The Court Jester's Quarters

Imagine. You're riding on a steam train on a crisp snowy evening. A full porcelain tea set sits on the table in front of you, your handbag beside you. You occasionally peek up through your reading spectacles at the debonair detective sitting across the aisle. Charming man, dressed in a fine suit, newly polished shoes, and a fedora. The two of you continue to exchange subtle glances. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him rise from his seat. He must be catching on to your little bashful game. He approaches, and asks if you mind if he sits across from you. "It's a free country, detective," you reply. He asks how you know he's a detective. He seems confused. But of course, he shouldn't ask such foolish questions. Everyone knows who he is. "Help yourself," you offer, gesturing to the untouched tea set in front of you. You don't see the appeal in tea, no, you're much more of a vodka person. He pours a cup, adds twelve su