Meet Mr. Stanley

Indeed, the butler did it. I can tell you, because I am the butler. My name is Theobald Hieronymus Stanley; Mr. Stanley to you.

My former employer, Mr. Stephen Thackery met his end last week. I killed him, with a pistol, as he drank his coffee in the parlor.

Mr. Thackery was not the first of my employers to die at my hands, but I certainly took more pleasure in killing him than I did with the others. The man was a bastard.

The abuse Mr. Thackery heaped upon me was unforgivable, and probably would have led to his eventual demise, but what he did to Melissa demanded an immediate and messy termination.

Melissa was one of our new maids. She was, and is, a pretty young thing, just out of school and on her way to better things. One morning as Melissa was cleaning, Mr. Thackery made a most inappropriate advance. Melissa refused him, and he flew into a rage. He grabbed her broom and hit her with it, hard enough to raise a lump on her head.

I will not stand for such treatment of my staff, so that night as he drank his coffee I crept into the parlor with my .454 Casull and shot him. His head burst like a gelatin dessert with a firecracker in it. I must admit I chuckled as his carcass slumped out of the chair to the floor, still clutching his coffee cup.

Happily, I know none of my former staff will have to clean up the mess he left behind. Dying was the nicest thing he ever did for us.

Now I need to find employment elsewhere but, luckily for me, there are a great many rich boors looking for help.