The Dastardly Case Of The Robotic Panda, Part 3.

It was, to the bst of my recollection, several days later that there came a knock upon the front door. As it was my man Jenkins’ afternoon off, I received the visitor myself. There upon the stoop stood a small man, swarthy, doubtless of mixed parentage. From his skin tone I surmised that he was Corsican with a touch of the Orient. Unaccustomed as I was to speaking to members of the lower class I nonetheless asked him to state his business forthwith.

“Beggin yer pardon, sir,” he said in fluid, well-modulated tones, “I’m ‘ere abaht the damage.”
From this I surmised that he was the man whom the panda had spoken of. Well, I thought to myself, curiouser and curiouser. I allowed him in and he set to work, occasionally hastening to a small work-van which he had parked in the driveway. As I did not care to observe him in his labours I repaired to my den where I continued work on my treatise for the Haberdashers Society. At length I detected no further sound in the sitting room. I ventured forth and found to my horror that while he had completed his work satisfactorily and departed, he had left his cigarettes, a common brand, carelessly flung on the occasional table.