Peter Cook's The Guilty Party

Today's post isn't written by anyone in the Snark Stable- as you'll soon be able to tell by the quality of the writing (if you weren't able to tell by the title above). Peter Cook, the British comic, writer, actor, and leading figure in the absurdist, satirical comedy movement of the 1960s and beyond, wrote this in probably under 5 minutes way back in the late 1950s.

I love clever absurdist humor and this is one of the finest examples that I have ever come across. I still giggle every time I read it.

Guilty Party

(Last Laugh, Cambridge Arts Theatre, 1959)

(A police Constable and a police Inspector are in a police station. There is a knock at the door.)

Inspector: See who that is, will you Constable?

Constable: It’s a Mr. Prone, Inspector.

(Enter Mr. Prone)

Prone: Mr. James Prone, Inspector, of Hawkchurch. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour.

Inspector: Not at all. Won’t you come in? What can we do for you?

Prone: I’d just like you to ask me a few questions.

Constable: Questions? What about? There’s nothing wrong, is there?

Prone: It’s purely a matter of routine, Inspector. There’s no need for you to feel alarmed, but you are in fact investigating a murder.

Constable: Murder? But this is horrible!

Prone: Yes Constable. Murder is an ugly thing. That is why I should be extremely grateful if you would help me bring the culprit to bear by asking me one or two simple questions.

Inspector: But I don’t understand, Mr. Prone. What kind of questions?

Prone: Like ‘Did I know Mrs. Tallow well?’

Inspector: Only slightly. You used to play bridge together, but you don’t mean to say…

Constable: Is she? She’s not! She can’t be! She isn’t?

Prone: I’m afraid so. She was found stabbed this morning at 11:31 between the third and fourth rib.

Constable: Poor Annie! Why did it have to be her? She never hurt a soul!

Inspector: There, there Constable. You mustn't upset yourself. You must excuse my Constable, Mr. Prone. You see he was much closer to her than I was. But I still don’t see what this horrible thing has got to do with you.

Prone: Where was I this morning between eleven and twelve?

Inspector: You were…you were… now look here Prone, you’re not suggesting…

Prone: I’m not suggesting anything, Inspector. I only want you to get the facts. Now where was I this morning?

Inspector: I expect you were in the garden- gardening the beds.

Prone: And did anybody see me gardening?

Inspector: How the devil should I know? Now see here Prone, I don’t like your tone.

Prone: I’m only trying to do your job, Inspector. It isn't always a very pleasant one.

Inspector: I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that. It’s just that you got me on the raw. Of course we’ll do all we can to help you.

Prone: And now the Constable would like to ask me a few questions.

Constable: I… I… Oh dear, I don’t know what to say.

Inspector: Can’t you see the Constable’s overwrought? He’s not himself.

Prone: Let me see your shoe, Constable. Just as I thought. This speck of gravel is identical to the gravel in Mrs. Tallow’s drive. You were there this morning, weren't you? Come clean now, Constable.

Constable: Oh, what’s the use? You’re too clever for me.

Inspector: Is this true, Constable? Why didn't you tell me?

Constable: I thought you’d be angry.

Prone: And what were you doing there?

Inspector: Look here, Mr. Prone- you’re not implying that the Constable is in some way implicated in this affair?

Prone: I am implying that at 11:15 precisely, he looked in through the large bay window and saw the murder done- correct, Constable?

Constable: I’m sorry, Inspector. I couldn't help it.

Prone: Yes, Constable. I’m afraid the game’s up. You looked through that window and saw me stab Mrs. Tallow.

Constable: Yes, yes. I confess.

Prone: In that case, I’m afraid you have no alternative but to arrest me for willful murder, and of course to caution me.

Inspector: But this is absurd, Mr. Prone. We can’t possibly arrest you on such tenuous evidence as that. There’s no proof.

Prone: The Constable saw me do it.

Inspector: I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. He’s not a reliable witness. He’d soon break down under skillful cross examination.

Prone: My fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.

Inspector: But this is all purely circumstantial evidence. Besides, we haven’t found it.

Prone: Look in my pocket.

Inspector: I haven’t a search warrant. No, no. I tell you, Mr. Prone, we haven’t got enough to go on. For instance, what motive did you have?

Prone: Money. She left me all she had. It’s no use Inspector. You must arrest me.

Inspector: Are you threatening me Prone? I warn you, I have influential friends in the force.

Prone: Constable, take me into custody.

Inspector: You’ll never get away with this.

Prone: I’m coming quietly, Inspector. You always get your man in the end.

Inspector: Alright, you devil, Prone. You win. But let us have one last drink before we go. Won’t you join us?

Prone: Not while I’m on duty, thank you. Wait, what were those white crystals you put in those glasses? Give them to me!

Inspector: Too late, Prone. We’ll never live to run you in. You see, that was cyanide we drank.

(The Inspector dies)

Constable: Oh no, Mr. Prone- you’ll never hang.

(The Constable dies)

Prone: Damn, damn, damn. I've slipped through their fingers again. I should never have allowed them that last drink. I thought it was the perfect crime, but like all murderers, I made that one fatal mistake.