The Sterling Chronicles

The Case of the Mislaid Lord

2010-11-09T07:23:00.000-08:00

Tis November and NaNoWriMo time, again. (No, that’s not some Japanese dish.) It’s National Novel Writing Month where everyone writes a best selling novel in four weeks. Anybody can do that, right? Here is my attempt. All right, so it’s missing several hundred pages but I do have a day job. This is my next installation of the astounding adventures of Professor Horatio Sterling.

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Outside the smog was so thick it beat against the window. I stuffed tea into my pipe and lit it. I prefer to smoke my Lapsang souchong tea myself. I stared at the wall, using my keen sense of observation to make out pictures in the stains. The biggest smudge looks like a bunny.

My name is Professor Horatio Sterling, London’s foremost consulting detective. All right, foremost consulting detective with a history degree. London is full of blasted consulting detectives these days.

I heard the wind sigh--wait, that wasn’t the wind. I knew that sigh anywhere. I turned to see Dr. Obadiah Dullard, my old roommate, sitting in the corner, all droopy like a wilted tulip, staring at the floor.

“Dullard?” I jumped from my chair like a dachshund had bitten me. “I didn’t notice you. How long have you been sitting there?”

Dr. Dullard took out his pocket watch and looked at it. “Oh, I’d say about--erm--five days.” He sighed again and stuffed the watch back in his pocket.

“I thought you ran off to get married to Lady Chesterfield?”

“I thought I did, too. Then Madeline disappeared.”

“Egads! Disappeared? What happened?” I sat back down.

“I took her to a restaurant. She got up to go to the loo, and never came back.”

“Great Zeus! Was she kidnapped?”

Dullard shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

“All your girlfriends get kidnapped?”

“All of them say they are going to the loo and never come back. I called her house, but the staff says she’s not in. I think she just dumped me.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because when I call I can hear her in the background saying ‘If that’s Dr. Dullard, tell him I’m not in.’ Last time we talked she said she thought we should break up. She said I was too clinging. She said she was getting tired of me following her everywhere.”

“Is that true?”

“I didn’t follow her everywhere. I stayed out of the bathroom. I waited outside. Oh, I did whine and scratch on the door a bit.”

“And that bothered her? She couldn’t learn to ignore it, like I did? I mean you are always underfoot, but I don’t remember ever tripping over you. You’re quiet and housebroken, more or less, which is more than I can say for most pets.”

“Do you care if I move back in?”

“Poor Dullard. Some men are born leaders and some have a biological need to follow.”

Dullard nodded. “I come from a long line of sidekicks.”

“I thought you came from a long line of Earls and Rajas?”

“Exactly. Aristocracy has to suck up to their betters or they don’t live long enough to breed.”

“Never looked at it that way.” I tapped the finished smoked tea into a canister. “You are most welcome to move back in, old chap. But why do you want to live in this dump? Don’t you have some palace or castle you can go to?”

“Do you know what it’s like to live in a sumptuous palace being waited on hand and foot?”

“Can’t say that I do.” I felt a sudden twinge of envy.

“Well, it’s boring! Living in the middle of a filthy, crowded city is a lot more exciting!”

“You can have your old room back.”

“The one under the stairs?” Dullard looked excited.

“Of course.”

There came a sudden hammering at the door, breaking up our happy reunion. I masterfully stepped over to the wooden barrier and swung it open.

There stood a balding man, even more weasely-looking than Dullard. He stood with his top hat in his hand. “Professor Horatio Sterling?”

“I am he.”

“My name is Percy Twiddle. I need your assistance in a family matter.”

“Marriage counselor is two buildings down. My only advice would be to grab your lady up in your manly arms and smother her with kisses.”

“Doesn’t work.” Dullard shook his head sadly.

The stranger cleared his throat in his scraggly neck. “Erm, no, sir. I’m not married. I am the closest nearest living relative to Lord Ashpoke.”

“The Lord Ashpoke who disappeared with his wife in the jungles of Africa twenty-two years ago?” I asked. I recalled the tabloids had a field day with that story until they realized no one was really interested.

“Yes. I should be the new Lord Ashpoke but until I have proof that the last Lord Ashpoke is actually dead, the title and estate are in limbo. It’s a pity to have a title just sitting there and no one using it.”

“I would think twenty-two years without a word would be proof of death--or at least proof of indifference to being the Lord Ashpoke.”

“One would think.” Twiddle twiddled his hat nervously. “My lawyers, however, said I need proof. I want to hire you to find that proof. Or at least bring back Lord Ashpoke, if he’s still alive.”

“Ah!” I grabbed Percy by the arm and pulled him in. “A paying customer!” I shut the door before he could escape. “Dullard, get Mr. Twiddle a cup of tea. Darjeeling should do the trick.”

“Of course, Sterling.” Dullard began bustling domestically.

I politely shoved Twiddle into a chair. “Now, then, where was Ashpoke last seen?”

Twiddle pulled out a postcard and handed it to me. It read “Welcome to Beautiful Mumbossy.” The name “Mumbossy” was cleverly made up of photos of snarling savage beasts. I turned it over. In lovely cursive was written the cryptic message: “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.”

“What pray tell was Lord Ashpoke doing in Mumbossy?” I queried.

“He went there on his honeymoon.”

“Deepest, darkest Africa, for a honeymoon? Why not Paris or Vienna or even Blackpool. Why the deuce would a man take a wife to such a God-forsaken place for a honeymoon?”

