When I arrived back at the hotel after a wonderful day seeing the sights of the city and having a delightful lunch at the wharf, there was a note for me at Reception. The note asked that upon my return would I kindly go to Room 349. I asked Reception who was in Room 349 and they answered that such information was confidential.
I didn’t know anyone in this city as far as I knew. Nor did I know of anyone who might be making a visit at the same time as me. I was rather hesitant to knock upon some strange door, in fact I was a little scared, and so I went back to my own room. I showered and thought about where to go for dinner. The whole message worried me. What if it was someone who needed my help? What if it was the chance of a life time? Perhaps I should go… I would think about it after I had dined.
I was a little reluctant to dine in the hotel’s restaurant just in case the person in Room 349 came in and accosted me or something. I would be constantly looking to see if I recognized any one. So I decided to go to The Fisherman’s Table where I had a delightful dish of lobster.
It was getting on for eight o’clock when I returned to the hotel. There were police everywhere. I was arrested. As far as they knew I was the last person to have been to Room 349 where the occupant had been murdered. I explained to the cops everything I have already told you. I hadn’t been to Room 349.
Well, well, well, said the policeman. They had searched my room and found blood-stained clothes that fitted the description Reception had said I was wearing when I returned earlier.
I knew I should have not left the clothes there. And, said the policeman, the clothes have your fiancée’s blood on them.