Thuku was in high spirits about the whole affair, finding considerable amusement in watching what he described as the entire Wamunyoro worshipper community emerging from the woods with their guns blazing in defence of a document that the British High Commission in Nairobi has already confirmed is a fabrication.
He did not pretend to have hard evidence linking Councillor Njohi to the letter's creation, but he made clear that his confidence in the allegation is total.
He said he would bet all his kidneys on it, a colourful expression of certainty that left little room for ambiguity about where he stands.
His explanation for why he is so sure was directed at those inclined to doubt him. Blogging, he said, works in ways that the naive do not understand.
The fingerprints of how these things are manufactured, timed, and released are readable to those who know what to look for, and Thuku is clearly presenting himself as someone who knows exactly what to look for.
The fake letter had already caused a stir online before the British High Commission shut it down with its confirmation that the document was not genuine.
The Commission's response, delivered with a dry remark about tea stains, did little to slow the circulation among Gachagua's supporters who had seized on it enthusiastically.
For Thuku, the episode is further proof that when political desperation meets blogging infrastructure, fake letters from Downing Street are apparently not beyond the realm of possibility.
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