“Lord Ashpoke liked to collect butterflies.”

“He could easily have found those in Paris or Vienna or Blackpool.”

Dullard poked a teacup at me. “Perhaps he was in search of the rare Mumbossy Mamba Mimicker.”

“Mumbossy Mamba Mimicker?” I was afraid to say that fast three times..

“It’s wings look like the highly poisonous mamba viper’s eyes and fangs. It’s tail looks like a flicking tongue. It’s very rare because every time the natives see it, they scream and kill it before they realize it’s just a butterfly. It’s valuable because the Church of England wants a specimen as an argument against Darwin’s Evolution Theory.”

“They are trying to prove God is a practical joker?”

Dullard shrugged. “I suppose. They already found a frog in South America that emit’s a sound like a whoopie cushion when you sit on it.”

“I’m afraid to ask it’s name.” I turned back to Twiddle. “So, all you know is that Lord Ashpoke left Mumbossy and headed into the jungle with nothing but a butterfly net and a disappointed bride?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm, I would probably need to go to Mumbossy and find more clues. Do you have a photo of this Lord Ashpoke?”

“No. Poor Lord Ashpoke was not very handsome. His face kept breaking the cameras. He did, however, have the Ashpoke birthmark all heirs have.”

“Birthmark?”

Twiddle unbuttoned his shirt and tore it open to expose his sunken, hairless chest. There, over his left nipple, was a brown silhouette of a cat. “Our family motto is ‘Touch not the cat.’”

“Hmm, I can see why.” I turned to Dullard. “Birthmarks aren’t hereditary, are they?”

“Of course, they are! All the English nobility have them. I can show you my family birthmark.” Dullard grabbed his pants.

“No! That’s quite all right. I believe you.” I was afraid to ask where his family wore their birthmark.

Dullard shrugged. “It’s an iris. Quite lovely really. Of course, I can only see it in a mirror, so it’s backwards but--”

“Please, Dullard. Don’t paint pictures for me.” I tried to get that disturbing image out of my mind. Thank heavens I learned meditation from the Zen masters of Nagasaki. I tried to imagine one hand slapping--I mean, one hand clapping--Oh, never mind. “Another cup of tea, Dullard.”

I turned my full attention to Twiddle. “We shall go at once to the dark continent, my good man. We will need an advance for the tickets, of course.”

“Of course.” Twiddle handed me a sack of money. Apparently he coveted that title more than the estate. “There is a steamship leaving tomorrow.”

“We shall be on it!”

“I’ll pack the teapot.” Dullard got busy.

###

This is the Golden Age of Steamships. These wonderful luxury liners are filled with crystal chandeliers, mahogany paneling, brass railings and plush Turkish carpets. You are waited on hand and foot by eager stewards, plying you with exotic drinks and gourmet food. Unfortunately, all those boats were headed for New York. The only boat headed for Mumbossy was a rusty tramp steamer full of goats.

I spent most of the trip on deck toward the front of the ship, upwind from all the goats. Dr. Dullard found the trip quite delightful, having had a deprived childhood in a luxurious palace. I found his cheerfulness rather annoying. It interfered terribly with my moping.

After two weeks of swill and fleas, we made landfall at the east African port. Mumbossy’s major import was eager missionaries and major export was dead missionaries. The major industry was people trying to make a fast buck off of passing said missionaries.

I disembarked, looking resplendent in my pith helmet and khakis. Dullard, of course, just looked ridiculous in his. We got a room at the Mumbossy Hilton. There was only one room vacant. There was only one room period. It was a small establishment. I would be forced to share a bed with Dullard. Not the first time he had slept curled up on the foot of my bed.

After a meal of roasted warthog with meerkat sauce, we hit the streets. We needed to interview everyone to find someone who knew anything about Lord Ashpoke. We visited the British Embassy, the police station, the army post, the country club, the newspaper, the theatre-- All right, we didn’t expect anyone at the theatre to know anything, but they were putting on Gilbert and Sullivan’s H.M.S. Pinafore. We could hardly pass that up.

We dragged our exhausted bodies down the dusty streets lined with charming colonial shacks that looked ready to fall down. We were about to fall down ourselves when we were accosted by a giant chicken. “Hey, jive turkeys!”

“Jive turkeys?” I archly arched my eyebrow at the cocky fowl.

“Yeah, in the language of my tribe that means ‘honored sirs.’”

“Chickens have a tribe?”

“No, fool!” The chicken jerked it’s head off, revealing a native girl’s head underneath. “I ain’t no chicken. I’m just wearing this stupid costume because it’s the only job I could get. I’m suppose to stand here and get people to come into this stupid fried chicken restaurant.”

“You couldn’t get a better job than this humiliating endeavor?”

“Hey, it’s the Victorian Age, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m black and I’m a woman, so this is the best I could do.”

“Is there something we could help you with?” I asked as gallantly as possible.

“Maybe I can help you. Maybe you could give me a few bucks for some information. You been running around asking about this Ashpoke dude? Is he that crazy old coot with the butterfly net?”

“Why yes he is?”

“Was. Got eaten by hyenas.”

“Eaten by hyenas?” I gave a nervous chuckle.

“Hey, hyenas ain’t no laughing matter, chump. Before that though his wife up and left him, last I heard. Left him with the kid.”

“Lord Ashpoke had a child? Apparently he must have laid down that butterfly net at some point. What happened to the offspring?”

