TO-DAY, dear readers, I have prepared something of a special treat for you all, one that I hope you shall find as garment-drenchingly wonderful as I do.

For you see, not only do you get to READ my wondrous words on this occasion, but you shall also get to HEAR them as well.

Yes, dear readers – to-day I shall be coming in your ears.

With the help of a rather skilled chap called Mr. Woodford, and using the very latest in phonographic recording techniques, we have assembled a rather spectacular audio production, chronicling my involvement in one of the most important developments of the Victorian age -  the creation of Mr. Alexander Graham Bell’s much celebrated telephonic communication device.

Ladies and gentle-men, prepare your listening-pipes for an almighty ear-gasm, as I proudly present the astonishing audio adventure, ‘Telephonic Mischief’.

Do please enjoy.

- Lord Likely.



Telephonic Mischief was performed by Mr. A.D Fanton and Mr. A.M.P Woodford, from a script by Mr. Fanton, based on events recounted to him by Lord Likely (Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action). The music, sound effects and production were all provided by Mr. Woodford. Biscuits courtesy of Mr. McVite.

Further Astonishing Audio Adventures shall be forthcoming…

“IT WAS…YOU!” I said, pointing into the room.

“Me, milord?” asked Botter, standing at the end of my finger.

“What? No, Botter! Get out of the ruddy way, you anus!”

“Sorry, milord. Sorry!” Botter babbled apologetically, as he swiftly side-stepped out of the way.

“Right. Let us try that again, shall we? It was…YOU!” I repeated, pointing once more. And this time my digit found the correct culprit – Peeves the butler.

“Me?” scoffed Peeves. “How utterly preposterous.”

“Preposterous? I think not, sir. It is completely postposterous. It is so far beyond posterousness that it leaves the posterous far, far behind.”

Peeves sniffed haughtily. “Oh, really? And where is your evidence, sir? What is my motive? You are grasping at straws, I am afraid, and making yourself look rather foolish.”

“You wish for a motive? I shall give you a motive. It is no secret that you despise the line of work in which you have found yourself employed, Mr. Peeves. Nary a moment goes by without you moaning or grumbling about your life of servitude, and your low wage. But then – ah-ha! The Duchess receives a priceless necklace, a necklace worth a considerable sum of money – easily enough money for a disgruntled servant to escape his job, and begin a new life elsewhere.” I paced across the room, stopping by Maud Dreadful and Dorothy Mount-Worthy’s side. The delectable Dorothy had stopped playing with the olive in her drink, and was now transfixed by the events unfolding before her big, beautiful eyes. I smiled at her, took the drink from her hand and took a sip. This summing up business was thirsty work.

“Of course,” I continued, returning the drink to Dorothy’s hand. “You could not just pinch the necklace as soon as it came into the house, for you would be instantly under suspicion before you could get away. So, you bade your time, until tonight. A party would prove the perfect cover under which to steal the necklace – especially when the party in question is attended by a renowned jewel thief. Who would suspect the humble butler when there is a criminal among their midst?”

“Former criminal,” Pilferton Swypes emphasised.

“Whatever,” I said, dismissively. “And so you waited until the right moment presented itself to you – the moment when the Duchess had that unfortunate incident with the olive. As the man constantly by her side, you were in a prime position to take advantage of the situation, and in among the confusion you swiped the necklace from around her neck, while pretending to be aiding her with the obstruction in her throat. And that, my dear Mr. Peeves, is how you done it.” I paused. “How you did it, rather.”

“That is a charming story, sir,” Peeves smiled. “But without any evidence it is just that – a story.”

I smiled. “Botter, my dear chap – would you mind awfully lifting the lid off of that serving dish beside Mr. Peeves?”

“Certainly, milord,” Botter obliged, strolling over to the table next to the increasingly worried-looking butler. Botter approached the dish, and then slowly lifted the domed lid aside.

The assembled guests gasped in unison.

There, on the serving tray, lying on a bed of rice, was the pearl necklace.

“The perfect hiding place,” I said triumphantly, helping myself to another sip of Dorothy’s drink. “No-one here would even consider serving themselves. Just the right spot to conceal your ill-gotten gains.”

“Peeves!” blurted the Duke of Fircombe. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”

“Oh, do shut up, sir” snarled Peeves, whipping out a pistol from his jacket pocket. “And you!” he growled, turning the gun on Botter. “Step away from that, you grimy little runt.”

