“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!

WINSOME PINE sat in a chair across the desk from Botter and I, chewing his nails nervously. I eyed him suspiciously, then leant back in my chair, contemplating my opening gambit. If I was to extract the truth from this suspect, then my line of questioning would have to be very well reasoned, extremely thoughtful and thoroughly rigorous.

“So, Mr. Pine,” I said slowly. “Why exactly are you such a terrible cock-pipe?”

Pine’s face reddened with rage.

“I say! You cannot talk to me like that! I am more than willing to be questioned regarding this awful crime, but I most certainly did not come here to be insulted!” he whined.

“Oh,” I remarked. “Then where is it you usually go to be insulted, sir?”

“Why you!…” Pine began, clenching his fists in a completely futile attempt to look threatening, but was silenced when I held up one, single finger. The power I can yield with a single finger never ceases to amaze me – with it, I can bring a man to silence, or bring a woman to screaming ecstasy. It really is quite a skilled digit, I can tell you.

“Excuse me, Mr. Pine. I just wish to confer with my colleague, if I may.”

Pine nodded sullenly, while Botter and I retreated outside the room.

“Botter, I am sensing that this suspect is rather hostile.” I said, as my man-servant closed the door behind him.

“That might be because you insulted him, milord – twice, to be exact,” Botter replied.

“Preposterous!” I exclaimed. “It is clear to me that this bounder is hiding something, and I’d wager that the ‘something’ is the stolen pearl necklace! We must press for a confession!”

“How do you propose to do that, milord?”

“Well, I have witnessed a psychological technique employed by those at Scotland Yard for such an occurrence, whereby one detective shall assume a rather confrontational manner, while his partner shall be more friendly and warm. I believe it is known as ‘Rather Amiable Police Officer, Considerably More Hostile Police Officer.”

“Oh! You mean a sort of Good Cop, Bad Cop kind of thing?” Botter interjected.

“Pffft. Why must you always insist on reducing everything to a handful of syllables, hmmm? That is your problem, Botter – you are much too simplistic!”

“Soz, m’lud,” Botter replied, meekly.

“Hmmm. Anyway, I think we should employ this method upon Mr. Pine. You shall assume the role of the Rather Amiable Police Officer, while I shall be the Considerably More Hostile Police Officer…I am confident that in this way, we shall be able to wrench the truth from this wretched cove!”

“Very good, milord,” Botter sighed.

“Excellent! And be sure to keep some notes during our questioning, for they may prove useful later.”

“Yes, milord.”

“Jolly good! Have another biscuit,” I grinned, tossing my man-servant another treat.

And so, thus rejuvenated, Botter and I re-entered the study, where we slowly and silently assumed our places behind the desk once more.

“Ahem,” Botter coughed, politely. “And…erm…and how are you, good sir?”

“Hmph,” Pine sneered. “How do you think I am?”

In a flash, I leapt up from my chair, and smashed Pine across the face with my cane, sending him falling over backwards on his seat.

“ANSWER THE RUDDY QUESTION, ARSE-FACE!” I bellowed, standing over his sprawled form, cane in hand.

“Alright! Alright!” Pine cried, holding his hand up. “Jesus Christ, just keep away from me, you lunatic!”

I turned to Botter, and smiled an extremely satisfied smile. “See, Botter? There is something to this technique after all!” I beamed, before thwacking Pine again for having the gall to call me a lunatic.

*****

After a very thorough interview, we let a rather battered Mr. Pine wobble out of the study and back to the rest of the party-goers.

“Peeves, could you send in the next victim, please?” I asked the Fircombe’s rather surly butler.

“Victim?” Peeves rejoined, slightly astonished.

“Um, that is to say suspect,” I said, hurriedly correcting myself. Peeves rolled his eyes in despair, and skulked out of the room, while I turned back to Botter. “Right then, did you make some notes during that interview, Botter?”

“Yes, milord,” came the reply.

“Good show! Would you care to read them out, then?”

“Certainly, milord. Let me see…ah, yes. Here we go!” Botter cleared his throat, and began to read the transcript of the interrogation.  “Ahem: ‘Ow! Ow! Ow! Please stop hitting me, ow, ow, ow, you’re insane, ow, ow ow, please take your foot off my face, ow, ow, ow, what are you doing with that lamp? Ow! Argh! Ow…‘”

“Mmmm,” I pondered, stroking my moustache in deep thought. “Very interesting…anything else?”

“Well, you did manage to make him admit that he has not earnt very much at all from his published poetry, and that he was very hard-up…could be a possible motive for stealing a very expensive item of jewellery, milord.”

“Yes, quite,” I mused. “Read the bit where I am standing on his face again, I liked that.”

But before Botter could do my bidding, Peeves returned, coughing politely in the doorway.

“Gentlemen, Mr. Swypes is here, as requested,” he droned, as the reformed jewel thief in question peered cautiously around the corner.

“Well, send him in, man!” I snapped, quickly falling back into my Considerably More Hostile Police Officer character. Peeves mumbled something about not being paid enough, and then he ushered Pilferton Swypes into the study.

“Evening gents,” Swypes smiled.

“Good evening, Mr. Swypes,” Botter cooed. “Would you like to take a seat, sir?”

Swypes eyed us nervously and then went to move the chair, but before he could I was upon him, beating him to the ground with my cane, and twatting him about the body.

“BLOODY ANSWER THE QUESTION, YOU BASTARD!” I roared, as Swypes cowered beneath me.

I must say, I was rather enjoying this policing lark.

- Lord Likely.

Don’t Forget! Keep searching these entries for clues, for soon YOU shall be able to vote on which one of the party-goers YOU feel is responsible for the theft of the pearl necklace! Eyes open, dear readers!

ATTENTION: You may have noticed a couple of slight changes to my web-journals today, but do not be alarmed! Instead, be aroused. There is now a new link through which you can send me electronic mail, and a shiny new button for you to send cash donations through, should you so desire (which you should, of course). In addition, a few more web-logs have been added to my list, so please do feel free to browse them at your leisure!

Many thanks!

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…