Salesmen from all over the country got together for their annual
conference at the Imperial Hotel. At the company's party to celebrate
a record year of sales, one particularly cocky salesman was approached
by a stern looking man.
"Excuse me," he said. "But aren't you Barry Briggs?"
"That's me squire," replied the over confident young man. "Barry Briggs
is the name, selling's the game."
"I don't doubt it," continued the stranger. "Tell me, were you in
Birmingham two months ago?"
Briggs got out a little red diary, and started laefing through the
pages.
"Two months ago? Yes me old china, as a matter of fact I was."
"And did you stay at the Midland Hotel?" demanded the mysterious
stranger.
"Now let me see," said the ebullint salesman, flicking through the
pages. "Yes, it's all down here, the Midland Hotel."
"And did you have room 2315?"
"Hang on," he scanned the pages. "Yes I did."
"Next to a Mrs. Jones?"
"Mrs Jones?" He turned a page. "Yes, she was in room 2314."
"And you slept with her on the saturday night?"
"Just a second..." the salesman perused his book once again. "Yes
your're right. I did give her a bit of the old in-out."
The inquisitor looked even more severe.
"Mr. Briggs, I am her husband and I don't like it."
The salesman consulted his diary again.
"Mrs. Jones, Midland Hotel, room 2314... No neither did I."