“No one knows. Only person out in the jungle nowadays is that crazy white boy hanging out with the gorillas. We call him Zantar, which in my language means ‘crazy white boy hanging out with gorillas with cat tattoo on his left nipple.’”

“By Jove! Isn’t that the Ashpoke birthmark?” I turned to Dullard.

“I believe it is.” Dullard nodded so hard his pith helmet fell off.

I turned to the lady informant. “We must find this Zantar. He is the new Lord Ashpoke!”

She shook her head. “He lives in the jungle. You can’t go out there by yourselves. It’s full of all kinds of nasty stuff.”

“We will hire a guide then.”

“No one goes out there. It’s full of man-eating beasts. I only know one person who’s been through there and lived. Only one person could guide you.”

“Your father? Brother? Uncle?”

“No, me.”

“Aren’t you afraid of man-eating beasts.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t no man.”

“She’s got you there.” Dullard winked.

“You say you have been through the jungle?”

“Hell, yeah. Had to go through it to get here. My village is on the other side. My dad told the chief he could marry me for three goats. I ain’t marrying that fat, ugly old coot. Ran away to the city to find my fortune. Some fortune, huh? All I got is this stupid chicken costume. You hire me and maybe I can get a ticket to a better place than this dump.”

“I don’t know.” I hesitated. “I couldn’t possible hire a lady to--”

“I’m no lady, you--” At this point she let loose with a string of obstinacies of such exotic color that I only recognized half of the words.

“She’s got you there.” Dullard winced.

“Still you are a member of the fairer sex,” I argued.

“Nothing fair about me, whitey.” She pulled her wing up to expose her brown arm.

“All right, a member of the weaker sex.”

She grabbed up Dullard and held him over her head.

“For heaven’s sake,” Dullard yelped. “Hire her before she drops me!”

“Fine, you’re hired.”

“Good!” She set my wide-eyed companion down. “I can finally get out of this stupid chicken outfit.” She started to yank it off.

I pulled my pith helmet over my eyes. I nudged Dullard to follow my example.

“I ain’t buck naked under this, fool!”

I lowered my helmet to see her wearing a baggy khaki shirt and shorts. She had the costume over her arm. “Let me take this back to the Colonel, and I’ll be with you.”

“The Colonel?”

“Yeah, the retired officer who owns the restaurant.” She turned and stomped off into the adobe building with a giant bucket on the roof that read "Kenyatta Fried Chicken."

I watched her with misgivings. “I don’t like this, Dullard. Taking a woman like her into a jungle full of wild animals.”

Dullard nodded. “Yes. She could push any endangered species into extinction.”

###

We found out a few things about our native guide. Her name was Jainama and she was excellent with a machete. Dullard marked it down to pent-up rage. She hacked at the saplings and vines with a determined snarl, mumbling. “Take that, you--” I won’t fill in the blanks. We nearly needed a machete to hack through the air she was turning blue.

I walked behind Jainama carrying a rifle. Dullard followed us with his carpet bag and my steamer trunk balanced atop his head.

Jainama stopped and let out a bloodcurdling scream. There before us loomed the malicious gold eyes and ivory fangs of the black mamba viper. (Which is actually green. I think the chap that named it was color blind.)

A higher pitched squeal joined her scream. At first I thought it was Dullard, but then I realized it came from my own throat.

Before I could raise my rifle, Jainama launched herself at the giant snake, machete flying like a sushi chef. She looked down at her dead adversary panting, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, man! It’s just another one of those stupid butterflies again. I hate those things. Don’t know how many of those critters I killed on the way to the city. I hope this is the last one.”

“The rare Mumbossy Mamba Mimicker,” Dullard whimpered, gazing down at the shredded wings. “I would have loved one for my collection.”

“Perhaps you could glue this one back together?” I offered.

Dullard looked at me like I was an idiot, and adjusted the trunk on his head.

“Perhaps we should take a break.” I sat down on a log. “Brew up a cup of tea and catch one’s breath.”

Jainama crossed her arms. “Yeah, what with me hacking our way through this thick jungle, and the little dude hauling all the luggage, I can see where you would be all exhausted, Bwana.”

I found out later that "bwana" is Swahili for "stupid white man."

“Yes,” I agreed. “How many days have we been at this?”

“About two hours, bwana.” Jainama was now tapping her foot. “We’ve only gotten 100 feet. If we had taken the path like I had suggested--”

“But the man-eating lions would be expecting that, right?” I raised my finger to make the point. “They are probably sitting there beside the trail, waiting in ambush, wearing bibs and licking their lips.”

“So, what is the plan, bwana? You going to have me hack down the entire jungle and expose Zantar that way?”

“What would you suggest?”

“Why not set a trap for Zantar?”

“Good idea, madame.”

“I ain’t no madame! I may not be a lady, but I ain’t no hooker, chump! Try making a grab at me and see what happens.” She clutched the machete tighter.

“I assure you, I am a gentleman, my good woman--and I’m not that stupid.”

“Just so we understand each other.” She relaxed a little.

“Moving along, you suggested a trap? What, pray tell, would we use for bait?”

“Zantar is a lonely young bachelor, right? I know the perfect bait.” She gave me a big grin.

###

I looked up at the heavy net constructed from vines we had rigged over the small clearing.

“You think this will work?” I asked Jainama.

“Worth a try. I got the perfect bait.”

