The Buffoonish Case of the Bogus Black Rider
(Being a letter from Lancogard North-took to Golendad Boffin of the Eastfarthing Watch)
THE GOLDEN PERCH, STOCK, Eastfarthing in the Shire, on this the 11th day of Wedmath:
My Dear Golendad:
I hope your holiday with your relatives near Longbottom is all you had hoped, and I trust the Post will get this to you before you set out on your return to Stock.
When I agreed to cover your watch during your holiday, I had no idea of the situation here – and you certainly did not inform me of same. Whether they are things you left undone, or things that just sprang up during my watch, is beside the point; there are such odd and unnatural goings on here!
This latest case in particular was queer and disturbing, to say the least – in brief it runs like this. Odovacar Bolger – you know him, up in Budgeford – gave me a complaint about black-cloaked Big Folk, of all things, terrorizing his farmhands by night and threatening not only his livestock, but him as well. And now Odo’s talking of selling out to the Sackville-Bagginses of all people!
Well, that started the investigation. I staked out a lookout just after nightfall with a covered lanthorn, and just like Odo said, a cloaked trespasser appeared, making spooky threats to anyone passing by. Quick as anything, I uncovered my lanthorn and shone a light on him – and it was a hobbit in a long black cloak!
“Halt, in the name of the Watch!” I shouted, and the hobbit took off running in the direction of Puddifoot’s acres, with me in hot pursuit. I held up a minute when I started hearing wolves howling – that’s right, wolves in the Eastfarthing, and me without my bow handy – and just at the edge of Puddifoot’s land I found a cloak in the grass, shredded and left behind. I retrieved it and headed back to Odo’s, where he offered to let his dog Veronica scent out the owner. Well, guess where that hound led me, but the doorstep of Greta Fallohide – and she confessed to making the cloak at the behest of her nephew, Folo, who could be found at the Golden Perch, like as not.
Off I went to Stock and sure enough, there at the bar was Folo Fallohide, whom I straight away confronted with my best authority voice to explain himself. And the story he told was this: that he was paid to haunt the Bolgers by night and scare them, presumably as a joke played by a friend of Odo’s who called himself “the Chief”. Well, Folo nearly became wolf-chow over a little beer money, and a promise to stop scaring folk in the night. When I returned to Odo the next morning with my report, he became firmly resolved that he would never sell his property now, and is suspicious that Lotho Sackville-Baggins is somehow mixed up in this.
Well, there it is, we solved the Buffoonish Case of the Bogus Black Rider. Despite Odo’s wishes, I filed a full case report with the Watch Office that morning, after dashing this letter off to you, which I informed the Post to get it to you promptly. Now, by no means is there any reason to cut your stay short and return. As long as things don’t get any more queer and disturbing, I can handle anything that comes down the pike.
I remain
Yours in Service to the Shire,
LANCOGARD
