Inspector Halledjian climbed aboard the train, waving off the birds that dive-
“Thank goodness you’re here,” said a bloodied, disheveled man slumped into a chair next to an open cage with a dead bird in it. “My name is Rex Apelido, and someone brutally attacked me while we were going through the Simplon tunnel. And they’ve killed Crowy McCrowface, whom I was taking to the bird show in Istanbul!”
“Is that bird the heir to the McCrowface millions?” asked Inspector Halledjian.
“No, no relation,” said Rex.
“My raven Hempel claims that Old Man McCrowface is leaving his business to a bunch of ferrets, but I think that’s just a conspiracy theory,” said another man in the train car.
“Who are you? And did you kill Rex’s bird to eliminate your competition in the bird show?” asked Inspector Halledjian.
“I’m Rhett Harrington, and no, Hempel competes in a totally separate category against colored non-
“The croissants this morning were very flaky,” explained Rex.
Inspector Halledjian turned to the only other person and asked who she was.
“My name is Polly Hunter, and I study nouns cross-
Inspector Halledjian let out a long yawn, slapped his cheek to wake himself up, slapped Polly’s cheek to shut her up, and said, “I’m arresting you for assaulting Rex and killing his crow.”
How did he know?
Polly had put Rex and Rhett to sleep by rambling on about her research, a phenomenon known to anyone who has had the misfortune of meeting a linguist. Only she could simultaneously murder a crow with pluralization and wreck Rex with singularization. Truly, Inspector Halledjian had her number.