How Mrs. Blurgen Fight the Terror

It's right about ten o'clock. Sunny cloudless sky is promising very nice day. Mrs. Blurgen is returning from her shopping. She wears a skirt, blouse and funny hat, all of it with her favorite pattern of flowers. Although she is already over sixty, a lot of younger ladies would have envy her energy and vitality. Shuffling through the settlement, a plastic bag full of desperately needed things in both hands, she is stopping now and then for a little chat with every gossip. She is a very communicative person. Although she lives barely two hundred meters from the supermarket, her journey usually took about two hours. Mrs. Blurgen is in a very good mood today, as everyday.

And then it happened.

She turned into an narrow alley, where her studio apartment were. Then suddenly a small mountain like man run out from a side street. He grabbed the woman's bags, climbed over the wall and disappeared in the city streets. Everything happened so fast that the lady stared a few seconds with eyes wide open catching the breath and then she screamed in her inimitable voice: "Help, robber! Police!" Several gapers rushed out from the main street accompanied with a red-haired officer. Mrs. Blurgen never could remember how she got to the police station. A group of weary officers began the investigation.
Mrs. Blurgen were seated in a comfy chair.

"Relax, lady."
Said the red-haired cop while sitting opposite to her and introduced himself as Sgt. Finch.
"Let's start the interrogation,"
he said to the woman, obviously still shocked.
"Your personal details, please."
"What?"
"Your name."
"Oh, yes. It's Doreen."

Clatter on the computer keyboard rustled in the room.
"What is it?" Asked said woman.
"What?"
"What a special typewriter. It he does not do any noise?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," explained Sgt. Finch.
"This is a computer. COM-PU-TER. "
"And where do you shove the papers?"

Sgt. Finch stroked his red head.
"Ma'am, you would not understand. Your last name? "
"And how much does it cost?"
"Missis, would you be so kind and focus on the questioning please!"
"Excuse me, Mr. Officer, I am just a great fan of technical progress."
"Your last name?"
"I am Blurgen."

"Dwelling?"
"Right in a dwelling, I do not own a house."
Sgt. Finch began to sweat heavily on the forehead. He realized this won't be an easy one.

"Where is your apartment?"
"On the third floor. And that's not well. There's ain't no elevator. "
"Well, I suppose that's a little misunderstanding. Let me put it this way. What is your address? "
"Oh you mean that. You should have ask me straight away. It's Aldwick Close number seven. "
"Well, that's better. And now to describe what happened, please. "

"Yes. A filthy burglar robbed all my purchase. "
"Well. And now describe him exactly."
"There were three buns, a spam a newspapers
... and... I do not know, as usual."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"But you said ..."
"I told you to describe that robber!"
"Oh, him. You should have ask me straight away."
"Well."
"It was really ugly man."
"How tall he was?"
"I do not know, I did not measure him ..."
"Dear God! How high he probably was, than? "
"It was definitely higher than Norman."
"Who?"
"That's my husband."
"Well, how tall is Norman?"
"He is much smaller than the robber."
"And that is what?"
"Like a mountain."
"Let's write down range between 5ft10in to 6ft6in," said sergeant in a quiet voice.
"Color of his hair?"
"Black."
"Special signs?"
"How should I know that?"
"You saw him, didn't you?"
"Well yes, but I was never much good in an astrology."
"For God sake, Missis, what astronomy?"
"Astrology."
"What are you talking about?"
"You asked for his sign!"
"I was asking for a special sign. Special!"
"What do you consider to be a special sign? I think they are all right. Aren't they? "
"I mean an eyepatch or a scar."
"Ah so. He was tall like a mountain. "
"You already said that."
"But you were asking...."

Interrogation ran along similar lines for a few hours and finally Sgt. Finch found himself absolutely unable to continue. The case was closed as "irresolvable."