The Adventures of Drake Mandible #7: Failed Forensics.

Drake Mandible sighed. Of course she’d gotten away. Well, at least he had her revolver, from which he could obtain fingerprints. He headed back to the house and went downstairs to the laboratory.

Three hours later, his tests had yielded nothing. Aside from Drake’s own prints, the gun was clean. He found no trace of human hair, oil residue from her hands and no skin fragmen

ts. The serial numbers had been filed off, but there were no other scratches or similar marks to indicate that the firearm had been used previously. Obviously his would-be assassin had known what she was doing.

The conundrum irked him, yet he worked at it tirelessly, leaving his breakfast untouched on the bench behind him. He hadn’t even emerged when the Police arrived, leaving his butler to apologize for wasting their time and send them on their way.

Around midday, Nickelby buzzed him over the intercom.
“Telephone for you, Master Drake,” he said. “It’s your brother.”
Drake rolled his eyes. Ordinarily, he’d just ignore the call, but his mother had made him promise to answer ANY call from his brother, no matter what. Being a staunch believer in one’s word being bond, Nickelby ensured that Drake kept that promise.

“Fine, I’ll be up in a moment.”

The Adventures of Drake Mandible #6: Deaf Dogsbody.

Drake searched through the various rooms of his residence, looking for Nickelby. He finally found his butler back in the kitchen.

“I trust your meeting went well, Master Drake?”
“Didn’t you hear the racket?”
“I’m afraid not sir,” replied Nickelby, sheepishly. “I was cleaning in th
e panic room sir, which as you know, is completely soundproof.”

“Well, never-mind. She offered me a job as a professional killer and when I refused, she tried to kill me. Rather unprofessionally, I might add.”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Nickelby said apologetically. “It’s a dashed shame really, she seemed ever so nice.”
“Don’t worry about it. I managed to subdue her.”
“Oh, shall I contact the authorities, sir?”
“No, I’ll do it, Nickelby,” said Drake.

He flicked open the cylinder of the revolver and emptied the remaining bullets into a handkerchief.
“Take these down to the lab. I’ll have a look at them later.”
“Of course, sir,” replied Nickelby.

The butler left, while Drake went to the telephone and called the police. After recounting the morning’s events, he went back to the pool to check on his prisoner.
She was gone.

“Drat!”

The Minutiae of Mandible #3: "Not the Messiah..."

Looking back on this chapter, "Fatale Flop" seems to be out of character for Drake, but it amuses me greatly, so it is staying in.
Originally I was going to play this scene straight, but the witty banter and intrigue often associated in a bout of verbal sparring between the sexes largely eludes me.

But Pratfalls? Now THOSE I know, having done ple

nty myself.

The resulting gag is a tribute to the Lano & Woodley episode "The Pool." I don't know whether they actually coined the term "belly-whacker" but thanks to them, it has replaced the less-humorous-sounding "belly-flop" in my vocabulary.

While not quite the Messiah or even the Emperor of belly-whackers, I think Drake's involuntary attempt merits at LEAST a knighthood...