“DO YOU have the pearl necklace?” I bellowed.

“I shall never tell!” cried Lady Marmalade, the last of the suspects to be interviewed.

“Tell me!” I roared, bringing my cane down upon her naked buttocks.

Lady Marmalade gasped. “Never!“

“Confess, you harlot!” I yelled, raising my arm again.

“I confess nothing!” said the lady, crying out and gripping the sides of the desk as my cane thrashed her once more.

“What is going on here? I heard screams and – oh!” exclaimed the Duke of Fircombe, as he burst into the study, only to find Lady Marmalade bent over the desk, her naked derriere exposed to the room. “What the devil?…”

“I believe this is Lord Likely’s idea of detective work,” droned Peeves, the Fircombe’s rather miserable butler. “However, it looks like it has gone from policing to perversion, if you ask me. Disgusting.”

“Now listen here, Likely!” snapped the Duke, striding over to me. “This is no time to be acting upon your sordid whims! You promised me that you would find the cad responsible for stealing my wife’s necklace – and instead, I find you here….doing…doing…THIS!” he stammered, gesturing towards Lady Marmalade, who was hurriedly hitching up her knickers.

“My good man, this is the very latest in interrogation technique, a method designed to elicit crucial information from the suspect. Not that I’d expect you to understand, you bloated ignoramus,” I replied calmly.

“Listen, Likely, you had better get a result pretty damned fast, or else I shall be forced to contact the police, and get a professional to do your job for you! Do you understand?”

“Fine,” I mumbled, not relishing the prospect of having some smarmy police officer attempting to crack this case in my stead. “Assemble everyone in the drawing room. I shall be there presently to reveal my findings.”

“Hmph! Well, just be sure that is all you reveal, sir,” the Duke snapped, turning on his heels and marching away.

“Do you really know he did it, milord?” Botter asked, as he sidled up to me.

“Hmmm? Oh, yes. I knew hours ago. I have just been having a spot of fun. Come on, let’s go and meet the rest of the guests – things are about to get even more entertaining, I think.”

*****

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for meeting me here,”  I said, addressing the assembled guests who were waiting in the drawing room, chattering excitedly among themselves. “I said, ‘thank you’,” I repeated as the hubbub failed to subside. “SHUT UP, YOU BASTARDS!” I shouted, causing the room to fall silent immediately. I smiled sweetly.  “Thank you so much, ladies and gents. Now, I shall not keep you long – heaven knows we all came here for a party, and a party is precisely what we shall have, just as soon as I’ve wrapped this whole sorry business up.”

“Woooo!” cheered Dorothy Mount-Worthy, who was sitting on the edge of a chair, sipping another cocktail and getting decidedly more drunk.

“Precisely. Now, as you all know, this evening saw the Duchess’ beautiful pearl necklace stolen by a person or persons unknown, a terrible crime which occurred right beneath our very noses, undoubtedly by someone in this very room!”

The crowd gasped and mumbled among themselves.

“Unless it was a crafty magpie,” Botter interjected, rather deflating the moment somewhat. “He could have gotten in through the window, snuck among the shadows and then -”

“Shut up, Botter,” I said. “Now, pretty much everyone in this room has a motive of some sort. Pilferton Swypes, for example, is an allegedly reformed jewel thief – but who is to say he has left his old ways behind him? Would seeing such a valuable item of jewellery tempt the cad to steal again?”

“Honestly,” moaned Swypes. “You spend your whole life stealing things, and suddenly you’re labelled as a thief. It seems grossly unfair.”

“Winsome Pine,” I said, swivelling around to address the poet. “Recently heart-broken by his lover – maybe you thought you might woo him back with an expensive gift?”

Pine grunted in disapproval, proving to be strangely ineloquent for a man who spent his life working with words.