I looked at the brown well-toned body in the zebra-skin bikini. I must say, she did clean up nicely. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

“Haven’t met a man yet that can resist my banana cream pie.” She held up the pie tin in her hands.

“Erm, exactly why are you wearing that bikini?”

“Hey, hacking through the forest is hot work. If I’m going to sit out here in the sun, I’m going to wear something cool.”

“Of course. Silly me.”

She sat down on a convenient rock. “Now you two go hide. When Zantar comes up to me, you let go of the rope, drop the net and we’ll have him.”

We followed our native guide’s instructions, hiding behind ferns.

“Hey Zantar!” Jainama yelled. “Come and get it, big guy. Got just what you want!” She held the pie over her head.

Suddenly from the underbrush came crashing a giant creature. At first I thought it was a gorilla, but then realized it was a young man, over six foot tall with a body like Mr. Universe. His leopard skin breech cloth set off his bronze tan nicely.

“It’s our wild man.” I whispered to Dullard.

“If he’s a wild man, why does he look like he just stepped out of a barber shop? Shouldn’t his hair be past his shoulders, Shouldn’t he have a beard? I’ve seen over-night campers look a lot grungier than this.”

“Zantar may be a wild man, but he is also an English lord! You of all men should understand that.”

“Yes.” Dullard rubbed his smooth chin. “I think we nobility are born clean-shaven.”

“I believe most people are born without beards, Dullard.”

“Even babies from the working class?” Dullard gave me a skeptical look.

Zantar saw Jainama and got a leer on his face. He crept toward her, stalking her like a cat after a rubber mouse. He sprung, and swept up the woman with one arm. “Zantar want!”

He then grabbed the pie with his other hand and let go of Jainama. He buried his face in the pastry, lapping it up greedily.

“Hey, chump!” She slapped his arm. “That is not how we do things around here! Where are your manners?”

Zantar ducked his head. “Zantar, sorry. May Zantar have banana cream pie, please?”

“Okay. I’ll let it go this time.”

He gave her a big grin and finished off the pie. While Zantar was occupied Jainama waved her arms at us.

“Let go of the rope, Dullard!” I hissed.

The net dropped down, trapping our wild man. Unfortunately it also trapped our wild woman. They were tangled up together. Maybe we should have thought this one through.

“Zantar tricked!” The giant bellowed, looking both angry and scared.

“Relax, honey.” Jainama patted his arm through the netting. “No one’s gonna hurt you. If they try, I’ll kick their butts!”

He relaxed. “Zantar like female. She smell good and makes great pies. You not all hairy and ugly like females in Zantar’s tribe.”

“That’s because they’re gorillas. I’m a human being, just like you.”

“Zantar think you pretty.”

“Hmmm, I normally don’t go for white boys, but you are a hunk, aren’t you?”

“What pretty female’s name?”

“I’m Jainama, but my friends call me Jain.”

“Me Zantar, you Jain?”

At this point I stepped forward. “Your real name, my good fellow, is Lord Ashpoke. Your real parents were English nobility.”

“Zantar not ape? Zantar adopted? Hmmm, that would explain many things.”

“Yes, Zantar. I was sent to bring you back to England and your family where a title and estate wait for you.”

“Zantar like jungle.”

Jainama took his hand. “Honey, if you don’t like England, you can sell the estate and come back and buy your jungle. That way the lumber companies can’t come in and cut it down.”

“Zantar like plan. Zantar agree under one condition.”

“What’s that, honey?”

“Jain come as Zantar’s mate.”

“Oh, how sweet! You want to get married, huh?”

“Zantar not know what ‘marry’ mean. Zantar want to share life with Jain. Make Jain his mate, forsaking all others, until death do part Zantar and Jain. Jain want same?”

“I do!” Jainama looked over at Dullard and I. “Well, don’t just stand there, you fools! Cut us out of here and go find a preacher before he changes his mind!”

###

A month later, I sat in my London flat, sipping tea and congratulating myself on a job well done. “Well, Dullard, that was a job well-done. We didn’t find the Lord Ashpoke Percy Twiddle asked for, but we did find his son. His family was thrilled that we found the lost heir they never knew they had.”

“Yes, Sterling. I know all this. I was there, remember?” Dullard looked bored.

“Of course, they were a bit upset that the new Lord Ashpoke squats on the dining table and eats with his hands and the new Lady Ashpoke is a non-Anglo-Saxon with a smart mouth and a bad atttitude.”

“I don’t know. Jainama seemed a lot mellower since she got married to Zantar. The two are constantly sneaking off together. They make a cute couple.”

“Bit of an odd couple, if you ask me. Fortunately, so many bankrupt English noble families have been forced to marry wealthy Americans, the gentry should have no trouble accepting them.”

“Yes.” Dullard nodded. “The Ashpokes are classier than most Americans I’ve met.”

“If only Lord Ashpoke could cure that nervous twitch of his.”

“The one where he beats his chest and gives an operatic yell?”

“Yes. You can hear him for miles. I understand the it nearly gave Queen Victoria the vapors at that luncheon.”

“I find it amusing.” Dullard chuckled.

“I’m sure Her Majesty was not amused. Personally, I think those little personality quirks just make a person more personable.”

“In your personal opinion?”

“Precisely.” I decided to pour myself another cup of tea and wait for our next amazing adventure.

