

How absolutely fascinating. Perhaps you could help me find my missing monocle.

[B]

Certainly. It is resting in my brown Windsor.

[A]

Oh. Oh. Oh, so it is. Gosh. How astonishing. Did you see that, Captain Carver? Yes. Wasn't it the most extraordinary thing you've ever seen? Yes. More soup, Carver? Yes, I'd like some more, too.

[B]

Pigeon.

[A]

I say, you're pigeon IO well, I'm a bit of a pigeon fancier. Do you speak pigeon English? I could send you a billy doo by pigeon post, my lovely little pigeon. Don't be such an ass, Taylor.

[B]

No, no, it's not of the slightest consequence, I assure you. My companion is somewhat ample.

[A]

There you are, you see. I like a bit of meat of my bird. I think we have this time with the ladies to. But, Father, we're only on the soup. Yes, that's all there is. Someone up there to have cleaned out the pantry pitching. It was just a snack. I think I'll withdraw. Is it Mr. Capitol? Now the ladies are gone, I think we may let off steam a bit with some right gentleman story.

[B]

I came across an amusing anecdote just the other day while leaping through the Tusculane Disputationes. It seems a young man returned to the family farm after a year away at war, and he went up to his father and said, father. And then the 14th old man gave the father three geese, saying, Take thee, sir, it may do the good. To which the boy's father replied, sealant enim leges inter armor.

[A]

Yes, perhaps it's time for the gentleman to withdraw.

[B]

Of course, the young man wasn't having any.

[A]

At length, at great length, we repaired to our room and considered how best to hasten the demise of Sir Courtenay Massingbird. Phew. That was a near thing. Livia.

[B]

What was? Pitting. That dreadful.

[A]

Mr. Taylor has been pressing his attentions on me all evening. I've only just got rid of him. Good night, sweet ladies. Good night, Mr. Taylor. Sure.

[B]

Well, did you find out anything useful?

[A]

Yes. Chef's making an iced plum cake for tomorrow's tea.

[B]

No, no, I meant did you find out anything that will help us to dispatch Sir Courtney and escape unpunished?

[A]

Oh, I see. No.

[B]

Well, no matter. We'll do the deed and set a false trail afterwards. It wouldn't be the first time. So, what's it to be? Something with a classical flavor, of course.

[A]

Livia.

[B]

Then what about mushrooms?

[A]

Oh, no, I couldn't eat another thing.

[B]

Not you, Sir Courtenay. We'll poison him with mushrooms.

[A]

Ah.

[B]

Do you not recall the exploits of Augustus's wife? My namesake?

[A]

Walcot?

[B]

No, Livia. Oh, why do I bother?

[A]

What about hemlock?

[B]

No, too slow, I fear. I want to be away by tomorrow.

[A]

Oh, but the iced plum cake.

[B]

This is not an enjoyable task. But as Cicero says, completed labours are pleasant.

[A]

Do you know any quotes about pe.

[B]

Apply your mind to the deed.

[A]

I know. Why don't we drop a tortoise on his head? You know, like Euripides.

[B]

It was Aeschylus. And where are we going to find a tortoise at this time of night?

[A]

Near Bristol.

[B]

What?

[A]

I believe there is a zoological garden.

[B]

Oh, Pistache.

[A]

Or we could contrive to shoot a poisoned arrow into his heel.

[B]

I know the asp.

[A]

No, it was the heel.

[B]

An asp concealed in a bouquet of flowers.

[A]

I'd have thought a tortoise easier to find than an asp.

[B]

Pigeon, pass me my Suetonian. Less noise.

[A]

Pigeon.

[B]

You wake the Courtney. I can't help it.

[A]

It's my stomach.

[B]

You've just had an enormous dinner.

[A]

That was four hours ago. It's looking forward to its breakfast now. Oh, my.

[B]

These are Sir Courtenay's boots. So this will be his room. Pigeon.

[A]

It was the door. There's our man, sleeping the sleep of the just.

[B]

Ah, just about to die. How fitting. An old libertine, smothered in his chamber by an embroidered cushion. But this time, Tiberius Caligula shall not fail. Pigeon, hand me the weapon.

[A]

Well, you will be quick, won't you? Of course. I haven't finished embroidering it. Yes, yes.

