Avant garde, no?

I don't wish to be rude, but if I was spending a leisurely weekend at Baron Darlington's country estate and another member of the gentry was found dead in the conservatory or possibly the library - the victim of dastardly deeds and foul goings-about - I would totally be like, "Hey Agatha Christie, detect this."

And just point to my crotch.

Actually, that would leave me open to magnifying glass related zingery.

I don't know what I would do, guys.

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