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Tumblr crosspost (15 August 2019)
Sep. 26th, 2019 02:17 pmI don’t want to write anything else, but A Thing popped into my head and wouldn’t leave, so:
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Augustus Jones was a gentleman.
More particularly, he was a barrister—or had been, until an inheritance from a kindly aunt left him free to follow his inclinations. These mostly revolved around what he termed “curiosities.” He liked to observe odd people and circumstances, the more baffling, the better. Judgment he left to judges; his place was to see and understand, and if necessary, to explain.
Such was his vocation. It had led him into various investigations involving various conundrums and crimes (and the occasional pamphlet). He had gained some reputation in London as a solver of questions and difficulties. It was not a grand reputation, to be sure, but it was enough to find himself presented with a satisfying array of problems. Certainly he had no significant competitors in the fine art of being Augustus Jones.
Everything changed when—no, that was not quite right. Precision was crucial. His reputation, so painstakingly developed, took an abrupt turn with a letter from a cousin north of the City.
His father had, as the saying goes, married beneath himself, and Mr Jones had various relations in trade. One of these had since become a knight with a little property and a great many children. It was this cousin who wrote to him, begging assistance with a particularly perplexing problem. Mr Jones could not imagine what sort of problem might so beset a creature as genial as his cousin; but still less could he imagine what the problem turned out to be.
It all seems quite incredible, wrote Sir William Lucas, but a man has been found on the doorstep of Netherfield—dead—murdered!
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Augustus Jones was a gentleman.
More particularly, he was a barrister—or had been, until an inheritance from a kindly aunt left him free to follow his inclinations. These mostly revolved around what he termed “curiosities.” He liked to observe odd people and circumstances, the more baffling, the better. Judgment he left to judges; his place was to see and understand, and if necessary, to explain.
Such was his vocation. It had led him into various investigations involving various conundrums and crimes (and the occasional pamphlet). He had gained some reputation in London as a solver of questions and difficulties. It was not a grand reputation, to be sure, but it was enough to find himself presented with a satisfying array of problems. Certainly he had no significant competitors in the fine art of being Augustus Jones.
Everything changed when—no, that was not quite right. Precision was crucial. His reputation, so painstakingly developed, took an abrupt turn with a letter from a cousin north of the City.
His father had, as the saying goes, married beneath himself, and Mr Jones had various relations in trade. One of these had since become a knight with a little property and a great many children. It was this cousin who wrote to him, begging assistance with a particularly perplexing problem. Mr Jones could not imagine what sort of problem might so beset a creature as genial as his cousin; but still less could he imagine what the problem turned out to be.
It all seems quite incredible, wrote Sir William Lucas, but a man has been found on the doorstep of Netherfield—dead—murdered!