[B]

Now, we place the gentle agent of destruction over that gaping mouth and treacherous nose and just press down.

[A]

What is it? What's happened? What's happening? Hello, ladies. What on earth are you doing here? Well, it's like this, you see. We were.

[B]

We heard a scream and came to see if you were all right.

[A]

Yes. Ah, well, that's very thoughtful of you, sir. Courtney. Sir Courtenay. Oh, excuse me, ladies. Well, what the blister's going on? Well, it seems there's been a most unfortunate incident, sir. Incident, ma'?

[B]

Am?

[A]

It's Mr. Taylor, sir. He's been murdered. Well, it wasn't us. I think we'll find out the culprit soon enough, eh, ladies?

[B]

I. I don't know what you mean.

[A]

We're such a celebrated pair of detectives in the house.

[B]

Yes, indeed. And our first task must be to view the body.

[A]

We entered Mr. Taylor's room, and I must confess, it was no easy task to hold my gaze upon the grisly tableau that greeted us. Everyone else kept jostling for a look. The unfortunate Taylor was slumped over a folio of artistic views of Paris. His scrawny betalcumed gizzard constricted horribly by a thin leather cord. Mr. Taylor was indeed dead. Throttled by his own monocle. How ghastly. Quilt. Yes, sir. Who discovered the body? Katie, the chambermaid, sir. Indeed.

[B]

The first question I might ask is what she meant by entering Mr. Taylor's room at such an unseemly hour.

[A]

Well, we need hardly look far for the answer to that one. I don't follow. Well, no matter. The police must be called and the proprietors observed. See to it, Quilts. Very good, sir. And I suggest we all go back to our rooms and make up for lost sleep. Off you go. Oh. Oh, Miss Walcott. Mrs. Pigeon.

[B]

Yes.

[A]

Don't think I don't know what you were up to in my room.

[B]

Oh, I.

[A]

He's tumbled us, Livia.

[B]

And what were we up to, Sir Courtenay?

[A]

Well, I would guess that you and Ms. Pigeon have certain designs upon my person.

[B]

Ah, very well. It's no use hiding it. We have.

[A]

Yes, the mausoleum carpet. That's my girls. See you tomorrow night. When the fusses die down, I leave me door unlocked where it's an ill wind that blows no good. The disturbing events of that busy night meant that few of the household had the stomach for breakfast. What have you got left then, Quelch? We have kedgery, kippers, pot porridge, deviled kidneys, an assortment of grilled meat and of course, prunes. Splendid. That will do. Very good, madam. So, Olivia, who do you think did for Mr. Taylor?

[B]

Well, as usual, I've drawn up a list of the suspects. There's Katie, the chambermaid, Horace, the quick tempered son of the house, the taciturn Captain Carver, his lady, and of course, Sir Courtenay himself.

[A]

One. What about us?

[B]

Oh, don't be stupid, Pigeon. We're the detectives.

[A]

Oh, very well. Which of the people on that list would wish to kill Mr. Taylor?

[B]

I don't know. Let's just say the butler did it.

[A]

What? Quelch? Who would believe that? Everyone.

[B]

Everyone believes what we say.

[A]

Do they?

[B]

Naturally. Because we've always been right in the past.

[A]

No, we haven't.

[B]

Perhaps not. But everyone believes what we say.

[A]

Yes. Yes, they do. Even that time when we had to tamper with the evidence to suit our conclusions.

[B]

Ah, yes, you are referring to the case of the Unholy Conjugation.

[A]

No, it was the case of the irregular ending.

[B]

Or was it the Declension into Hell Adventure?

[A]

One has to admit we have done it with embarrassing frequency.

[B]

Well, one has a certain reputation and a living dementing.

[A]

Indeed. The butler it is then. Your breakfast, madam. No, Quelch, you are. That morning promised to be a busy one. First, we had to defend our detective reputations by implicating the butler in the murder of Mr. Taylor.

[B]

Then we had to contrive the destruction of Sir Courtenay and escape unpunished. Under the guise of investigating the mystery, we set out to survey the grounds of Massing Bird Hall. A visit from the constabulary was imminent and it was our intention to help their inquiry in such a way as to make the butler's guilt seem undoubted.