The Case of the Dastardly Cad

2009-10-26T21:19:00.000-07:00

In honor of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I have written my very first piece of fiction, introducing my completely original character, Professor Horatio Sterling. Any resemblance to Sherlock Holmes is completely coincidental.

I do hope you like it. I am thinking of turning it into a novel. Perhaps if I put in a couple of chase scenes, some flashbacks, and lots more adverbs and adjectives I could stretch it out another two hundred pages or so.

I am considering the idea of pursuing a career as an action adventure writer. Should I quit my day job as a Temporal Anthropologist? Please, do tell me what you think.

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It was a dark and stormy night. Of course, it is normally dark at night, but this particular night was also stormy. The thunder thundered in the distance and lightning flashed through the window of my flat on the Strand. That’s in London, largest city in the world in 1893. This is where I live and work and eat and sleep and all those other things I do.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Professor Horatio Sterling, Detective. I wasn’t always a detective. I was once a professor at Cambridge with degrees in history and anthropology. I combined the two to create a course on the History of Anthropology. Anthropology was a new science, so it wasn’t a long course--the textbook was only 20 pages long. For some reason the class was quite popular.

However I got bored. I decided the world needed a crime fighter to fight--well, crime. I would use my knowledge of anthropology and the interworkings of human society as well as my knowledge of history and the follies of men to battle those who had a history of being anti-social.

“It certainly is dark and stormy tonight,” said Dr. Dullard as he gazed out the window. Dr. Obadiah Dullard was my room mate. I’m not sure exactly what sort of doctor he was, for he didn’t seem to do anything but follow me around. Still he helped pay the rent. Dullard also didn’t get in my way. He was a quiet man who wasn’t distracting. Being shorter and less handsome than me, he didn’t distract from me at all.

There was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a short, squat toad-like figure. It was our landlady, Mrs. Underhill. Her personality was as unpleasant as her looks. There was no Mr. Underhill. We weren’t sure if he was dead or had just run away.

“Some one at the front door wants to see you.” Her beady eyes glowered.

“Please show them up, Mrs. Underhill.”

She grunted her assent, then turned and yelled down the staircase, “All right, you can come up. And wipe your ruddy feet, this isn’t a pig sty.” Mrs. Underhill gave me one last glower, then disappeared into whatever hole it is she disappears into. I sometimes wonder how many clients she has scared off.

I heard the pitter-patter of dainty feet on the stairs. An image of an angel danced into the room on satin tippy-toes, her arms undulating like a dieing swan.

“Do forgive me, but I came straight from ballet class. We were rehearsing “Goose Lake”.”

“Goose Lake?”

“Yes, it’s Swan Lake choreographed for amateurs.”

“Ah, I see. I’m sure you make a lovely goose. Nice tutu by the way.”

“Thank you.” She fluttered her lush lashes. “My name is Lady Madeline Chesterfield. Are you Professor Horatio Sterling, the brilliant consulting detective?”

“At your service, Madame. Please have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That would be delightful. This outfit isn’t very warm and it is so dark and stormy out tonight.”

I turned to my sidekick. “Dullard, would you mind?”

“Not at all, old boy. Anything for the lovely lady.” Dullard grinned and set about his task.

I studied Lady Chesterfield carefully. I have to do that in my profession, to sum up my clients. She was a magnificent example of the English Rose. Her skin was like alabaster, smooth and white. Her large blue eyes were like twin pools a man wanted to dive into. Her perfectly formed jaw curved into her elegant neck. Her firm white bosoms--

“Professor Sterling!” Lady Chesterfield gasped.

“Oh, sorry. Do forgive me. It’s this blasted first person narrative. I never know when I’m thinking out loud.”

“Oh, I see. At least you used the word bosom and not something cruder.” Lady Chesterfield looked down and sighed disappointed. “Personally I always thought they were too petite. Men seem to prefer more ample ones.”

“Not at all.” Dr. Dullard pushed past me to hand the lady a cup of tea on a saucer. “It is a common fallacy that large breasted women are more amorous than small breasted ones. It is a well known medical fact that the human breast has the same number of nerve endings whatever it’s size. The larger the breast, the more dispersed the nerve endings; while the smaller, the more concentrated. Thus the smaller breasted woman is more easily stimulated and--” Dullard stopped and noticed my raised eyebrow. “What wrong, Sterling?”

“I don’t think that is appropriate small talk for a lady like Lady Chesterfield.”

“Sorry, I meant no offense. I was speaking only as a medical doctor. I took Mammary Classes, you see. The lady seemed distressed. I only wished to set her mind at ease.”

Lady Chesterfield blushed. “That is quite all right. It is reassuring, Dr.
--Excuse me, but who are you?”

I cleared my throat to cover up my embarrassment at my terrible social faux pas. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Chesterfield. Let me introduce my associate, Dr. Obadiah Dullard. He’s harmless.”

Dullard held out his hand to her. “Charmed to meet you, I’m sure.”

“Yes, well, you can let go of her hand Dullard and we will get down to business.” I turned my full attention to our guest. “So, Lady Chesterfield, what brings you to our humble abode?”

“Please forgive me for calling at this ghastly hour, but I don’t want my father, Lord Chesterfield, to know I came here. He would be devastated if he knew that I knew that he is in the most direst of straits.” Lady Chesterfield pulled out a perfumed lace handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

“There, there, everything will be all right. I always solve my cases.” I pulled up a chair and sat down so I wouldn’t look so intimidating. Dullard followed my example. “What sort of strait is your father in?”

