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** This is an archived, static copy of the Casebook messages boards dating from 1998 to 2003. These threads cannot be replied to here. If you want to participate in our current forums please go to https://forum.casebook.org **
Archive through July 7, 1999
Casebook Message Boards: Ripper Suspects: General Discussion :
The Truth is Somewhere:
Archive through July 7, 1999
Author: rich
Monday, 05 July 1999 - 04:38 am |        | Has Mrs Moppe now been officially 'retired'. Shame that!
Rich |
Author: Caz
Monday, 05 July 1999 - 05:06 am | | Hi Rich,
Well, I dunno. I duly arrived at Goring Station and lo and behold! A veritable sea of naked men standing next to the old Ketchley Harrier 125, frantically waving a yellow duster in each hand. I didn't know where to put my face, not to mention those bodily fluids (The Ladies lavs were closed for cleaning as usual, that Mrs Moppe has an awful lot more to answer for now!)
What's our next move? A red carnation between the teeth outside Beecham's?
Love,
Caz |
Author: rich
Monday, 05 July 1999 - 11:10 am | | Caz,
I am getting more and more intrigued with you. I think we may have to have loads of passion so as to find the real Mrs Moppe in you. More tea vicar? Also do you realise I am referring to Goring in Oxfordshire/Berkshire and not West Sussex? Thats why you didn't see me.
rich |
Author: Germaine Greeriaint
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 02:59 am | | This is the moment we have all been waiting for the real "Hohhepunkt" of my detective, some would say defective career. Yesterday whilst sipping an Earl Gray in The Lord Kitchener Tearooms, West Chertsey , a class place by the way, real class; I happened upon a little old lady on the table adjacent to mine. Nothing too peculiar about that I hear you say? Well to be frank no, but it was the subject of her studious literate musings that struck me as of great import to all of us. There in a scarlet bound cover was the book which we have all been seeking "Moppe Innocent or Guilty - The Final Verdict" (with a preface by Inspector Chandlers Ford). This limited edition book , for being a bibliographer of some renown I humbly consider myself well versed in both it's historical importance and commercial value; is very much sought after in literary and dare I say detective circles. Suffice to say my scone , fresh strawberry jam (preserve) and clotted Devon Cream had to wait as I dressed myself down for an inquisitive parlance. Standing up , adjusting my cravat with militaristic fortitude, I approached the said ageing book owner and politely and quietly inquired as to the origins and interests of her read? Without so much as a by nor leave the lady rose, slammed shut the book, an action which prompted I must say a personal sense of shuddering horror as to the possible damage of such a literary "Meisterstuck", and then proceeded to leave the Tea Rooms in what can only be called a glide. Her long dress swaying over the cobble stones in an almost surreal mist like movement. No chance for me to catch her up, the unpredicted and unwelcome re-action to my action had me disorientated with my prime senses momentarily numbed almost disabled in fact. A sensible response from my body functions was not evident.
It was then as I turned to sit down , in abject disappointment for to complete my afternoon tea, that I spied there on the floor a bookmark, personalised, monogrammed and glistening in gilt embossed blue leather. “Doreen Moppe, The Links, Sandwich, Kent”. Unable to contain my obvious excitement I ran , out of the tearooms, casting a five pound note in the general direction of the waitress, a frail looking pallid female dressed in standard black and white attire. I had just embarked upon the most exciting adventure and unbeknown to myself at the time this was to prove to be as historic a chance meeting as I could ever have imagined. As I left the Tearooms, a man , clad in a black cloak holding a silver headed can , swept past me turned around in front, deftly pulled out a straight sword from the cane's internals and approached me armed ,as I was not with a menacing grin and a shining blade. Are you "Otto Von Schneider?" he growled raising the blade which reflected the late afternoon sunlight................ watch this space for episode two of "Yellow Dusters Ahoy" |
Author: james Herbertiaint
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 03:57 am | | Doris Stoke-Manderville had always been a family friend. Her delicate persona was in stark contrast to her embittered dark side. When she ‘went over’, she turned from being the loving, caring great step-grandmother that she usually was, to being an evil, slobbering demon, with red flaming eyes, foul breath and loose bowels. Often we had tried to hide the Sherry, but she always had another bottle tucked away for emergencies. This did not help that afternoon in the tea-shop. Why indeed did we bother to take the (foul-mouthed!) wench. We knew she was trouble, and we knew what she was like. She just couldn’t help herself that day could she. No. She had to go one better. That, I’m afraid was her downfall.