Botter duly stepped back, as Peeves snatched up the necklace with a gloved hand, and stuffed it into his pocket. This done, he turned his attention back to me.

“Well done, your lordship. You figured it all out – bravo! But you are not going to stop me from completing my plan.”

“Fair enough,” I replied breezily. “But I do wonder if you might do me one final favour before you leave? Would you mind saying ‘ahhhh?”

Peeves looked puzzled. “Ahh-”

As soon as his mouth opened, I sprang into action, and as quick as a flash, I plucked the olive from Dorothy’s drink. Then, using my finest over-arm throw, I hurled it directly into the butler’s open gob. My aim proved to be straight and true, and the olive disappeared straight into Peeves’ mouth, lodging itself somewhere in his throat.

“-hhhhhhhggggghhhh!” Peeves choked, as his hands moved to his throat, desperately clawing at it for air. With him thus subdued, I sprang forward and charged at the bounder, knocking him back into a grandfather clock, which splintered apart with a sad chiming sound as we crashed into it. During the tussle, the olive became dislodged, and it gently bounced across the floor.

“Ha!” I beamed, dislodging myself from the broken clock’s innards. “I am afraid the only serving you shall be doing from now on is that of a prison sentence, in gaol!” I quipped, but to little avail, as Peeves had been knocked out in the struggle and was in no position to appreciate my incredibly witty wordplay.

“Bloody good work, Likely!” cried the Duke of Fircombe, striding over to me and shaking my hand furiously. “Tremendous! Absolutely tremendous! But tell me – how did you know Peeves was the culprit?”

“Well, that is really rather simple – the butler always does it, doesn’t he?” I grinned, slapping the Duke on the back, before striding over to where Dorothy and Maud were sitting. “Now, what say we get this shindig going again, hmm? I have uncovered one pearl necklace tonight, and feel rather like dishing out some more…”

- Lord Likely.

WELL DONE! Congratulations to those of you who voted for Peeves as the culprit in last week’s poll! You were absolutely bang-on, so are free to award yourselves one hundred detective points. HUZZAH!

THE PUZZLING PEARL NECKLACE PUZZLE was dedicated to Kerry and Sarah – thank you for putting up with me.

COMING SOON to The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely…

Be back here soon, you hear?

“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!

I ENSCONCED myself back in the Fircombe’s study, where I planned to interview each and every guest in the hope of finally uncovering the cad responsible for the theft of the Duchess’ pearl necklace, and thus hopefully allowing the party to re-start. I hadn’t had a ruddy drink for hours, for pity’s sake. It was a ruddy disgrace.

Just as I was rearranging the desk in the study, the door swung open and in came Peeves, the Fircombe’s rather surly butler.

“I have retrieved your man-servant, sir,” he droned. “He was making rather a fuss, I must say. Clawing at the door of his kennel like a wild animal, he was!”

“Excellent. Well, send him in, man. Send him in!”

Peeves nodded stiffly and beckoned Botter in.

“Oh, my lord!” Botter gasped, rushing to my side. “It was hell in there! All of us servants cramped together in that tiny space – oh! It was like being a caged dog, milord – and I am no dog!”

“Of course not. Would you like a biscuit?” I asked.

“Oooh! Yes! please! Yes please!” Botter cried, jumping up and down with excitement. I threw him a biscuit, which he rather deftly caught in his mouth, before he sat himself under the window, chewing away quite contentedly.

“Right. Now, Peeves, if you could summon Major Thrashing for me, that would be absolutely spiffing,” I said.

“Certainly, sir,” Peeves sighed. “Heaven forfend you use your own legs at any point, eh? No, we wouldn’t want you getting wear and tear on your precious aristocratic limbs….good heavens, no…”

I watched the grumbling butler disappear out of the study, then turned to Botter.

“He’s a jolly fellow, isn’t he? Don’t you start getting ideas like that, Botter!”

Botter looked up from his biscuit, and nodded in agreement.

“Good boy,” I said, and threw him another biscuit. I then turned my attention to the notes I had prepared for the Major’s interview. He seemed to be a good man;  thirty-two years of loyal service to the Empire, flawless military record, now happily retired in the country…nothing out of the ordinary that might suggest he was a jewel-thief. Indeed, the only negative thing that one might say about the Major was that he was a terrible racist – which is to say he was, in fact, an excellent racist. He was very good at being racist indeed.