“I believe some one is trying to blackmail him.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I went into my father’s study to get a penny postage stamp. He keeps them in his desk. I tried to open the roll top, but it was locked. Father never locks it. I remembered where he kept the spare key. When I opened it I saw a letter sitting there.” She handed me a letter. I took it and read:

Dear Lord Chesterfield,

I know your deepest darkest secret. I’m sure you know the one of which I speak of. I know all about Paris and a certain woman and her relationship to another certain woman. I will reveal the truth to the world if you do not give me the plans to the XZY-56 weapon. You may have built it to protect Britain from her enemies but I want it to conquer the world! Bwah-ha-ha! You will meet me Friday at midnight underneath the marble arch in Hyde Park with the plans. Don’t be late. Bring no one with you…or you’ll be sorry. The stars will be in my favor, not yours!

Sincerely yours,
(None of your business)

Dullard stood up to look over my shoulder. “Did he actually write ‘Bwah-ha-ha’ in the letter?”

“Not ‘he’ Dullard, but ‘she’!” I handed the paper to him. “See the hand writing, the flourishes of the letter, the perfect penmanship, the hearts dotting the i's? This shows a feminine hand, and one of good breeding and education, a member of the gentry itself.”

Lady Chesterfield cleared her throat nervously. “Erm, that is my hand writing.”

“You!” I was aghast. “You are blackmailing your own father! For shame!”

“No, Professor Sterling. I copied the letter to show you exactly what it said. I had to leave the original so father wouldn’t know I saw it.”

“Oh yes, of course. Do forgive me.”

Tears spilled out of Lady Chesterfield’s eyes like a water faucet with a busted spigot. “My poor father! He is a dear sweet man who would never hurt anyone.”

“Then what’s he doing creating weapons?” Dullard asked.

I told Dullard to hold his tongue with a commanding glare. I turned back to Lady Chesterfield. “Your father is a scientist?”

Lady Chesterfield nodded. “Yes. He only created the weapon to protect us from those nasty Germans who want to take over England and rule us!”

“Aren’t we now?” Dullard frowned. “I thought the royal family was German?”

“Dullard, if you don’t mind.” I glared even harder. He shrugged and sat back down.

Lady Chesterfield mopped up her damp face. “Father is above reproach. He spends all day in his laboratory.”

“What about, your mother? Have you told her?” I asked.

“Mother died in childbirth with me. I’m the only child. Father never remarried. Poor father had to raise me all by himself alone. Well, him and the estate’s large domestic staff. Please, please help me, Professor Sterling. You are my only hope.”

I will admit, I can’t refuse a lady in distress. “Yes of course, Lady Chesterfield. Don’t you worry. I will bring this dastardly cad to justice.” I stood up and struck a heroic pose to put her mind at ease.

Lady Chesterfield blew her nose and smiled. “Thank you, thank you, Professor Sterling. I will see you are repaid handsomely.”

“Don’t worry about the money, Lady Chesterfield. I will do this for Queen and Country!”

Dullard snorted. “A few quid might be nice. Maybe you could pay the rent for once.”

I ignored Dullard. “Do you mind my asking what your father’s birth date is, Lady Chesterfield?”

“5th of May 1849. Why? Any reason you want to know that?”

“Perhaps no reason, my dear. Perhaps every reason.”

“Well, you’re the detective.” Lady Chesterfield stood up. “You must excuse me, but really I must be getting home before Father gets suspicious. Thank you so much, Professor Sterling. You are a wonderful man.”

I flashed her that smile that always caused rooms to light up. “It is quite all right, my dear lady. Being wonderful is my job.”

Lady Chesterfield took her leave, giving me one last admiring glance. I stepped over to the window, and watched her enter a gold trimmed carriage with a driver and footman dressed in tuxedoes.

“I say, Sterling,” said Dullard at my elbow. “This is a sticky wicket. Do you think you can find this blackmailer?”

“Elementary, my dear Dullard. I shall simply use my massive brain. Why do you think I have to wear an extra large top hat?

“I thought you just had a fat head.”

“No fat, Dullard. All muscle, I assure you.”

“So you’re a musclehead?”

“And now I must flex those muscles. Dullard, put on the tea kettle. This is a seven cup problem!”

Dullard nodded. “Yes, you will have a problem if you drink seven cups of tea in one setting. All right, I’ll get the water heated.”

“Good man, faithful Dullard!”

Dullard mumbled something and left the window. I continued to stare into the brooding sky, pondering the task at hand. Would the dawn bring the light of enlightenment or would it simply bring a dark and stormy day?

#########

The next day at precisely 2:04, I stood outside a dingy shop in Cheapside, a part of London that lived up to it’s name. Taped to the dirty window from the inside was a sign that read “Magi Bertie Snodgrass. Tarot readings and astrology charts while you wait.”

The ever present Dr. Dullard shook his head. “What are we doing here?”

“I believe I will have my horoscope done.”

“But this is the third astrologer this morning, and you keep giving them the wrong birth date. I thought you were born in March!”

Dr. Dullard wasn’t the cleverest, or the strongest, or the bravest of men, but he had one indispensable attribute. I knew I could always count on him for comic relief.

“Trust me, Dullard, it would take too long to explain.”