It all started when my eminent friend and colleague Germaine had arranged to meet myself and Great Step Granny Do in Lord Kitchener Tearoom. ‘What a novel idea’, I replied. ‘Shall you be bring step granny Do’ said Ger. ‘Yes…I shall’, I replied. ‘Shall you also be bringing the Scandinavian Poodle with you like last time. You know, the one with the waggly tail.’ I chortled almost uncontrollably as I remembered what happened last time. Helga had poopy-doo’d on the tea-room floor. It was then, on that last occasion we had noticed something queer about the whole set-up. Why was there sawdust on the floor. Why were the scones stale. Why did they allow horses inside the premises. Why did they have a table reserved for…….MRS MOPPE. This was no coincidence. We had stumbled across the nether regions of the space-time continuum. The mist had appeared on that occasion and Great Step Gran Do had gone into her know familiar trance. She started to speak in tongues. ‘I am the Tonbridge Twins and I have come for the scones. Bring the cleaner here and let her serve me….and my brother. We expect the usual ‘service’. Come…bring the wench to us.’ Well I looked at Ger and Ger looked at me. ‘Has she been on the sherry again’, Ger enquired. I replied that I was sure that there was no foul play involved and maybe Great Gran had in fact transmeditated into another sub-world. ‘Quick..I must have my scone. Bring the wench to me.’ It was then, through the mist, that a levitating yellow duster came gliding through. There were no wires, no strings, no mechanical devices supporting its fluid like motion. In mid air it started to form…into a garrotte. It headed straight for the throat of Great Nan Dor. We shrieked as it…………….watch this space for episode three of “Yellow Dusters Ahoy” |
Author: Sir Alistair McCleaniaint
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 05:16 am | | I turned and ran, ran, ran for all my life , I ran till I couldn’t run any more Chertsey, East Chertsey, West Ilchester, West Brompton, East Brompton, very East Brompton . Eventually I realised I was safe, no one was following me. I stopped, jumped on the tube and went home tired but fitter.
Alighting at Sandwich Station the next day I cowered under an altogether flimsy umbrella as the Kent coastline buffeted my person. I hailed the nearest black cab who ceremoniously turned through 180 degrees and screeched to a halt infront of me, just missing my somewhat exposed toecaps by a few inches. “ The Links, Sandwich, Kent” I enquired of the driver, an ugly brute mid forties, pitted red face with unkept moustache and stained baseball cap. Links, Sandwich he humourously muttered, “you want a links sandwich?” “Nein nein nein” I petulantly replied. “You want the police to bring you a Links Sandwich?” he immediately retorted. Resigned to have a complete buffoon for a driver I settled back and rose to the bait no further.
The black cab had like the driver seen better days and along with most Hackneys I have travelled in it had unique noises , grunts, groans and squeeks which only British Engineering can provide. We chugged our way out of the town on the coast road to Dover , the English Channel rolling and spitting in full character with the November day we were enduring. About 5 minutes out of the town just past The Royal St Georges Golf Club the driver took a severe right turn , I slid across the back seat and rapped my head on a perspex advertisement sign which was fixed to the side of the passenger compartment wall. “Take Hedex” it proclaimed, good job there wasn’t an “Exlax is good for you” motif on the seat , I thought? Again screeching to a halt the drivers window slid open , he turned around and coughed “The Links, Sandwich, guvnor”. Turned back to view the meter and then joyously proclaimed “That’ll be seven pounds forty guv”. We exchanged currency as I alighted from the cab, still nursing a slight headache. Brushing myself down I spotted the vague etchings on a wooden House Sign “Th inks” . The house was a red brick turn of the century standard mansion with a long meandering front lawn and a bust stop at the driveway entrance. Obviously schoolboy “bus stop” humour had over the period of time led to the e and L being erased from the sign. I pondered no further my concentration was not to waver on such trivia.
Briskly walking up the driveway, still battling the inclement elements that prevailed I approached the front door and saw the lace curtain move in the downstairs front room. Either someone’s in or the cat’s been disturbed I mused?