“Jennifer Eels,” I continued, turning to the young lady in question. “You recently inherited your father’s eel business – a business that is in less than impressive shape, no? Perhaps you stole the necklace, with a view to selling it and pumping the money back into your failing company?” I tuned around again. “Major Thrashing – a military man, who was posted to the Far East for many years, where the Duchess’ necklace originated from. Perhaps your hatred of foreigners extends to items made abroad, leading you to steal the necklace in order to destroy it?”

“Balls!” barked the Major, offering a very thorough defence.

“Maybe – just maybe – it was the Duke and Duchess themselves, looking to make a substantial insurance claim on a stolen necklace? Or perhaps – “

“For God’s sake, Likely,” said the Duke. “Are we going to spend all night going through who might have done it? Can we not just skip straight to who actually did it?”

I grimaced as the Duke interrupted my flow. “Hmph. Please, dear Duke, I am in the midst of my summing up, a crucial phase in any investigation wherein – “

I paused as I noticed Dorothy suggestively rolling an olive across her lips, winking at me as she did so. Suddenly, my attention was no longer focused on the case.

“Fine,” I said rather disinterestedly, pointing into the room, while refusing to take my eyes off of the delectable form of Ms. Mount-Worthy. “It was you.”

- Lord Likely.

Whodunnit?

Which ruddy bounder stole the pearl necklace? Use YOUR deductive powers to help solve the case! When you have decided which one of the guests committed the crime, cast your vote below! Do not be afraid to offer forth your reasoning in the comments section as well, dear readers.

Be back here next week to see if you were correct – or whether you accused an innocent!

If you have not read the entire story thus far (shame on you) then why not read through this astonishing adventure thus far, beginning hither?

Good luck, detectives!

I ENSCONCED myself back in the Fircombe’s study, where I planned to interview each and every guest in the hope of finally uncovering the cad responsible for the theft of the Duchess’ pearl necklace, and thus hopefully allowing the party to re-start. I hadn’t had a ruddy drink for hours, for pity’s sake. It was a ruddy disgrace.

Just as I was rearranging the desk in the study, the door swung open and in came Peeves, the Fircombe’s rather surly butler.

“I have retrieved your man-servant, sir,” he droned. “He was making rather a fuss, I must say. Clawing at the door of his kennel like a wild animal, he was!”

“Excellent. Well, send him in, man. Send him in!”

Peeves nodded stiffly and beckoned Botter in.

“Oh, my lord!” Botter gasped, rushing to my side. “It was hell in there! All of us servants cramped together in that tiny space – oh! It was like being a caged dog, milord – and I am no dog!”

“Of course not. Would you like a biscuit?” I asked.

“Oooh! Yes! please! Yes please!” Botter cried, jumping up and down with excitement. I threw him a biscuit, which he rather deftly caught in his mouth, before he sat himself under the window, chewing away quite contentedly.

“Right. Now, Peeves, if you could summon Major Thrashing for me, that would be absolutely spiffing,” I said.

“Certainly, sir,” Peeves sighed. “Heaven forfend you use your own legs at any point, eh? No, we wouldn’t want you getting wear and tear on your precious aristocratic limbs….good heavens, no…”

I watched the grumbling butler disappear out of the study, then turned to Botter.

“He’s a jolly fellow, isn’t he? Don’t you start getting ideas like that, Botter!”

Botter looked up from his biscuit, and nodded in agreement.

“Good boy,” I said, and threw him another biscuit. I then turned my attention to the notes I had prepared for the Major’s interview. He seemed to be a good man;  thirty-two years of loyal service to the Empire, flawless military record, now happily retired in the country…nothing out of the ordinary that might suggest he was a jewel-thief. Indeed, the only negative thing that one might say about the Major was that he was a terrible racist – which is to say he was, in fact, an excellent racist. He was very good at being racist indeed.

A loud cough roused me from my reading, and looking up I saw the Major standing in the doorway.

“Ah, Major! A pleasure! Please, take a seat,” I grinned. “I shan’t take up much of your time, I just wish to ask you a few questions about the night’s events.”

“Certainly, certainly,” the Major said, sitting on the chair opposite me. “Fire away, as I used to say to my troops back in India!”