I pushed my top hat forward for a more intimidating effect and turned the door knob. Bells hanging down as a primitive security system, jangled as I pushed open the door. Dr. Dullard followed and stood behind me as I waited for the proprietor. The scent of exotic incense did little to cover the smell of boiled cabbage.

A small weasely looking man came through India print drapes covering the door. He was dressed in a blue robe painted with stars. “Ah, seekers of wisdom, how may I help you.”

“I wish to have my horoscope done.”

“Of course, sit down.” He motioned us to a small, beat-up, round table with chairs.

“I take it you are Snodgrass?”

“Magi Snodgrass.” He motioned to a framed certificate on the wall from Madame Excelsior’s School of the Arcane Arts and Dentistry.

“Yes, of course. Do beg your pardon.” I sat down.

Snodgrass pulled out a pencil and paper. “So what is your name, sir.”

“Erm, John Smith.” I said cleverly.

“Where were you born?”

“Cambridge.”

“And what is your birth date?”

“5th of May, 1849.”

Snodgrass’s eyes got big. “Really? That’s the same date I was born!”

“Small world. I need to find out the best time of the month for cheating and betrayals. Would you know that?”

Snodgrass’ eyes got even bigger. “Erm…” He grabbed his charts and got very busy. “Moon will be in Gemini this Friday at midnight.” He looked up. “Why do you ask? Sneaking out on the wife?”

“Perhaps.” I mentally fenced with him. “Tell me, has anyone else been to you wanting that information?”

“No, don’t recall anyone.”

“That’s all I need to know. What do I owe you?”

“Two shillings.”

“Here’s a quid.” I tossed a sovereign at him. “Thank you for your time.” I turned and left the establishment.

Dullard chased after me. “So where do we go now? Where’s the next fortune teller?”

“We will go to Scotland Yard and speak with Inspector Hector. I have all the information I need, old chap.”

“Really? What information is that?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Please! I won’t tell anyone.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Dullard. I just can’t tell you.”

“Why?” Dullard whined like a small child.

“Because it would ruin the dramatic effect!”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

########

The next night at 11:45 I was hiding behind a bush watching the Marble Arch at the northeast corner of Hyde Park. With me was the ever faithful Dullard along with Inspector Hector of Scotland Yard and Lady Madeline Chesterfield, now dressed in something far warmer than a tutu. It was getting a bit crowded behind the bush.

“Do you have your men in position, Inspector?” I asked in a commanding whisper.

“I have half of Scotland Yard hiding behind every bush, tree and statue in the vicinity. Your blackmailer won’t be able to get away.”

“Good! Lady Chesterfield, did you give that sleeping draught Dr. Dullard gave you to your father?”

“Yes, I put it in his tea. Father was snoring peacefully when I left. But what will happen when father doesn’t show up?”

“Not to worry. I will take his place at midnight. Wearing your father’s coat, and with this pillow stuffed under it, the blackmailer won’t know I’m not Lord Chesterfield until it’s too late!”

Lady Chesterfield turned pale. At least I assumed she turned pale. It was dark, you know. “Oh, Professor Sterling, what if the criminal is armed…with a gun…with bullets. Aren’t you putting yourself in danger?”

“I giggle at danger! I thumb my nose at death! Not to worry, my lady. I was trained in Japan in the martial arts of the ninjas.”

Dullard looked at me. “I thought you said you learned martial arts from Shaolin priests in China?”

“Oh, that was the year before.” I waved him off. “Now if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with a knave.” I stood up and masterfully walked over to the marble arch, now devoid of the really ugly statute of Lord Wellington, a small but necessary city beautification measure.

I stood under the arch and struck the pose that Lord Chesterfield would have struck, using my extraordinary acting abilities. I had studied with the National Shakespearean Academy, the year before the Shaolin priests martial arts classes, and the year after the waltzing lessons.

After a few minutes a shadowy figure came out of the shadows and scuttled across the road. He sidled up next to me. “Sppt! You got the XZY-56 weapon plans I asked for?”

“Oh, I got what you are asking for all right!” I threw off Lord Chesterfield’s coat, and ripped off the pillow.

The blackmailer managed to pull out a gun, despite the fit of sneezing caused by the flying feathers. Before he could pull the trigger, I used an old Shaolin priest trick. “EEEEE-YOW!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

My attacker dropped the gun and grabbed his ears, yelping in pain.

I tackled the culprit, knocking him to the ground. I rolled him on his stomach and clamped handcuffs on his wrists. “Ha! Squealing Pig Kung-Fu! Works every time!”

Dr. Dullard and Lady Chesterfield and Inspector Hector and Sergeant Walker and Officer Clancy and Officer--oh, I’m not going to name all thirty of them. Trust me, a whole bunch of people came running up.

“Well done, Sterling!” Inspector Hector congratulated me. “Now we need to find out who the criminal is.”

“I knew that yesterday.” I rolled the prone figure over. “Inspector Hector, meet Bertie Snodgrass!”

Dr. Dullard’s mouth flew open like it always does. “How did you know, Sterling?”

“Elementary, my dear Dullard! He hinted who he was in the letter.”

“He signed it, “none of your business” if I recall correctly.”

“You hear but don’t listen, you look but don’t see, you touch but don’t feel, you sniff but don’t smell--” I stopped when I saw I was quickly loosing my audience here. “Do you remember the line about the stars?”

“The stars will be in my favor not yours?” Dullard quoted.

“Precisely! Is this not just the sort of thing an astrologer would say?”