“Rap Rap Rap” I firmly addressed the door, then noticed a sign which read “Use the Doorbell”. Pressing the doorbell with reluctant caution I was surprised that almost immediately the door sprung open and there in front of me was the same old lady I had met not 24hours beforehand in the Lord Kitchener tearooms West Chertsey , a class place by the way, real class. “Well young man?” she enquired frailly. “Yes thank you?” I replied “I’ve come to return your bookmark, which you dropped yesterday”. “What all the way just to return a bookmark?” she queried.
“Well actually there was something else that I would like to discuss with you, if you could give me 10 minutes of your time?” I politely requested. “No use standing there getting blown about” she retorted, “Come along in, come along in”. I entered the house and was immediately transported back in time to a dour and musty Victorian room with little light and even less humour. “Sit down , young man, my name is Doreen Moppe. I know why you have come, no need to worry, it had to come out at some stage. For years my family has hidden the truth but now as I approach my 90th birthday my will to hold back what really happened all those years ago , well you see it’s not there anymore” With this the scarlet bound "Moppe Innocent or Guilty - The Final Verdict" (with a preface by Inspector Chandlers Ford) was produced from a dark stained glass fronted bookcase. “Please read the last page” she enquired.. “Otto Von Schneider, Professor of Clinical Psychology University of Berlin , very pleased to meet you” I offered out a hand attempting some sort of pleasantries, a few minutes too late to be polite.
I eagerly grasped the book, opened up the last page and there in fading neat handwriting were the words “There told you I did it” with a signature which looked like Doreen Moppe but was obviously not. Putting two and two together then adding another three and taking away the first number I had thought of I came to the stark conclusion that this was her handwriting, no not Doreen but the Mrs Moppe, a deathbed confession, a complete fabrication? A hoax? ................ watch this space for episode four of "Yellow Dusters Ahoy" |
Author: Caz
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 05:46 am | | Hi All,
Watch this space?? Can you keep it short next time fellas?
It reminds me of the scene in Airplane where the guy's fellow passengers all lose the will to live, bored out of their tinies, committing hara-kiri to escape....
No offence but where is the passion rich mentions?
(Not that I'm into passion plays.) But "Yellow Dusters Ahoy" is far too clean and sparkling for my liking, not top-shelf enough dears.
And I didn't recognise any of my rellies among the preceding yawn, sorry, yarn, so maybe my familiy connections to the Moppe Murder Mystery are mere washful sinking....
Oh dear, richy boy, you ain't never gonna get it together with this Moppe-head with my lousy sense of geography. Never mind, let's see if I can find my way out of this place right now.....
Yep, I'm gone.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Karoline
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 05:46 am | | HI all -
not wanting to spoil anyone's fun, but let's not forget that few people have the talent to do this kind of thing successfully,and if it's done badly it's probably the most embarrassing and tedious thing on earth. Have a care for the casual visitor here.
best wishes
karoline |
Author: rich
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 07:06 am | | Hello,
Hear hear. I fell asleep. Good to see you are still around Karoline. I thought you had fled to warmer climes.
Caz...hows about lunch some time. I have a birthmark I need to find.
Finally. Bring on the eclipse.
rich |
Author: Caz
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 02:53 pm | | Hi All,
Well, that makes three of us who'd rather not be subjected to episode four.
And don't forget, Mr Ryder will come down like a ton of bricks (or concrete) eventually, 'cause Peter's Moppe board wasn't started under Personal Discussions, so tut tut Peter. (Or should I say Mr. Birchwoodiaint??)
Lunch sounds good. I couldn't live without it actually. Oh, with you, ya mean? I get it. Perhaps we could meet in the Bushey area. D'ya think you'll find the birthmark you are seeking there? Or will it be on the rare piece of rump you will be ordering to go with the Bolly?
Now you want me to bend over to bring on the eclipse? You insult the size of my rump and you expect me to do lunch?? You MUST be joking, that don't impress me much....
Love,
Caz |
Author: Julian
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 09:22 pm | | Nicely done Caz.
Jules |
Author: richiaint
Tuesday, 06 July 1999 - 11:18 pm | | Maybe you would like to give us some of your theories on Mrs Moppe, Julian...or can you not extract yourself from Cazs' rump to get to the keyboard. 'Nicely done Caz'. Ha...you make me sick.
