"honk honk" yourself she expostulated - or at least so we are led to infer. Under the musty backyard ferns, the mushrooms sprawled obscene, the dim neon twilight air rent with the keening of fornicating opossums and the recording of church bells stuck in a limping digital loop from the crooked steeple . It was then when I noticed the gun, at first just a glint of mettalic sheen amidst all those wine bottles. "That diabolical BASTARD." I mused, with a grudging admiration, "He must have passed himself off as Lithuanian gardener by wearing his lederhosen and mirrored shades! That can only mean that Col. Sebastian Moran was the 'woman' who escaped detection by rolling up in that tiny space under the sink". (Thus the traces of liquid plumber on the gardener's strap on). Simple really, when it's all explained. "I guess I won't be needing this then" I monologued thoughtfully and casually tossed the banjo thru the broken windshield of the smoldering police car and commenced my winding path back to the aerodrome. It had been a long day even without the telemarketers...