the simple case of dr shy and mr pride is really a rather bland affair, made out of plain, undecorated pinewood, without handles or locks, and even the flat lid doesn't have any hinges. it is, in fact, just a regular rectangular box, about twice as long as it is deep. and it stands in the corner of their little room, next to the dull orange vase.
and yet, despite all that, dr shy is pretty fond of it. he can spend hours merely looking at it while sitting in his chair across the room, with fafnir the ginger cat purring on his lap, or while standing near the windowsill sipping cold instant coffee. he claims it looks particularly fine in the early evening light, when the last rays of the sun blend with the first beams of the moon and dark omnious clouds hover on the horizon suggesting heavy rainfall for the next day.
sometimes he walks over to it, stops reverentially at what he calls a respectfull distance, and mumbles something (it might be "you are such a pretty case, aren't you now, my dear", or maybe it is "you know who i saw purchasing a new umbrella today, professor bile would you believe it!", usually it is hard to tell) and then he gently strokes it or pats it on the corner of its lid.
on some occasions, when he feels particularly brave and bold, he even lifts the lid off, just a fraction at first, peering through the little gap into the dark interior wondering what he might find there and drooling and shaking all over in anticipation. and then, as he raises the lid ever higher to reveal the emptiness inside, he sighs a few times, looks intently at the corners, counting them out under his breath (sometimes he misses one and has to restart), taps the bottom to see if there are perhaps hidden compartments, sighs some more and puts the lid back on.
it is on these occasions that mr pride intervenes. sitting, as is his wont, on the sofa, he flicks the ash from his cigarette onto the carpet and says perhaps "will you please leave the case alone" or "maybe you should turn it over to see if there is something underneath it" (but dr shy knows he isn't trying to be helpfull because there is that peculiar tone to his voice). at such times things tend to get out of hand.

mrs pink, who occupies the ground floor of the house, can tell it is one of those days by the fair amount of rumour filtering down to her quarters from the room above. mostly it is just shouts (mr pride) and shrieks (dr shy), but when things get really nasty there is a lot more to be heard (once, on one of these occasions there was a huge crash ("that must be the sofa being flung across the room" she said) followed by mr pride shouting loud and clear "it is just a BOX!!!" ("oh dear" she said) and a series of low wails gently fading into a sobbing sound ("there now, i don't think the poor doctor will be able to eat for the next few weeks" she said), after some shuffeling, the door upstairs slammed and mr pride's heavy thuding tread could be heard on the stairs. judging by the noise from the room above mrs pink guessed dr shy was hidding behind the lampshade again).
on days like that mrs pink tuts, shakes her head, contemplates the fact that both tenants in the room above are a bit queer and pours out some more tea for lady tart who lives on the second floor. after a few sips it is usually lady tart who resumes the conversation saying "yes, that's a perfectly fine example of a knitting needle you have there my dear" or "absolutely not! the cake should always go underneath the plater".