“Yes, quite. Now, Major, where were you on the night of tonight? Specifically, where were you when the Duchess’ necklace went missing?”

“Why, I was standing right next to the Duke, sah! Marvellous chap, the Duke. We were talking about our travels – turns out we had both spent quite a large amount of time in Africa, don’t you know? Beautiful country, Likely. Really beautiful. It is just a shame it is overrun with blasted ni -”

“Ahem!” I coughed quickly.

“What?” exclaimed the Major. “I was only going to say ‘nincompoops’. There really are a fair few dashed idiots out there, you know – especially in government!”

“Oh, right. Well, good.”

“Plus, of course, there are darkies everywhere!”

“Ahem! Ahem! AHEM!” I coughed. “Moving on, Major – did you see anything untoward over the course of the night? Anything that might arouse suspicion?”

“Well,” the Major whispered, leaning in conspiritationally. “That woman. Eels…you know, the eels woman…”

“Ms. Jennifer Eels?” I said, recollecting the rather delightful heiress of a vast eel business, with whom I had enjoyed a rather personal encounter only hours previously.

“Yes! That’s the one. Well, I found out something rather shocking about her tonight…” he leant in closer still, his face so close to mine that I could practically count every hair in his enormous white moustache, if I so desired. “Ms. Eels…is Jewish.”

I paused at this rather anticlimatic revelation. “I am sorry, Major, I don’t quite follow…”

“Jewish, Likely! She’s Jewish! Egads, man! You cannot trust a Jew! They’ll steal anything, don’t you know! Money, gold, jewels, babies…you name it, and they’ll have their filthy claws around it, mark my words!”

“Yes, well, thank you Major,” I sighed. “I will…keep that in mind.”

“Well, make sure you do, Likely – and do not delay in apprehending her! Why, any moment now, she might spread her twisted Jew wings and fly away!”

“Of course. Thank you, Major,” I said, as I motioned to Peeves to show the Major the door, lest he depress me any further. The Major duly left, mumbling his intolerant blitherings as he went.

“Thank Jupiter he’s gone,” I said. “Right, Peeves, send in Mr. Pine next, would you? Oh, and could you get me a glass of whisky, please? There’s a good chap!”

“A glass of whisky, sir?” Peeves whined. “You mean, a glass of whisky from that drinks cabinet? The one just over there, situated only three feet away from your desk?”

“Yes, Peeves. If you would be so kind.”

Peeves grumbled under his breath as he went to fix me a drink, while I pulled up the notes on Winsome Pine, which largely amounted to the words ‘whiny bastard’ over and over again.

Hmmm. This investigation lark was going to be harder than I had thought.

- Lord Likely.

The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle:

Chapter Five.

THE Duchess of Fircombe’s cries of distress over the theft of her priceless pearl necklace continued on, which was of course perfectly understandable, but also ruddy irritating.

“For the love of buggery, have a vol-au-vent, woman!” I snapped, stuffing one of the aforementioned delicacies into the Duchess’ gaping, great gob. “I cannot hear myself think!”

Clearly taken by surprise by my actions, the Duchess duly shut up, allowing me to once more hear myself think. Now that I could once again hear my thoughts, I was able to ascertain that I was not in deep rumination about the mystery at hand, as I had imagined, but was actually contemplating pushing my penis betwixt Lady Marmalade’s bountiful breasts, and then thrusting away until climax.

Not at all useful to current proceedings, I grant you, but a nice thought nonetheless.

Anyway, I quickly realised that as I had already saved the day once, it would no doubt fall on me again to rise to the rescue, and solve this confounded conundrum. I therefore silenced the perplexed party-goers, and took control of the room once more.