[A]

M. But whilst examining the east wing from the Dutch garden, we were inconveniently surprised. A magnificent prospect, Ladies. All paid for by prunes. Ah, Sir Courtney, I trust You've remembered your riding gear. Oh, no. There's to be a hunt this afternoon.

[B]

A hunt? Given the circumstances, might not bloodsport appear somewhat tasteless?

[A]

No, couldn't stand the jack myself. And besides, it's not a real hunt, just a drag.

[B]

A drag?

[A]

Following an artificial trail. Ah. A practice Ms. Walcott and I are closely familiar with.

[B]

It sounds most intriguing, Sir Courtney, but Ms. Pigeon and I have much still to do.

[A]

Oh, don't worry about that. The police will be here this afternoon. They'll soon sniff out the culprit. Perhaps sooner than they think.

[B]

We'll see you this afternoon then, Sir Courtney.

[A]

Two o' clock on the large parterre. Aha.

[B]

Excellent. What don't you see, Pigeon?

[A]

A hunt. A hunt? Yes.

[B]

An ideal chance to do what we came for.

[A]

Right.

[B]

Are all the clues laid, Pidgey?

[A]

Yes. The bicycle is upside down in the.

[B]

Ha ha.

[A]

Three feet away is a page torn out of the Calcutta railway timetable. And inside the house is a quartz mustache pasted to the back of the bust of the Duke of Wellington.

[B]

You didn't forget the stockings in the epigenetre clock. Never mind. We have enough to make a case.

[A]

And the other matter?

[B]

I have laid a second draft more strongly scented than the first over to the west. That should lead Sir Courtenay straight to his quarry.

[A]

Huh.

[B]

The one with a 60 foot limestone cliff.

[A]

Ah. You sure you won't change your mind?

[B]

Thank you, no, Sir Courtney. It all seems terribly dangerous.

[A]

Nonsense. Perfectly safe, so long as you keep a sound head on your shoulders. Work harbor. Yes. Ne too lively. Fire. How many fingers am I holding up? Yes, exactly. Hello. Keep up, Horace.

[B]

That's right, Sir Courtney. Lead from the front.

[A]

Goodbye. We watched the swarm of pinks disappear over a prune purchased hill. It was a stirring sight. Made all the more so by the knowledge that Sir Corporation Courtney would never see Massing Bird hall again.

[B]

Aha. They're back. Wake up, Pigeon. What? Remember, we know nothing about what. That's the idea. Now compose yourself. Here's Horace.

[A]

Who's Horace?

[B]

Massing Bird's son.

[A]

Ms. Walcott. Mrs. Pidgeon, that had been the most terrible, horrible, ghastly accident. Oh, really? Goodness. It really is the most awful thing.

[B]

You poor boy. What has happened?

[A]

Come, Captain Carver. He's been killed.

[B]

Oh no. With your poor mama so recently passed away, you are now Captain Carver.

[A]

Yes. A wire stretched between two elms took his fine military head clean off his shoulders.

[B]

Did you do that?

[A]

No.

[B]

Well, it wasn't me.

[A]

Oh, funny. What fiend could find it in his soul? To perpetrate such a cowardly and heinous affront to heaven.

[B]

Believe me, Horace, we shall do our utmost to find out.

[A]

Afternoon, ladies. Splendid ride. A shame about old Carver. Still, you think of something to take your mind off. What's the matter? You look as if you've seen a guest.

[B]

It was clear that our designs on Sir Courtenay were being obstructed by an unwitting rival in murder. It was the rummest case we'd ever perpetrated, and its illusion seemed further away than ever.

[A]

Still, at least Massing Bird hall had its consolations.

[B]

Tinker.

[A]

Tailor. Soldier. Sailor. Oh, no, don't fancy that. More prunes, please, Squelch. Certainly, madam. Tinker. Tailor. Soldier.

[B]

Oh, this is rich man. Everybody's dying except Sir Courtenay.

[A]

Tinker. T. Sailor. Soldier. Sailor.

[B]

The whole situation is getting thoroughly perverse. Not knowing who this mysterious murderer is could bring our scheme to utter ruin.

[A]

I thought we decided the butler did it. Oh, thank you, Quelch.

[B]

No, I'm talking about the real murderer. Until we know who he is, it would be unsafe to continue with our own designs.