A loud cough roused me from my reading, and looking up I saw the Major standing in the doorway.

“Ah, Major! A pleasure! Please, take a seat,” I grinned. “I shan’t take up much of your time, I just wish to ask you a few questions about the night’s events.”

“Certainly, certainly,” the Major said, sitting on the chair opposite me. “Fire away, as I used to say to my troops back in India!”

“Yes, quite. Now, Major, where were you on the night of tonight? Specifically, where were you when the Duchess’ necklace went missing?”

“Why, I was standing right next to the Duke, sah! Marvellous chap, the Duke. We were talking about our travels – turns out we had both spent quite a large amount of time in Africa, don’t you know? Beautiful country, Likely. Really beautiful. It is just a shame it is overrun with blasted ni -”

“Ahem!” I coughed quickly.

“What?” exclaimed the Major. “I was only going to say ‘nincompoops’. There really are a fair few dashed idiots out there, you know – especially in government!”

“Oh, right. Well, good.”

“Plus, of course, there are darkies everywhere!”

“Ahem! Ahem! AHEM!” I coughed. “Moving on, Major – did you see anything untoward over the course of the night? Anything that might arouse suspicion?”

“Well,” the Major whispered, leaning in conspiritationally. “That woman. Eels…you know, the eels woman…”

“Ms. Jennifer Eels?” I said, recollecting the rather delightful heiress of a vast eel business, with whom I had enjoyed a rather personal encounter only hours previously.

“Yes! That’s the one. Well, I found out something rather shocking about her tonight…” he leant in closer still, his face so close to mine that I could practically count every hair in his enormous white moustache, if I so desired. “Ms. Eels…is Jewish.”

I paused at this rather anticlimatic revelation. “I am sorry, Major, I don’t quite follow…”

“Jewish, Likely! She’s Jewish! Egads, man! You cannot trust a Jew! They’ll steal anything, don’t you know! Money, gold, jewels, babies…you name it, and they’ll have their filthy claws around it, mark my words!”

“Yes, well, thank you Major,” I sighed. “I will…keep that in mind.”

“Well, make sure you do, Likely – and do not delay in apprehending her! Why, any moment now, she might spread her twisted Jew wings and fly away!”

“Of course. Thank you, Major,” I said, as I motioned to Peeves to show the Major the door, lest he depress me any further. The Major duly left, mumbling his intolerant blitherings as he went.

“Thank Jupiter he’s gone,” I said. “Right, Peeves, send in Mr. Pine next, would you? Oh, and could you get me a glass of whisky, please? There’s a good chap!”

“A glass of whisky, sir?” Peeves whined. “You mean, a glass of whisky from that drinks cabinet? The one just over there, situated only three feet away from your desk?”

“Yes, Peeves. If you would be so kind.”

Peeves grumbled under his breath as he went to fix me a drink, while I pulled up the notes on Winsome Pine, which largely amounted to the words ‘whiny bastard’ over and over again.

Hmmm. This investigation lark was going to be harder than I had thought.

- Lord Likely.

The Story Thus Far…

Lord Likely – Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action – was invited to attend a lavish ball at Fircombe Hall, at the behest of the Duke and the Duchess of Fircombe.

Never one to leave a ball unattended, Likely duly set off, accompanied by his man-servant, Botter, and his two lovely friends, Dorothy Mount-Worthy and Maud Dreadful.

Once at Fircombe Hall (and having locked Botter safely away in the servant’s kennel) Likely set about meeting the numerous guests, before getting wildly drunk, whereupon he groped two ladies and offended some of the party-goers. To top it all, Likely then inadvertently wound up forcing an olive down the Duchess’ throat.

After gallantly leaping to her rescue, it was thought the evening was saved – until the Duchess then noticed that, somewhen during the confusion and chaos, her priceless pearl necklace had been stolen from around her very neck!

All eyes automatically turned to Pilferton Swypes, one of the guests who also happened to be a reformed jewel thief. Could he really be the culprit?

Lord Likely aims to find out, and get to the bottom of this mystery – but first, he aims to get to the bottoms of the female guests, as he prepares to perform a thorough search of their persons…

Now, read on, dear readers – and remember! Keep an eye out for possible clues and hints, for YOU shall be able to help Likely finger the suspect later on. As ’twere.

