Double Confusion

Pliny writes:

Most amicable greetings to Professor Healey, from Pliny the Elder,

Sir, I am indeed that Pliny who wrote a story that was published in Velosophy. If I recall, it was a mystery, about a disappearing bicycle, in which I featured as an amateur detective, in the process being accidentally taken for the Messiah by the singing members of the local Korean Church. I am not too modest to admit that my story was enthusiastically received. The editors of Velosophy are therefore well disposed towards me, and I shall be very pleased to put your name forward as a potential contributor. Your interest in bicycle philosophy does you great credit, sir.
I am, etc...

He sends the email. A short time later he receives a reply.

Pliny: Oh, drat and blast!

Me: What's the matter?

Pliny: I've sent it to the wrong Professor Healy! How could I do it twice?

Me: You mean you sent it to the Classics Professor Healy, the one you were going to complain to?

Pliny: Yes, and now he has replied, thanking me for the invitation to contribute to Velosophy.
Listen to this:

Dear Gaius Plinius Secundus, what a wonderful surprise to hear from you after all this time. I had not realised you were still alive! I hope you do not mind me saying so. I was delighted, if a little surprised, to be invited to write something for the magazine Velosophy. It is a great honour, I understand. Your own story, which I have not read, sounds a remarkable one. I hope I shall come up with something if not as good, at least worthy of your confidence in me as a writer. I will admit, many years have passed since I last rode a bicycle. PS. Just a small point. My name is spelled Healy.

Me: Is that it?

Pliny: What do you mean is that it? It's a disaster! I can hardly write him a complaining letter now. And furthermore I am obliged to write to the editors on behalf of two Professor Healeys or Healys, both of whom are virtually unknown to me.

Me: Are you fearful for your reputation?

Pliny: No, no. Of course not.

The Bicycle Detective Part 4

That's it, said Pliny the Elder. What do you think?

I love it, I said, but I'm wondering whether I gave you some bad advice.

What was it? asked Pliny.

When I told you to ditch the toga, because it revealed who you were. I didn't realise your costume was a crucial part of the plot.

It was? said Pliny, surprised.

Well yes, it was. The New Lifers thought you were the Messiah because you were wearing it. But the readers of Velosophy won't know that you were wearing it unless you tell them.

But then everyone will know that it was me, said Pliny.

Yes, that is the dilemma that you must resolve, I said. I don't see how you can get out of it really. You can't just introduce a character who happens to be walking around the streets at night in a toga for no particular reason.

What if it were a dressing gown? asked Pliny hopefully.

A dressing gown! These are not the sort of people who would be duped by a dressing gown, I said firmly.

Well, then, said Pliny. I must reintroduce the toga. Goodbye privacy!

The Bicycle Detective Part 3

How's it going? I asked Pliny the Elder.

He looked up. Nearly finished, he said. It's not as easy as I thought, to write a story.

But it's a true story isn't it? I said.

Oh yes, he replied. But it's all in the telling. Now that I've reached the denouement, I'm wondering how to reveal it.

Just write what happened next, I suggested. What did happen next?

Very well. After half an hour standing under a wind-tossed tree expecting any minute to be caught in a storm, Gaius was about to go home. But just then he noticed the two bicyclists illuminated in the doorway of the church hall. They appeared to be waving goodbye to the people inside. Hurrying down the steps they headed for the bicycles. Gaius made a split-second decision.

That's good, I said, encouragingly. A split-second decision! You know how to make it exciting.

No I don't, said Pliny. And don't interrupt. Gaius crossed the road. He approached the mysterious bicyclists. I beg both your pardons, he said. But would you please tell me what goes on in there?

Oh, said the first cyclist, the one with the case. I'm awfully sorry but we really can't stay. We have to get back to our own music practice before we are missed. You see we've been moonlighting. Why don't you go in and meet some of the nice folks inside. They will be only too happy to see you. By the way, can you sing? Why yes, said Gaius, as a matter of fact I have a fine tenor voice.

Oh Pliny, I said. Do you have a fine tenor voice?

I do, he said. But as soon as Gaius said it he knew he'd be sorry.

Did he go in? I asked.

He didn't want to. But by then it was too late. Several members of the New Life community had come out to see what was happening. They drew him up the steps and into the hall. Inside the hall all the New Lifers crowded around him. Some of them smiled at him shyly. One or two patted his garment. They set up a chair on the stage and led him up to it. Then they knelt on the floorboards around him with their heads bowed and their palms together, as if waiting for something.

Pliny, they thought you were the Messiah! What did you do?

I sang Down By the Sally Gardens, and Molly on the Shore. Then I excused myself and went home. They all came out to wave me goodbye and asked me to come back again next Tuesday.