Walking into the dining room, Detective Gulliver asked everyone to gather into a big group. Putting his sunglasses on, the detective stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled widely. Then, he laughed - a small, quiet chuckle that slowly grew louder and louder. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” the detective said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I was just laughing because this really is one of the worst attempts at a crime I’ve ever seen.” The crowd looked at each other, confused. Some even joined in with the detective’s laughter. “From all I’ve seen and heard today, I have been able to infer and conclude that this poisoning was planned by a clumsy man with no intelligence.” The detective laughed again, and this time the whole restaurant joined in with him. “This can be the work of only one person. A trivial , unimportant person. A writer so bad at his job, he had to copy the work of others.” As the detective said this, a man came pushing his way to the front of the crowd. “How dare you?” the man shouted, pointing a finger in the detective’s face. “I won’t stand here and listen to you insinuate i’m stupid! I’m the best writer this country’s ever had!”
