Competition No 3820
Set by Margaret Rogers, 23 February
You were asked for an extract from The Case of the Missing Weapons of Mass Destruction by Conan Doyle or any other famous detective-fiction writer.
Report by Ms de Meaner
Superb. An hon mensh to G M Davis, £25 and the Tesco vouchers to Bill Greenwell, £20 to the others.
Raymond Chandler
The rain was falling like strips of tinfoil, and the sandy tracks were turning to paste. The tires on the Oldsmobile had about as much purchase as a postage stamp on a dead sturgeon. I cut the engine dead.
The guy had the kind of beard you see on a cheap prophet. It had appeared like some kind of moss, and was starting to straggle. He needed a shave like I needed a dame. But he was in a bigger hole than I was.
For a hole, it had style. It was deep and dark, but it had a place to park your head. It was no run-of-the-mill burrow. Someone had called in the hole experts, and they'd given the place the treatment.
"Saddam?" I said. He nodded. This was proving to be easier than I had anticipated. "Where are the WMDs?"
If you didn't know your Gideon, you might have thought he had indigestion, or something like a stammer.
"Ur," he answered. It was in the bag. By sunset, we were swapping tall tales with the Chaldees.
Bill Greenwell
G K Chesterton
Between the silver ribbon of morning and the great green ribbon of the White House lawn, the dapper, expensively suited President framed in the Oval Office window bade his guest speak his mind.
This guest was no bejewelled maharajah, no plump statesman from a hungry but historic Balkan republic, but an untidy, moon-faced, untidy little Essex priest, who simply replied, in his quiet, humble way:
"You see, Mr President, in all diabolical machinations there are myriad rococo excrescences."
The President absorbed this information in stunned silence. After what seemed an eternity, he said quietly: "Father Brown, where has Saddam hidden his weapons?"
"Where would a wise man hide a leaf?"
"In a forest."
"And if he had no forest?"
"He'd put it in some other guy's forest. Father Brown, you mean . . ."
"Go and search your own armaments," said Father Brown. "You will find that some of them bear an unfamiliar word . . ."
"No!" The President shook his head vigorously. "I was there myself last week. There's only one missile I never saw before, the new Jihad range."
John Francis
Arthur Conan Doyle
"We can go no further," said Holmes. "Our burqas will not stand close scrutiny. We must rely on your trusty field glasses. You know my methods. What do you observe?"
"A tract of water. An oasis."
"Alas, no. That is heavy water, Watson."
"So we shall be oppressively burdened on the next stage of our quest?"
"Something worse, I fear. Heavy water is a vital component in the manufacture of nuclear weapons. Pray continue."
I noted that the camels were of the Bactrian variety and had two humps.
"No, they are dromedaries," Holmes replied. "The extra hump is without doubt a concealed nuclear warhead. There remains the posterior. Look closely, Watson. Each anal aperture is covered by a curiously wrought silver disc, seemingly a decorative feature of the beast's harness. A serious misjudgement. That is in fact a metal cylinder protruding from the anal orifice. This is diabolical cunning, my dear fellow, as you would know if you had read my monograph on the criminal uses of flatulence. Wind trapped over a long period, then ignited, provides a simple means of propulsion. These are devilish weapons, Watson. Imagine the effect of explosive camels on our gallant soldiers. Saddam is indeed a foe worthy of our steel."
Watson Weeks
No 3823 Set by Brendan O'Byrne
You are invited to think of presents suitable for a cloned baby. Gold, frankenstein and myrrh, perhaps?
As many as you like by 25 March. E-mail: comp@newstatesman.co.uk