Rich |
Author: Karoline
Wednesday, 07 July 1999 - 02:07 am | | Gosh Caz, is this 'rich' you talking to yourself again! You're putting together a one-person soap opera girl.
:-))) |
Author: Philip K.Dickiam
Wednesday, 07 July 1999 - 03:59 am | | Again the curtain swayed, then abruptly stopped. "Let me tell you the full story Otto, that's if you have the time of course?" Doreen Mope politely stated. "I was born when my Grandmother was in her late 60s in 1913 just before the outbreak of the Great War".I sat down and made myself comfortable for what I thought was to be an enduring monologue.Doreen rose to close the rear window muttering about "stopping that infernal draught" as she turned her back to be the front window curtain again rustled and then quick as a flash a brown stick flew through the air and embedded itself in Doreen Moppe's back . "Argghhh" she whimpered as she slumped forward over the "chaise longue". The front window opened then shut and by the time I had realised the enormity of the situation who ever it was (assuming the cat was innocent) had fled. I stumbled back to where Doreen lay, motionless and very very dead. There protruding out of her back , firmly embedded was a bamboo stick with a sharp blade at one end and a yellow duster the other. "Scheiss" I shrieked selfishly realising that I Otto Von Schneider was the number one suspect. Picking up the phone with a handkerchief I dialled 999 and waited for the Police to arrive.How will Otto get out of this one? Was Doreen really dusted up good and proper? what innermost secrets would she have told ? Interested? no nor am I .... The End
Watch this space for the sequel "There's only two Wells in Tonbridge"..."That's only if Caz thinks it should be writ" |
Author: Caz
Wednesday, 07 July 1999 - 12:36 pm | | Hey rich and Jules,
There are some very bitter bods out there today, aren't there, my darlings?
Karoline,
I don't know rich as well as Jules, but their emails in my inbox do suggest that neither is me pretending to be male. I can do many things, but THAT is just beyond me, I'm afraid (unless I opt for the strapadicktome op ;-))
Mr Dickiam,
I have no jurisdiction over what should and what shouldn't be writ here, I just think you are pushing your bleedin' luck, whoever you really are. It's not me who has to worry about adverse comments about the Casebook. I think Stephen Ryder is working on a way of preventing people from persistently posting under different names, so watch out is all I'm saying.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Karoline
Wednesday, 07 July 1999 - 01:20 pm | | Caz -
rich has been e-mailing me too (with the most bizarre sexual suggestions), but I just kind of thought it was one of your jokes. I'm sincerely sorry if I'm wrong.
Does he ask YOU to describe your underwear?
Maybe he really should be traced. God knows I've had more than enough assorted weirdos coming after me here.
Karoline |
Author: Julian
Wednesday, 07 July 1999 - 03:11 pm | | G'day everyone,
Hey Rich, if ya wanna be sick mate, go check out the 'Who Wasn't Jack' board, don't rely on me to do it for you!
No-one's asked me to describe MY underwear, how come you guys have all the fun?
Jules |
Author: Valis
Wednesday, 07 July 1999 - 05:03 pm | | To Philip K. Dick(iam):
Your prose isn't a bit like the late, great SF writer. |
Author: Caz
Thursday, 08 July 1999 - 01:00 am | | Karoline,
There must be two 'riches' then my dear. The one who emailed me was a perfect gent, simply inviting me to join him on the Mrs Moppe board for a bit of a joke. No dodgy suggestions whatsoever. His email address is rich_141@hotmail.com whereas I only use good old freeserve. You do have a suspicious mind when it comes to me and emails, don't you? Be careful it doesn't eat away at you girl. Not healthy, really.
Love,
Caz |
Author: Karoline
Thursday, 08 July 1999 - 04:13 am | | Caz -
Suspicious? Moi?
But if you'd had this succession of strange men calling you names and sending you unwanted descriptions of their genitalia, then you'd be getting slightly tired of it too!
Yes - that's the same address for Mr. 'rich'. I don't know if it's real, since I've never replied. Have you?
I guess you get the chat and I get the strange propositions!
Come on Mr. Rich, give me a break.
And I HATE the Moppe thing.
Awful.
Karoline |
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