[A]

I don't understand. Tinker. Tailor. Soldier. Sailor.

[B]

We may have to do some genuine detective work.

[A]

Oh, but we haven't done that since the adventure of the Easy Solution.

[B]

Exactly. We're stumped. Unless. Quad tibi nihil redendum, sibi falcas, falernium quisqui.

[A]

Oh, jolly good. What's it mean?

[B]

Nothing. It's gibberish. That's how much trouble we're in.

[A]

Oh, golly. Tinker. Taylor. Soldier. Sailor.

[B]

Dash it all. Pigeon, will you quit that blithering racket? No. Just a moment. Say that again.

[A]

She just told me to. Stop it.

[B]

Never mind. What was it? Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.

[A]

Brilliant. Oh, thank you. I didn't make it up, you know.

[B]

These murders are taking place according to a scheme. Don't you see? Captain Carver, He's a soldier. Mr. Taylor. He was, well, a tailor. And then there was the tinker.

[A]

What do you mean? Nobody's killed a tinker?

[B]

Did you not notice the dead tramp who's been cluttering up the grounds these past few days?

[A]

Certainly.

[B]

And might not a tramp be described as a type of tinker? Why, gosh, yes. So we have a tinker, then a tailor, then a soldier, and then what, pigeon? What comes next?

[A]

Pettifors?

[B]

No, you do not come near. The next victim in this murderous pageant shall, there is no doubt, prove to be a sailor.

[A]

Ah, but who's killing all these people.

[B]

And why? It doesn't matter. Don't you see? After sailor comes rich man. And the richest man for seven leagues in any direction is Sir Courtenay Massingbird.

[A]

I see.

[B]

All we have to do is bide our time and the deed is done for us by whatever madman is behind all this.

[A]

Oh, in that case, I'll have some more prunes. Good afternoon, ladies.

[B]

Good afternoon, Horace. Can I press you to a prune?

[A]

No, no, I'm not of a prunus disposition just now. Are you any nearer unmasking the fiend that has been staining our verdant ache as a murderous red? I fear for my father's life.

[B]

Don't trouble yourself, my boy. The matter is very firmly in hand.

[A]

Then you solved it.

[B]

Well, the matter is in hand.

[A]

I knew it.

[B]

A gun.

[A]

Yes, a gun. It was me all along. I had hoped to remain undetected, but you, the most famous detective in junior academe, you were much too clever for me. Why? What has she done? Yes, if it hadn't been for you Ms. Walker's, I'd have gone away with it. Got away with what? Ha ha. You don't fool me with your feigned fat headedness. I've no need to feign, sir. You knew that I hated Carver.

[B]

Carver?

[A]

Ever since that bloody day at Khartoum when he sent me into the thickest press of battle hoping that I would be so slain that he might thrust his fleshly attentions upon my dear fiance, Ms. Letitia Plover of the Gables Wimbledon. But the Lord ensured my survival that I might be the agent of his wrath against that sinner, the odious Carver.

[B]

What? Captain Carver?

[A]

Yes. Is this not a concise digest of your findings?

[B]

Yes.

[A]

Then you must die.

[B]

I mean. No, we didn't know any of that.

[A]

Didn't have a clue. Ah, well. Well, you have now. So. So still you must die.

[B]

One moment before you do that. What of the tinker and the unfortunate Mr. Taylor?

[A]

Ah, therein lies the genius of my plan. I had hoped to veil my motive by making Carver's death one of a nightmarish sequence. Thus will the police be thrown off my scent and onto that of some imaginary lunatic.

[B]

Surely.

[A]

But thanks to you, my plans have been cast awry. The Cherbourg packet sails at nine. But before that, I must ensure that any intercourse between you and the constabulary is placed beyond the realm of possibility.

[B]

Sir, it already is.

[A]

Pardon?

[B]

You see, we wish you to continue.

[A]

Continue?

[B]

Yes, Horace, feel free to carry on.

[A]

Well, at least as far as the rich Man. What? No, no. The sequence is finished. To continue would be a needless waste of innocent life.

[B]

Not so. Not needless. If you would kindly lay that weapon aside, I have a suggestion that may be of some interest to you.

