Botter and I took a carriage to London Town, eager to get our teeth into another exciting adventure.

Well, I was eager, at any rate. Botter complained about the whole affair, until I silenced him by hitting his testicles with a pipe.

Unlike our carriage ride in our last adventure, this journey passed by without incident. Botter did piss himself after I refused to allow him to stop to relieve himself, which I found highly amusing at first, but when the awful smell of freshly-soiled man-servant began to fill the carriage, I began to regret my misguided prank.

We arrived at the Russian Embassy by mid-afternoon, and were greeted by our old friend, Inspector Albert Spunkleford.

“Likely!” he beamed, taking my hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “Good to see you again, old boy. I got your telegram, although I must say I’m confounded if I could make head or tail of it!”

He reached into his jacket pocket, and produced a crumpled piece of paper.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop stop…and it continues in much the same manner for a whole page!”

“Ah, yes. You see, Spunkleford, I asked Botter to write the telegram, and I helped by prodding him continually with my sword. One has to pass the time somehow, don’t you agree?”

Spunkleford laughed.

“Oh, Likely, you bounder! Now, I fear we must put all jocularities aside, and focus on the mystery at hand.”

“Ivan Romanov’s disappearence?”

“Yes. A most peculiar affair. Mr. Romanov arrived here one morning, then apparently left at lunch-time, looking ‘flustered’ according to a witness. That was the last any bugger saw of him.”

“Witness, Spunkleford?”

“Ah, yes, one of the secretaries…a Miss Eileen Nipples. That’s her, over there.”

Spunkleford indicated to a gorgeous creature exiting the embassy, a woman with long brown hair, long legs and a bosom so large one would have to prepare an expedition to successfully mount them. I felt my Lord Palmerston quiver.

“I feel I should like to…cross-examine this Miss Nipples,” I said, suggestively. “And quite possibly jizz on her tits, as well.”

This case was looking far more interesting than I could have hoped for.

– Lord Likely.

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So, there we were, riding across the country, me and two commoners who collectively were emitting more foul stenches than the sewer-works on a hot, hot day.

I had to spend most of the journey hanging out of the carriage window, gasping for fresh air. Even though my two companions were on the outside of the carriage, their smells seemed to seep through the roof and cocoon me in a wretched, stinking shell.

It was while I was leaning out of the window that I suddenly noticed another carriage behind us. It was keeping to a slow pace, but then for no good reason at all, it suddenly accelerated and came hurtling towards us.

I drew back into the carriage, retched violently at the ever-lingering odour, then barked my orders.

“Botter! Be a good man and increase the speed, I fear we are being tailed.”

“You what, your lordship?”, the ever-useless assistant enquired.

“For the love of God, man, I said – “

My angry outburst was cut short by an almighty crunch, as the other carriage appeared at our side and rammed us. Annoyingly, this led to me spilling my glass of whisky I had been enjoying.

“By Nelson’s ball-sack, get moving, Botter.”

Botter tugged at the reins, and we lurched forwards, causing the remnants of my delicious whisky to discharge themselves all over my clothes.

“Oh, cocks!” I exclaimed.

I turned to see the other carriage, now lying in our wake, redouble their efforts, and come surging forward once more. I leant forward and rummaged in my travelling bag, until I found my duelling pistol. I always carry a pistol with me, in case I am ever attacked by thugs or hoodlums, or in case any paupers come up to me asking for money.

I leant out of the window to fire some warning shots at our persuers, only to find they were gone. Vanished.

I returned to my seat, and then to my chagrin observed our tormentors at the opposing side of our transport. Through the windows, I could make out what seemed to be a gentleman of Arabic origin, grinning wildly.

I went for my weapon once more, but before I could point and aim, we were once again shunted violently. I dropped my pistol in the fracas, and then before I could collect and compose myself, another bump forced our carriage onto two wheels, and then we were flipped over.

I made a mental note to dock Botter’s pay for his shoddy driving, and then I remember nothing.

Everything went black.

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