“Ladies and gentle-men, as you have just witnessed, someone has rather brazenly stolen the Duchess of Fircombe’s pearl necklace, right in front of our very eyes! It is quite obvious to me that that someone is still in the room right now, thereby making us all suspects in this investigation!” I paused. “Well, aside from me, of course. I am in the business of giving pearl necklaces, not taking them.” I winked at the ever-radiant Dorothy Mount-Worthy, who flashed a bewitching smile in return. “Besides which,” I continued, facing the crowd, “I am the heroic protagonist of this piece, so can quite clearly be ruled out…”

“What in God’s name are you blathering on about?” blustered the Duke of Fircombe, interrupting what I thought had been a rather good and rather powerful speech.

“Please, do not interrupt me. I am trying to conduct a criminal investigation!” I replied, before turning back to speak to the guests. “Now then – who stole the necklace? Own up! Come on, now!”

I was met with a stoney silence.

“Hmm,” I mused. “I had rather hoped that would work, to be honest…”

“Blast it all, do you have any idea what you are doing? Who put you in charge, anyway, sah?” grumbled Major Thrashing. “I oversaw many such investigation in my time in the army, you know? Saw many a man swing, you know. What are your credentials, pray tell?”

“Well, I work very closely with Scotland Yard, Major, and have helped them out on numerous occasions…here’s my card,” I explained patiently, proffering one of my business cards at the senile old sod.

“‘Madam Tipslip’s Knocking Shop? All Gentle-Men Serviced With A Smile?’” read the Major. “What in the blue blazes has that got to do with anything, sah?”

“Ah, bugger it. Wrong card,” I replied, giving my actual card in place of the other.

“‘Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action. Cases cracked, mysteries solved, ladies pumped. All cases and mysteries to be directed to Inspector A. Spunkleford of Scotland Yard in the first instance. All ladies may enquire directly to Likely Towers…‘”

“There, see? Are you quite content now?” I beamed.

“Well, I…I…” stammered the Major.

“Good. One more peep out of you and I shall charge you with obstructing police work, and have you banged up in a cell so quickly your false teeth will spin. Got that?” The Major nodded slowly. “Good. Now, may we proceed?”

“This is all a waste of time!” barked the Duke of Fircombe, to my great annoyance. “It is quite clear who the thief is…HIM!”

The entire crowd followed the direction of the Duke’s accusatory finger, and found the rather nervous form of Pilferton Swypes, the apparently reformed jewel-thief, standing at the end of it.

“Good evening,” he said, meekly.

“The man has a history of stealing valuables, for heaven’s sake!” cried the Duke. “Why, he even stole a necklace once – from Buckingham Palace, no less! And what sort of fellow comes to a ball wearing a robber’s mask, I ask? I shall tell you – a robber!”

“I’ve changed, curse you!” snapped Swypes, suddenly becoming highly animated. “I’ve become a best-selling author! I have a national tour coming up! My life is being adapted for the stage, with Mr Thomas de Cruise portraying me! Why would I go back to stealing jewellery again, with all that going on? I’m making more money now than I ever did then!”

“Maybe you stole my wife’s necklace to set yourself up for your book’s follow-up!” exclaimed the Duke.

“Why you puffed-up piece of…” snarled Swypes, clenching his fists.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” I interjected. “Please, we do not want any violence here, unless it is being administered by my own fair hand. As far as I am concerned, everyone is a suspect until I have concluded my investigations. Even you, Your Grace,” I said, addressing the Duke.

“What? You have a nerve, Likely!”

“For all I know this could be an insurance scam or some such…no-one is above suspicion, I am afraid. Except me, as I’ve already stated. Now, shall we stop bickering, and commence the investigation?”

“Fine,” snorted the Duke.

“Rightio. Well, it occurs to me that if the culprit is still in this very room, then it must follow that the necklace is still here as well. I propose we have a thorough search of the guests…may I suggest that I take the ladies?”

- Lord Likely.

The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle is a Which Ruddy Bastard Did It? mystery, meaning that YOU can also partake in the mystery! Read carefully, dear readers, for their shall be clues and hints aplenty, and when the time comes to reveal the bounder responsible for the crime, YOU will be able to thrust forward your own suggestions as to the identity of the culprit, and see if you have what it takes to be an astonishing adventurer!

