My friend Dave sent me this letter. My response is below:


Lorka the Thumbreader calls to the dead for you! Head on down to Thumb Depot for a reading the likes of which you'll never forget! Got whirls on your thumb? Lorka will tell you what they mean, precisely, clearly, concisely. Scars? Lorka will elucidate for you (and me too)!
Subject your thumbs to the caring tenderness of the one and only Lorka, greatest thumbologist of France and civilized countries also!
This service, performed for you, is only a mere fraction or part of your income! Much less than he would charge the crowned thumbs of Europe (although he will tell you the secret nature of HRH Beatrice, Queen of Belgium's ingrown nail!)!
The future beckons! Your future! And your past!
Were you a Courtier in the time of Algernon Hiss? Were you a serving maid in the time of Napoleon, scantily clad only in the leaf of a cabbage? Lorka knows all, tells all!
So come on down to City-O-Thumbs. Don't wait! Call Today for psychic help!

                        Winston Churchill Viswanathan,
                        Owner and Operator




Dear Mr. Viswanathan,

          Recently my wife went the way of all flesh. She resigned her being, yielded a final breath, and laid down for her last sleep. Her earthly career, such as it was, ended with a sharp dismissal. Her debt to nature was paid. In short, she popped off!
          Right before she launched into eternity she introduced me to your published propagation heralding Mr. Lorka's unusual services. My wife, being something of a minor iconoclast in her time, was in firm support of such practices being performed by the Diablerie (namely of the variety known as clairvoyants or augurs), whom she considered harmless and diverting. It was this Mr. Lorka and the promise of his unique craft that peaked my wife's curiosity and sense of merriment. She was keen on inducing a titter in herself (she'd also have settled for a giggle) and Mr. Lorka's "Thumbology" seemed the perfect catalyst. I normally discourage my wife from such titillation but I had recently accused her of making a cuckold of me, and had been quite humbly proven wrong, and so I was in no position to prevent her from her attempts at what I saw as innocent skylarking.
          And so it was on September of this year that my wife set off for your "Thumb Depot" for a reading of her whirls. She was very interested in learning of her late and previous husband before me, a Mr. Edgar "Pregnant" Predgar, who you've no doubt heard about due to his exploits in the Indies with the exported pigeons he hoped would develop a form of sentient intelligence in the new environs there. His labors ended in vain, and so did his life, after he purposefully swallowed a poisonous fungus from the shame. My wife had yearned to flout and make scoff, as she had never really had the chance to fully disrespect him. She hoped Lorka the Thumb-reader would provide this opportunity. So off she went to the 'City-O-Thumbs' and never did she return.
          Her head was found in a bag in a beggar's basket used as a mock-up companion for the derelict. Her body was only recently recovered mysteriously sitting upright in a constable's waiting room, holding a cup of tea. The tea, carefully studied by no less than fourteen forensics experts, was determined to be at least seven months old, which was considered odd, as she had only gone missing 2 days before. And furthermore, I might add, my wife never was known to imbibe what she considered to be too much a beverage of the gentry and the lofty-minded.
          Given that her last known location was your establishment, I have concluded that no doubt you, or your demonic henchman "Lorca", are responsible for what happened to my wife. I believe this Lorca to be some sort of succuba or elfin fiend. I mean not to cast aspersions on him for being a person of this variety. But if he contributed to the act of removing my wife's head (and placing her body with a cup of tea in a constable's waiting room), I cannot be thought of as acting too churlish in this instance. I feel that I have been made into a mummer by these circumstances. You have turned me into a snout! No doubt you view your infernal activities as a bit of harmless chicanery. Well, sir, I do not consider the murder of another human being and the humilation of a gentleman a matter of jest, at least not one to be chortled and hooted after with too much verve. I will risk you thinking me umbrageous, but I must accuse you of creating illness in Society!
          Furthermore, I must confess that the practice of thumbology is now something I do not hold in much esteem. I consider it a heretical and cowardly practice. Only the truly dull and wayward would apply themselves to this dark art. Please refrain from conveying to Lorca my opinions on this matter, as I wish not to overly offend him, and also, I fear his demoniacal wrath. I am sure he is a pleasant enough fellow if one were to get to know him.
          I await your response to my accusiations. I also would not mind knowing more about my wife's demise. If you have to procure this information from the use of your dreaded thumbs, so be it! I am determined to know the truth. What did you do to my wife?, you Thumbaturgist!

Sincerely,

Dale Bladdermere

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