Search Results
7/23/2025, 5:07:06 AM
>>64019384
>Letter goes on:
>4. Crown Street Drawing Room (First Shot) - A friend brought round a 12-bore hammerless—curious old thing, very pre-Boer War. I admired the engraving, shut it with a touch of panache… and boom. Right barrel went off.Rug caught it. Servants assumed someone had opened champagne. I saw no reason to disabuse them.
>5. Crown Street (Encore Performance)- Same shotgun, same rug, precisely one week later. I was demonstrating how it broke open. Apparently had chambered a round absentmindedly. Bang—exact same spot. At this point the rug smells faintly of cordite and tradition.
>6. The Martini-Henry Affair- Someone at the office left the thing by the radiator. I was curious about the lever mechanism. Opened, inspected, and, well—upon closing, the bolt slammed forward with more gusto than expected. Round discharged clean through the grandfather clock. Nearly clipped a fleeing suspect, who promptly surrendered out of sheer alarm. So technically, a success.
>7. The Bergmann Incident - Friend brought over a Bergmann MP18, German surplus. I hadn’t realised it fired from an open bolt. Slotted in the magazine, let the bolt fly—and three rounds went straight into the parlour wainscoting. Startled the cat so badly she hasn’t come down from the curtain rod since.
>8. The Revolver Reassurance - At this point, I began to suspect the flat was cursed. I fetched my service revolver, cleared it three times— cylinder empty (or so I thought). Pointed it at the same poor rug, for scientific purposes. Pulled the trigger. It fired. Again.
> Now, I say all this not in boast but as a kind of… informal case study. Statistically speaking, I’ve handled a wide variety of firearms under various degrees of sobriety, distraction, and inherited eccentricity. No one has died, thank God. Except, possibly, the cat’s dignity. And the grandfather clock.
>Letter goes on:
>4. Crown Street Drawing Room (First Shot) - A friend brought round a 12-bore hammerless—curious old thing, very pre-Boer War. I admired the engraving, shut it with a touch of panache… and boom. Right barrel went off.Rug caught it. Servants assumed someone had opened champagne. I saw no reason to disabuse them.
>5. Crown Street (Encore Performance)- Same shotgun, same rug, precisely one week later. I was demonstrating how it broke open. Apparently had chambered a round absentmindedly. Bang—exact same spot. At this point the rug smells faintly of cordite and tradition.
>6. The Martini-Henry Affair- Someone at the office left the thing by the radiator. I was curious about the lever mechanism. Opened, inspected, and, well—upon closing, the bolt slammed forward with more gusto than expected. Round discharged clean through the grandfather clock. Nearly clipped a fleeing suspect, who promptly surrendered out of sheer alarm. So technically, a success.
>7. The Bergmann Incident - Friend brought over a Bergmann MP18, German surplus. I hadn’t realised it fired from an open bolt. Slotted in the magazine, let the bolt fly—and three rounds went straight into the parlour wainscoting. Startled the cat so badly she hasn’t come down from the curtain rod since.
>8. The Revolver Reassurance - At this point, I began to suspect the flat was cursed. I fetched my service revolver, cleared it three times— cylinder empty (or so I thought). Pointed it at the same poor rug, for scientific purposes. Pulled the trigger. It fired. Again.
> Now, I say all this not in boast but as a kind of… informal case study. Statistically speaking, I’ve handled a wide variety of firearms under various degrees of sobriety, distraction, and inherited eccentricity. No one has died, thank God. Except, possibly, the cat’s dignity. And the grandfather clock.
Page 1