"I shot my butler, but I did not shoot the chauffeur" Mrs. Kensington said. "I don't know who could have done such a thing. That poor old man."
"The butler or the chauffeur," the detective asked.
Mrs. Kensington coughed with polite outrage.
"The chauffeur, of course," she said. "The butler can rot in a thousand hells as far as I'm concerned."
The detective flipped back a few pages in his notebook.
"You say the butler had been stealing from you," he asked, scratching his nose. "Did you have any proof?"
"Proof is in the pudding, as the maid would say." Mrs. Kensington said. "Things would go missing, and he was the only one who could access them, so there is your proof."
The detective was just about to ask her another question, when a gunshot rang out from the kitchen. A shriek followed and then a platter of silverware tumbled to the ground.
The detective ran in to see the maid die, shot in the chest.
"I told her to polish that yesterday,"