conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'Detection Unlimited'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Detection Unlimited
  When he shepherded his party into the courtroom, those who had come into Bellingham on the omnibus were already ensconced in front-row seats. Besides Mr Drybeck and the Midgeholmes, these included Mr Biggleswade, and the late Mr Warrenby's cook-general, a sharp-eyed damsel with tow-coloured hair cut in the style adopted by her favourite film-star. Gladys, a good cook and a hard worker, was known to be a Treasure, but she was also one of those who believed in sticking up for her rights. Not even her late employer had ever been permitted to encroach on these; and since he was well aware of the difficulty of getting servants to live in quiet villages, and set a high value on Gladys' culinary skill, he had been content, after one attempt to subjugate her, to rate Mavis for being unable to manage the household better. Gladys considered it to be her unquestionable right to attend the inquest; and when Mavis had shown reluctance to grant her leave off in the middle of the morning, she had spoken so ominously about the unsettled state of her feelings ever since Mr Warrenby's death, that Mavis had hastily retracted her first refusal. An attempt on her part to convince Gladys that nice girls did not wish to attend sensational inquests failed entirely.
  It was hardly surprising, after this, that Mavis had retreated from the kitchen, leaving her henchwoman mistress of the field.
  The Deputy Coroner was a chubby little man with white hair, pink cheeks, and a general air of cosiness. It was plain to Inspector Harbottle, resigning himself, that he would conduct the inquest at unnecessary length, and entirely to his own satisfaction.
  From the point of view of the audience, as Hemingway said in his assistant's ear, Mavis Warrenby was the biggest draw. Whether she was conscious of the stir her appearance created it was impossible to guess, for she conducted herself just as a heroine should, bravely, modestly, and with enough sensibility to win not only the sympathy of the mob, but also that of the Coroner, who handled her with the greatest tenderness, assuring her several times that he appreciated how painful it must be for her to be obliged to give her evidence.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'Hemingway assured her that he would preserve apple-pie order in the room, and as, at that moment, a voice suddenly announced: 'Mrs Dale's Diary: a recording of the daily happenings in the life of a doctor's wife,' she temporarily lost interest in him, and turned the face of a confirmed addict towards the radio'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Hemingway assured her that he would preserve apple-pie order in the room, and as, at that moment, a voice suddenly announced: 'Mrs Dale's Diary: a recording of the daily happenings in the life of a doctor's wife,' she temporarily lost interest in him, and turned the face of a confirmed addict towards the radio.
  He led the way into the study as he spoke, leaving the door open, so that he could hear any approaching footsteps.
  The carpet was a thick Turkey rug, with a groundwork of red, and a sprawling pattern of blue and green. On his hands and knees, Hemingway said: 'Fresh blood falling on this wouldn't show up. He might have missed it. A couple of spots is all I ask for!'
  The Inspector went to him, took the magnifying-glass held out to him, and through it stared at two very small spots on the carpet which showed darker than the surrounding red. 'Might be,' he grunted.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Hemingway had, in fact, stopped in front of a linen-draper's shop, a most peculiar look on his face, his eyes a little narrowed. Surprised, the Inspector said: 'What's the matter, sir?'
  The bank was as crowded as the rest of Bellingham, most of those waiting in queues before the various cashier's guichets being housewives, much encumbered by baskets and parcels. Gavin Plenmeller had not joined any of the queues, but was writing a cheque at one of the tables provided for that purpose. His back was turned to the door, and, after a quick glance at him, the Chief Inspector stepped up to the broad counter, and ruthlessly interrupted a cashier who was engaged in counting thick wads of dirty-looking notes, behind a notice which gave customers to understand that he was in balk, and must not be disturbed. Upon being accosted, he began, in repressive accents, to request the Chief Inspector to go to the next desk. However, Hemingway had thrust his card under the grille, and the inscription it bore worked like a charm. The cashier abandoned his calculations, and looked a startled enquiry.
  The Inspector, bewildered, but very much on the alert, thought that there was something more than natural surprise in Plenmeller's face. He gave no melodramatic start, but he seemed to stiffen, like an animal freezing, and the Inspector saw a muscle twitch in his cheek. The next moment the faintly sneering smile had curled his mouth, and he said coolly: 'If it isn't Scotland Yard again! Good morning, gentlemen! Is there anything I can do for you?'
  Plenmeller checked, found the Inspector immediately behind him, and shot a quick, searching glance at Hemingway. His brows went up. 'Is it so urgent?' he asked lightly.
  The manager was seated at a large knee-hole desk, the cashier to whom Hemingway had spoken at his elbow. He looked up over the top of his spectacles, by no means pleased by the unceremonious entrance of three uninvited persons. 'Mr Plenmeller?' he said, surprised. He glanced from Harbottle to Hemingway, and then at the card in his hand. 'Chief Inspector – er – Hemingway? You wish to see me?'