30 January 2010
One Score and Four, Hour Twenty-One: Back on the Trail
9:00am, 29th of January, 1891.
AFTER SITTING about the place for what seemed like a good day and a half (although I’m certain it was only about fifteen minutes) Ms. Felicity Boondoggles and I were roused from our inaction by a tapping sound at the window.
“Get down!” hissed Felicity, drawing a pistol from somewhere between her fabulous cleavage. “It could be trouble!”
I duly ducked down behind a table while Felicity approached the window and then, in one admirably swift and smooth movement, drew back the curtains and aimed her weapon at the unseen menace outside. She faltered, peered through the glass, then sighed and replaced her pistol in its sumptuous holster.
“False alarm,” she said. “‘Tis just a pigeon.”
“A pigeon?” I exclaimed, leaping out from behind the table. “Pray, let me see!”
“If you must,” Felicity replied, stepping away from the window. “I must say, I never thought of you as a bird-watcher.”
“Au contraire, m’dear!” I smiled, as I walked up to the window. “I am a very keen watcher of birds indeed!”
Alas, my witty quip seemed to fall on deaf ears, and Felicity failed to react in any way.
“Of course, I am using the word ‘birds’ in the colloquial manner so beloved by the working classes, to denote the female gender – so when I say I am a keen watcher of birds I -”
Still nothing. Not a flicker.
“Never mind. Let me see this pigeon,” I said, opening the window. “Ah, yes!” I exclaimed as the bird flew into the room, swooping around briefly before perching on my arm .”‘Tis one of Inspector Spunkleford’s pigeons. The inspector has taken to using pigeons as a means of gathering intelligence. Alas, I fear it will take a great many pigeons to gather quite enough intelligence for that poor, deluded fool!” I examined the bird closer. ” Hmmm…it should have a message attached to it somewhere – ah, yes! Here we go!”
I pulled out a tiny roll of paper from a small tube affixed to the pigeon’s leg, and carefully unfurled it to read the message written upon it:
AT LORD LIKELY: LOOK DOWN
I re-read the message, then rolled my eyes in despair. The inspector didn’t…did he?
I poked my head out of the window and looked down to see Spunkleford stood by the door, waving madly. “Hello, old boy!” he cried. “May I come in?”
“Spunkleford, you witless poltroon, what ARE you doing??” I returned. “You do realise there is a rather conveniently-placed knocker on the door, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” Spunkleford retorted with an indignant huff. “I am not completely stupid, Likely.” He paused. “The only problem was, the pigeon couldn’t lift it.”
- Lord Likely.
ATTENTION: I wish to apologise for the sudden, abrupt gap in my otherwise COCKING EXCELLENT 24-hour adventure. Sadly, my USELESS ARSE-PIPE of a scribe, Mr. Fanton, Esquire, fell ASLEEP whilst transcribing these THRILLING chapters for your enjoyment. He has since claimed that “trying to write twenty-four chapters in twenty-four hours, without any breaks or any sleep, was a foolhardy endeavour which was doomed from the start,” Needless to say, I have thrashed him soundly with his own wretched intestines for such insolence. Normal service is now resumed.