Please, keep your eyes peeled and your genitals scrubbed…

The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle:

Chapter Three.

AND SO the party finally got into full swing -  indeed, it would not be an understatement to say that the party swung so much, it positively rotated.

The Duke and Duchess of Fircombe proved to be excellent hosts; the food was plentiful and delicious, the drink flowed freely and there were enough beautiful women in attendance to maintain my interest, and my increasingly noticeable erection.

With the booze so readily forthcoming, it did not take me at all long to become completely and utterly sloshed, which in turn led to me staggering around the ballroom, making slurred, sexual advances towards all of the female guests. Some of the ladies found my propositions entirely enticing, and laughed coquettishly, whilst furiously fanning their flushed faces. Others took great offence and slapped me heartily around my cheek, an act which, frankly, only made me more aroused, and more determined than ever to bed them.

More time passed, more drink was drunk, and after a quickie in the bathroom with the delightful Jennifer Eels (during which I unleashed my own mighty eel, which she gobbled at greedily), I found that I was so thoroughly pissed that I was able to withstand the dreary banter of the far less interesting (and much less vaginal) guests. For example, I spent thirty minutes happily listening to Major Thrashing waffling on about his time in the army, and his natural distrust of foreigners. When I asked him if he was a racist, he snorted and said, “No, sir! Not in the least! Why, I’ve shot men of every colour – black, red and yellow!”

Next I found myself in the company of the poet Winsome Pine, a terrible sap of a man who spent a lot of time sighing and whining on about the mysteries of love.

“Have you ever love and lost, your lordship?” he asked.

“No, no. I always win,” I beamed, while knocking back another whisky.

“You are very lucky sir,” Pine continued. “I lost my love very recently. It is a pain quite unlike any other, a pain that may dull over time, but never truly fades.”

“Much like trapping one’s scrotum in a door, then?” I suggested, but Pine seemed to not hear me, and carried on regardless.

“I have written a poem about this very subject. Perhaps you would care to hear it?”

“Perhaps not,” I replied.

“It is called, ‘Hole, Not Whole‘,” Pine said, ignoring me once more, and then he cleared his throat and ploughed on with his tiresome verse.

“In my universe, there is a hole shaped like you,
Which nothing can fill, whatever I do.
You made me feel wanted, loved and adored
Now words have no meaning, and I am abhorred.
My heart still beats but each thump brings fresh pain,
I know not if it will ever feel true love again.
I miss your good night, I miss your good morning,
You may not have passed, but yet I ‘m still mourning.
I reach for hands that are no longer there,
Seeking some comfort in naught but thin air.
I would give everything, without any qualms,
To spend but one night, held in your arms.
There is a hole in my universe, into which I do tumble – “

“Now how about you drop your knickers, and let’s have a fumble?” I grinned, finishing the poem as I saw fit.

“How dare you, sir!” Pine snapped, shaking with anger, clearly not taking the time to fully appreciate my mastery of the poetic voice. “Do not make light of my anguish and woe! Terrence was my everything, my all and you – ”

“Terrence?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought as much! I knew you were a plumber of the dirty sink.”

“And what of it?” Pine snapped. “Do you fear homosexuals, Lord Likely?”

“Oh, no, no,” I answered. “Unless they’re charging at me with an axe or something. Still, it is no wonder the poor bastard left you – you strike me as a terribly tedious and whiny little runt.”

“You…you BEAST, sir!” cried Pine, to which I responded by roaring with laughter, and then I trotted off to find something to mount.

That something turned out to be the gorgeous Dorothy Mount-Worthy, and the equally-ravishing Maud Dreadful, two of my closest companions. In fact, so close had we become that more often than not we were actually entwined.

As I approached the highly dickable duo, the orchestra Fircombe had hired for the evening suddenly struck up, and so, being the gentleman I am, I swept Maud off of her feet, and led her to the dance-floor.

As the orchestra played on, Maud and I spun and swirled around the room with incredible grace, our every move so very synchronised that to the onlookers it must have looked like we had been practising for an entire age. We danced like we had been born to dance, and as we danced Maud smiled a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire hall, her blonde hair trailing behind her head, like the tail of a particularly beautiful comet.

