SHANE PILLAY - IRVING ERNSTEIN AND THE MURDER AT HADDON HALL

​Shane Pillay is from Amsterdam, The Netherlands. 
He is a creative artist who has works on music and art, with partnerships from USA, the Ukraine, Indonesia and Australia.
He has also produced animation films.
His short stories have been published by multiple journals, including Hawaii Pacific Review, Nthanda Review and Fiction Magazines.
He has an adult novella, "Affairs of the Dick", published by The Little French Books, as well as a horror novella, "The Knocking", published by Alban Publishing.
My website is www.shanepillay.com.

Irving Ernstein and the Murder at Haddon Hall 

The book of the film  written and illustrated by Shane Pillay 

https://www.shanepillay.com/film/haddonhall/  ​

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Something’s afoot at Haddon Hall 
Something’s afoot indeed, 

​

Somebody’s stalking somebody else 
For gain, for goal, for greed.

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Then in the night the master’s shot 
While asleep in bed; 

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There’s blood on the sheets and on the floor 
All soaked in deepest red. 

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The police come in, knowing well 
That somebody did the crime; 

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The butler who stands there by the door 
Or the maid who sweeps the grime?

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Maybe Jack who tends the garden hedge 
Or Joan who cooks the grub

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There’s Bill who guards the sheep all day 
And Bess who does the scrub? 

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The Chief in Charge is at a loss 
Not knowing what to do

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Then somebody says, “I know a man 
“Who’ll solve the crime for you!” 

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“Who is this man you know so well?” 
Asks the Chief in Charge

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“He is indeed,” answers another 
“The greatest sleuth at large!” 

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Then in the morning, all cold and dull 
This man comes to town 

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In the master’s room he goes 
And exhumes with a frown. 

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“Bloody, bloody murder,” he says 
“Bloody murder here”

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Then: “Bring me a cup of tea,” to Joan 
“Or maybe a cold, chilled beer!”

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He speaks to Bill, who’s in the field 
Minding all the sheep.

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“But Bill,” he says when the man protests, 
“Were you really fast asleep?”

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Then to Bess who sweeps the yard 
Looking fair and fine 

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This man is smitten and then he cries 
“Tonight we shall dine!”

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In the garden stands poor old Jack 
His face all forlorn 

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This sleuth tries some comforting words 
“I’ll find who did the wrong!” 

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Plump Joan is waiting in the kitchen 
Together with the lunch

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This man, he speaks and eats and speaks 
Now does he have a hunch? 

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He calls them to the study room 
When the night has come 

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The fire by the sooty hearth 
Crackling with a hum. 

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The men are standing while ladies sit 
All at his request 

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Our friend leans on the mantelpiece 
Dressed in Sunday best. 

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They look at him and he looks at them 
His face is stern and long 

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Then with a solemn air he cries 
“I know who did the wrong!”

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Now all their eyes grow round and wide 
Just as the rising sun 

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The sleuth, he frowns and then he sighs 
Oh will he just go on? 

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“I searched the room,” he says at last 
“to see what I could find 

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“high and low, far and wide 
“Yet still I racked my mind.”

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“But then I found a clue so big, 
“Never seen before

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“Incredible why it hadn’t been 
“It lay there on the floor!”

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“By the footing of the bed 
“There lay a crumpled note

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“Penciled in by the master’s hand 
“And this is what he wrote.”

​
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“My friends here at Haddon Hall 
“Forgive me what I do ​

“I cannot live like this no more 
“Alone and in gloom” 

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“And so it is with deep regret 
“That I must take my life 

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“For now I know more than before 
“I shall never have a wife.”

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“So goodbye to everyone I know 
“Who have meant so much to me 

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“I hope my passage here with you 
“Is more than memory.” 

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“So you see,” says the man 
“It was pure suicide 

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“He shot himself in his room 
“On that fateful night.” 

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Everyone is taken aback 
They cannot believe this truth 

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But they trust the guiding words 
Of the super sleuth. 

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A day goes by in the town 
The murder case is closed

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Irving Ernstein now makes to go 
He’s packed up all his clothes. 

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They say their thanks for his help 
And he can only smile 

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But if they looked him deep within 
They’d see his cunning wiles.

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He had planted the paper by the bed 
And forged the captain’s scrawl

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Imagined the tale long and sad 
That told the master’s fall.

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For it was he who killed the Sir 
who lived in Haddon Hall 

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Then ran away into the night 
With gold, jewels and all.

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The End 

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