“I don’t know. People are always thanking their lucky stars.”

“But why those stars and why would they be in Snodgrass’s favor and not Lord Chesterfield’s.”

“Huh?” Dullard looked lost.

“Snodgrass and Lord Chesterfield share the same stars! They are in fact twins!”

Lady Chesterfield frowned. “But he doesn’t look anything like father or anyone else in our family.”

“Not biological twins, but astrological twins!”

“What?” Dullard looked even more lost.

“Snodgrass and Lord Chesterfield were both born on the same day in the same time zone, thus making them astrological twins. All these years Snodgrass, the loser, consoled himself that his pathetic life wasn’t his fault, but the edict of the stars. Then he finds out, probably read it in the Times, that Lord Chesterfield has the same astrological chart. Snodgrass can’t even chalk it up to Chesterfield being manor born, because he is also a brilliant scientist. Snodgrass finds his world in shambles, his self image ground into the dirt. He wants to destroy Chesterfield. He spies on him, finds out all his secrets. So he decides to use Chesterfield’s own invention to make himself even greater than Chesterfield ever was.”

“Blast your eyes!” cried Snodgrass. “How did you figure all that out?!”

“Yes, how DID you figure all that out?” Dullard by now looked totally baffled. “How did you come to that conclusion from that one sappy line? It doesn’t make any sense at all. That won’t stand up in court.”

Inspector Hector slapped Dullard on the shoulder. “Not to worry, lad! We have Snodgrass’s confession and Sterling’s sterling reputation to back it up!”

“My hero!” Lady Chesterfield threw her arms around me.

Two officers lifted Snodgrass to his feet. Snodgrass snarled at me. “Curse you, Sterling. You may have stopped me from taking over the world, but I can still destroy Lord Chesterfield and that which he holds most dear.”

“You won’t be able to do it from prison.” I pointed out.

Snodgrass gave a nasty laugh. “I’ll do it right here! The truth is Lord Chesterfield never married. His precious daughter is illegitimate!”

Lady Chesterfield let go of me and stepped back. “No! No!” Her arm flew to her forehead as she struck a melodramatic pose appropriate to the occasion.

“It’s true!” Snodgrass lips curled in a cruel smile. “Your father spent a couple of years in Paris. Dated an actress until they broke up. Nine months later at the door of his Paris flat is a basket with a baby and a note, saying the woman has left for America and Chesterfield can raise his own brat!”

“Then poor father didn’t even get the chance to marry mother.”

“Doesn’t matter, lamikin. You are still a the fruit of a illicit affair!”

Poor Lady Chesterfield buried her face in her hands. “Oh no! Now I can never marry. Who would want me knowing I am born out of wedlock!”

“Erm, excuse me.” Dullard tugged at her sleeve. “I mean it’s hardly your fault. Sounds like a big mix-up to me. I would marry you.”

“Dullard,” I said, trying to be patient. “That’s all very noble, but I’m sure Lady Chesterfield was hoping for a husband from the gentry, not an out of work doctor who has to share a room.”

“Yeah, well--I’m gentry. I’m a lord.”

“What!? Dullard that’s not funny. Your father was a soldier in India.”

“Yeah, Colonel Albert Dullard, also known as the Earl of Dunderwick.”

“You really are a lord?”

“On my daddy’s side. I’m a prince on my mother’s side.”

“What!!!?”

“Yeah, daddy married the local Raja’s daughter.”

“You can’t be a prince,” I protested.

“Well, in name only. Grandfather surrendered Pumbah to the British without a fight in exchange for being allowed to keep most of the diamond and ruby mines.”

“WHAT!!” I shook my head to clear it. “Wait a minute, if you are a lord, a prince and filthy rich, why did you get a medical degree?”

“Those other titles I was born with. They don’t mean anything. The doctor degree I had to earn. I did it to prove I was someone.”

“Well, that would explain why you never work and always seem to have money. But why are you sharing a couple of lousy rooms in Mrs. Underhill’s boarding house with me.”

Dullard grinned at me. “To meet girls.”

“To meet girls?”

“Yeah, detectives always attract young beautiful high class women as clients. And Victorian detectives never get the girl like 20th century detectives. No, it’s the sidekick that gets to marry the clients. Didn’t you ever read Sherlock Holmes?”

Lady Chesterfield put her arm in Dullard’s. “So, you’re titled and have part interest in some diamond and ruby mines?”

“No, sole heir. I know I’m not exciting like Sterling here, but I would be a doting husband, catering to your every whim and covering you with expensive presents.”

Lady Chesterfield leaned closer. “You know, you are kind of sweet. You take anything else besides Mammary Classes.”

“Oh yes! I took all the anatomy classes. I know the human body--intimately.”

“Come along, sweetheart.” Lady Chesterfield led off Dullard. “I want daddy to meet you.”

“No!” Snodgrass protested. “This isn’t suppose to end like this. It isn’t fair!”

“Oh, shut up!” I whirled around and glared at Snodgrass. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I’m the hero! I’m suppose to get the girl!” I turned to Inspector Hector. “Take the twit in. I’m going home.”

I walked away across the park, bathed in shadows, back to my flat. My name is Horatio Sterling. I am a detective. It is a lonely life, full of danger, that has no room for family or bridge clubs or Sunday socials. I am a lone wolf. I am the wind. I am--short on cash. I wonder if Dullard can loan me a few quid for the rent tomorrow?