21 February 2009
Lord Likely Bangs
7:05am
After the exciting development of the exciting development of a series of photographic images which seemed to depict Lord Likely very much alive and not-dead, I decided to prepare a series of missing persons posters making use of these invaluable pictures.
But first, there was the small but terribly important matter of some breakfast – jam and muffins.
I breezed into the kitchen and greeted Mrs. Spunkleford with a quick peck on the cheek before sitting down at the table to eat.
Or at least that was the plan.
“You shall have to excuse me, my darling,” Mrs. Spunkleford said as she placed a plate of distinctly unjammed muffins before me. “But I have run out of jam again…”
“Again!?!?” I spluttered. “Good heavens, woman! How is this possible? What sort of kitchen are you running here?”
“I’m sorry, my love…I shall run down to the shops this very instance and buy some more,” she continued.
“I should bally well hope so,” I barked, standing up from the table. “I am going off to the Yard now, and when I return I fully expect to see a jam-packed pantry. Quite literally packed with jam, you understand!”
With that I swept up my hat and coat, and marched out of the house.
10:22am.
My stomach was growling with jam-less discontent as I set about putting up some of the missing persons posters up around town later that morning. Nevertheless, being the absolute professional that I am, I continued with my work.
Here is a copy of one of the posters which I was putting on display:
“Oh, I’ve seen him about!” said a voice beside me as I affixed one such poster to the wall of a greengrocer’s shop.
“Pardon me?” I exclaimed, turning around to face the speaker. He was a tall, thin man with a rather unkempt suit and unkempt hair to match.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him. At the zoo, last Tuesday,” the man continued.
“Really? And what was he doing at the zoo?” I enquired.
“Not a lot. Sort of lying on his back, mostly.”
That sounded typical of Likely, I thought.
“I heard that he mauled a zoo-keeper on Wednesday night, though. Poor fellah,” the man added.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yeah, the poor bloke was trying to feed him, and the creature swiped at him with one of his giant paws and then – ”
“You blasted fool!” I cried. “I am not looking for the bear, man! I am looking for him,” I explained, pointing out Likely in the photograph.
“Oh,” the man said, peering at the poster closely. “Nah, can’t help you there, mate. Ain’t seen him at all.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes in despair as the man sauntered off. This was going to be a very long day, I thought, at which point my stomach growled again. I would have to eat something, else the day was going to seem even longer.
10:41am.
I strode into a nearby bakery, where I promptly placed an order for some muffins coated with jam. The baker – a rather stout fellow with a pencil moustache – was only too happy to oblige. If only Mrs. Spunkleford was as efficient, I mused.
As the baker prepared my order, I decided I may as well continue my investigations while I waited, and so I unfurled one of the posters and began questioning the baker.
“Sorry to bother you, but have you seen him around at all?” I asked, proffering the poster towards the baker.
“Hmmm,” the baker mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Let me see…ah, yes! I do believe I have!”
“Oh? And where did you see him?”
“It would have been….let me think…ah, yes! It would have been at the zoo, last Wednesday. Mauled a zoo-keeper, don’t you know?”
“Heavens above!” I wailed. “I am not referring to that blasted bear! I mean the man! Lord Likely! The one I have helpfully high-lighted in a great big red circle!”
“Ah, right,” the baker said, turning his attention to the picture of his lordship. “Oh! Well, what do you know? I have seen this gentle-man!”
“Really?” I said, cautiously. “That man there? The one with the moustache and the hat? The one who is most definitely not a bear?”
“Yes! Yes! He came in….let me see…yes! He came in last Monday, just as I was closing up. Said he needed some jam rather urgently, which I thought was a bit odd. I mean, how many jam-based emergencies can there be, you know?”
“Well, actually I…” my words trailed off as sudden realisation realised itself to me, all of a sudden.
“Here’s your muffins, sir,” the baker interjected.
“BASTARD!” I roared.
“What? Too much jam, is it?”
But I did not reply, for I was heading out of the shop and straight to Scotland Yard.
11:24am.
I breezed through the doors of Scotland Yard at quite a pace, almost knocking several officers over in my wake.
“I say, Spunkleford, what is the meaning of all this breezing?” demanded Chief Inspector Wiltwick as I marched up to him.
“Do we still have the sample of that blood we found at the Likely Estate?” I asked.
“Why, yes, but we are not expecting any results back for at least three months yet…” Wiltwick began.
“I think I can give a fairly definite analysis right now!” I proclaimed, as I headed to the forensics laboratory.
“Now, listen here, Spunkleford…” Wiltwick bleated as he followed me, but I chose not to listen there, and instead I strode into the laboratory and began rifling through the various items stored within, until I came upon that which I had sought – the so-called blood sample.
“Chief Inspector, not everything that glitters is gold,” I said as I uncorked the test-tube. “And not everything that is red is blood.”
“What on earth are you babbling about, Spunkleford?” Wiltwick snapped. “I think you need a jolly good rest…it would appear that this particular case might be causing you undue stress and…and…what the hell are you doing now?”
I was busily dipping my finger into the test-tube and extracting some of the red substance from within. Once I had accomplished this, I then put my finger straight into my mouth.
“Oh good God!” Wiltwick baulked. “I fear I may vomit…”
“No need, Chief Inspector, for it is just as I feared. This is not blood at all, but is, in fact, jam. Strawberry jam, no less.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Here, try it yourself,” I offered, passing the test-tube to Wiltwick. He eyed me with suspicion, smelt the tube carefully, and then dipped his finger into it. He drew out some of the substance, sniffed it cautiously again, and then popped his finger into his mouth.
“Blow me!” the Chief Inspector exclaimed, rather crudely. “You are quite right, Spunkleford! It is strawberry jam! Well, huzzah! Does that mean Lord Likely is not dead after all, then?”
“Not yet, at any rate,” I growled, and breezed back out of the building again.
12:54pm.
I arrived back at the Likely Estate an hour later, my very soul consumed with murderous rage. It was all so clear to me now. Likely had been having an illicit affair with my dear lady wife, (with and without condiments), and had deigned to cover up the entire depravity by faking his own death. Unfortunately for him, he had not reckoned with my great powers of deduction, which would quite possibly be the last mistake he would ever make, if I had my way.
Of course, I would not actually kill Lord Likely. That would be rather too rash. But by golly I was going to have some strong words with the bounder.
I was preparing some of these strong words in my head as I walked up the path to the Estate, when all of a sudden this happened:
There was an almighty explosion, which sent me tumbling backwards with tremendous force. As I struggled back to my feet, I saw the Likely Mansion engulfed in flames, debris scattering hither and thither.
Either Likely was going out of his way to deceive me, or he was now well and truly dead.
- by Inspector A.R. Spunkleford.