[A]

That afternoon, Miss Walcott and I made an arrangement that would see our task through to a successful conclusion and save Horace's neck from the noose.

[B]

So, Pidgey, you've been married. Where does one find a sailor?

[A]

Oh, I don't know. I'm given to believe they frequent public houses. Ah. Why do you want a sailor?

[B]

Oh, Tinker, tailor. Soldier.

[A]

Sailor.

[B]

Rich man.

[A]

Well, hello there, ladies. Ow. Seen Horace anywhere? No.

[B]

We saw him this afternoon, but not since.

[A]

Queer. I shall inspect the pergola.

[B]

Sir Courtney, is. Is there a public house in the neighborhood?

[A]

Why, yes. There's the ash tree at Gallabre. It's a bit rough, though.

[B]

So much the better.

[A]

That's right. Nothing like a drink to loosen your stays. I beg your pardon? 10 o' clock tonight, remember. The door's unlocked. Missed.

[B]

Oh, good evening, landlord.

[A]

We'll have our usual, please. Who are you? Oh, sorry. Two quinine waters, please.

[B]

I wonder if you might help us. We're looking for a sailor.

[A]

A what?

[B]

A sailor.

[A]

Well, you won't find one round here. 50 miles inland last.

[B]

Oh, well, down the hatch.

[A]

We killed the landlord, dressed him in a sailor suit and positioned him in the Massing bird arboretum. But this is monstrous. Once more innocent blood is spilled.

[B]

It was simply a means to an end, sir.

[A]

An end to which you had ineluctably impelled us. The end, that is, where all wrongs shall be righted. Anyway, it was our plan that any blame for the crime should be laid with Horace. Yes. Where was Horace?

[B]

All in good time, sir. All in good time.

[A]

In the interim, Miss Walcott and I hurried to keep our tryst with the lascivious baronet. We tipped too gingerly to Sir Courtney's room and then. Yes? Well, what happened next? This. Ladies, ladies. He succumbed to a coronary seizure before we set foot in the room. Oh, I mean, good. I beg your pardon?

[B]

Our goal, though indirectly, had been achieved.

[A]

The next morning, Horace's body was discovered in the library. Aha. So you were responsible. Next to a note explaining his reason for the Massing bird murders, Evidently his father had cut him off from his dried fruit fortune, leaving him without a prune stone to his name.

[B]

Having dispatched Sir Courtenay Massing Bird, what more fitting culmination could there be to his grim cycle than the murder of a poor man? And what poor man was closer to hand than Horace Massing Bird himself.

[A]

Not very convincing, is it?

[B]

No.

[A]

Still, justice has been brought to a brace of vipers, father and son. But surely the police would have some questions to ask of you.

[B]

Indeed they had, sir. Indeed they had. Hurry up, pigeon. The carriage is here.

[A]

Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, it's these iced plum cakes. Oh, thank you, Quelts. Goodbye. Goodbye, madam.

[B]

Onwards, driver.

[A]

Just one moment, ladies.

[B]

Ah, Inspector, we're just on our way.

[A]

I'm sure you can spare me a moment. I just feel you may know more about this business than you've heretofore disclosed.

[B]

Well, I am a celebrated detective, after all.

[A]

Yes, we are. That was not my meaning. Remember the affair of the murdered? Subjunctive case of the irregular ending?

[B]

Why, yes, but.

[A]

And now this. How queer that you should be here in the wake of not one, but six suspicious deaths.

[B]

Well, what's the problem, Inspector? You've got your man, haven't you?

[A]

Mr. Horace's body appeared in the library this morning. But the doctor assures me he's been dead for a day and a half. A very lively corpse, wouldn't you say?

[B]

Well, we.

[A]

That is.

[B]

There's a perfectly simple explanation, Inspector. Inspector. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.

[A]

Inspector. Beggar man at your service, madam. And this is my assistant, Constable. Thief.

[B]

Oh. Oh, really? How very convenient.

[A]

The Fall of the Mausoleum Club Episode 4 the Prunestone was written by Ian Brown and James Hendrick, starring Norman Bird, Jonathan Cecil, Peter Howell, Anthony Jackson, Peggy Mount, Hugh Paddock, Michael Ripper, John Savident and Dorothy Tutin. Music by Max Harris. The producer was Paul Spencer.