Truly, it was a wonderful and magical moment. Well, in my head, at least.

In reality, it was more like drunken groping set to music, which was still great fun, none the less.

After a while the music died down as the Duke of Fircombe took to the floor and beckoned us to all fall silent, as he had something to say. I sighed very loudly to express my dissatisfaction, but then Maud and I dutifully returned to our spot alongside Dorothy.

Fircombe started blathering on about how he had recently returned from a trip to Japan, where he had met Emperor Gojira or some such twaddle. I wasn’t really paying attention, as I was distracted by the sight of dear Dorothy playfully toying with an olive on a stick, which had been served in a glass of gin she had been drinking. I watched, positively agog, as she suggestively rolled the olive across her soft lips, and then slowly started sucking upon it, thereby making that olive the luckiest damned olive on the planet. It took an immense amount of willpower on my part not to ravage Dorothy right there and then, so I tried to refocus my attention on the Duke’s dull speech.

“…and so, after meeting with the Emperor, he bestowed upon me a great gift,” the Duke droned on. “A gift which I would now like to present to my darling lady wife, Esmerelda. Esme?”

With a delighted squeal, the Duchess of Fircombe waddled up to the Duke’s side, still clutching a a plate of canapés in her her hands. The Duke smiled at her, and then presented her with a thin, oblong box. For a moment the Duchess looked torn between her food and the box, but finally she put down her plate and tore open the box, revealing an admittedly spectacular peal necklace. It was a dazzling piece of jewellery and as such drew admiring gasps from the crowd – most notably from Pilferton Swypes, the reformed jewel thief, who not only gasped but went on to exclaim, “Fuckin’ hell!” at the top of his voice.

As the Duke put the necklace around his wife’s neck (which seemed to be rather a struggle), the Duchess went on and on about how overjoyed she was, and how she hoped to find an occasion special enough to allow her to wear the necklace.

“I think she should wait until a time when the ruddy thing will fit around her neck,” I whispered to Dorothy, which caused her to spit out the olive she was still slurping upon, sending it tumbling into her cleavage.

“Allow me!” I volunteered helpfully, and then I plunged my hand between those bountiful breasts, in search of the elusive fruit.

Meanwhile, with the necklace now around her neck, the Duchess had decided that she was so happy that she was going to sing, so that she might fully express the joy she was feeling. The Duke looked faintly embarrassed, but instructed the orchestra to start playing.

The first note was struck,  and the Duchess opened her mouth…

…at which point I successfully retrieved the olive from betwixt Dorothy’s fun-bags, with a triumphant cry of, “Huzzah!”

But, dear readers, my hand had become rather sweaty in the pursuit of the olive, and I could only watch helplessly as the fruit flew out of my grip and sailed across the room…

…and straight into the Duchess’ open mouth. The Duchess seemed to freeze for a moment in shock, then her hands went up to her throat as she started coughing and spluttering, the olive clearly having come to a rest somewhere in her larynx.

“Well thank heavens for that,” I said, as the rest of the guests swarmed to the frantic Duchess’ aid. “At least she shan’t be able to ruddy well sing now.”

- Lord Likely.

Today’s chapter is dedicated to dear Sarah, who has just become an auntie. Congratulations, m’dear!

Also, many thanks to Mr. Scott Pack for singling out my astonishing adventures within the pages of his own web-log. Mr. Pack is a publisher, so clearly knows good words when he sees them! Hoorah!

*****

The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle is a Which Ruddy Bastard Did It? mystery, meaning that YOU can also partake in the mystery! Read carefully, dear readers, for their shall be clues and hints aplenty, and when the time comes to reveal the bounder responsible for the crime, YOU will be able to thrust forward your own suggestions as to the identity of the culprit, and see if you have what it takes to be an astonishing adventurer!

Please, keep your eyes peeled and your genitals scrubbed…