*****

I EMERGED from the study sometime later, followed by the female guests, all of whom were – like me – looking rather flushed and slightly ruffled.

“Well?” said the Duke of Fircombe, striding up to me.

“Yes,” I replied. “Very well indeed.”

“Did your search turn up anything?”

“Search?” I repeated, having quite forgotten that the reason I had ferried all the female guests into the study was to search them, in case any of them were concealing the stolen pearl necklace about their person.  “Well, ahem…I, erm, probed the ladies quite thoroughly and…ah, nothing came up…”

“Nothing came up? That’s not strictly true, is it your lordship?” chuckled Lady Marmalade, sending a ripple of coquettish giggling through the other women.

“So you did not uncover anything, then?” the Duke enquired.

“Well,” I coughed, straightening my tie. “Not as such, no.” More giggling.

“You didn’t come across anything at all?”

I shook my head, the women tittering knowingly in the background.

“Good lord, you’ve been in there for three hours and failed to find a single clue? I imagine you must have felt a complete arse, sir!”

“Several,” I quipped.

“Pardon?” barked the Duke.

“Ahem. Yes, I was rather disappointed with the results of my…ah…investigations,” I replied. “I am nowhere nearer to locating the missing jewellery, I’m afraid.”

“Dammit, Likely Then we must try harder! My wife shall be devastated if she does not get her pearl necklace, you know. Good heavens, do you know how much she loves a good pearl necklace?” the Duke continued, unaware that we were all doing our damnedest not to break out into fits of laughter. “She’s had hundreds of pearl necklaces in her time, don’t you know? Yes, she’s been given pearl necklaces by numerous politicians, visiting dignitaries – why, the King of Spain gave her a magnificent pearl necklace only last week. Heavens, even her father gave her a tremendous pearl necklace on our wedding day…what? What is it?”

By this point, many of the ladies and I had completely lost our self-control, and were lost to raucous gales of laughter.

“Blast it all! Stop laughing at once! This is a terribly serious business! If my wife does not get her pearl necklace, she shall be inconsolable! And I shall be far from pleased, myself! Do you know how hard it was to give her that pearl necklace? Such things do not come easily, you know! But I did it, because I wanted to show her how much I loved her by giving her the most impressive pearl necklace possible. And it was well worth it. You must admit, she looked positively gorgeous wearing that pearl necklace, like a vision…’twas such a perfect moment, quite overwhelming. Indeed, I was so overcome that as soon as I spread that pearl necklace across her skin, I nearly passed out…oh, what NOW?”

We had all once again given way to uncontrollable guffawing, and it took all my strength to pull myself together again.

“Ahem. Apologies, your grace. I do not know what came over her. Us. What came over US,” I said, swiftly correcting myself. “Yes…listen, I shall proceed with the investigation by interviewing everyone who was here tonight, one by one, and then with all the facts to hand I should be able to finally reach some sort of conclusion. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Indeed, indeed,” the Duke concurred.

“Excellent! I shall need to have my man-servant retrieved from his kennel as well, to assist me in the interview process. Would that be alright?”

“Whatever it takes, Likely! Just get on with it!”

“But of course! And do not fear, your Dukeness – I promise that I shall not rest until the missing item is found! Your wife’s pearl necklace is in safe hands…”

At which point the women burst into laughter again, leaving the Duke to storm off in disgust.

Honestly, that fellow really needs to loosen up a touch.

- Lord Likely.

WELL HUZZAH! ‘Tis time to hang out the bunting, crack open the champage, and set fire to an urchin in celebration – my beloved journals have been relocated!

Hip, hip, hoo-bloody-ray!

Regular readers will recall that I had somehow misplaced my beloved journals – those fine diaries into which I chronicle my astonishing adventures and exhilarating exploits – whilst in the midst of transcribing one such escapade for the collective enjoyment of the entire globe.

Well, fear not, ladies and gentlemen, for the journals have now resurfaced, and thus humanity need not be deprived of the finest story-telling e’er read by man, woman or particularly literate beast.

Huzzah, I say again.

But where were the journals, you may be wondering? And if you aren’t wondering that at all, then what in the name of blue blazes is wrong with you? I fear you may have suffered a head trauma, rendering you an imbecile.

Upon losing said diaries, I turned to you – my loyal followers – for assistance. Naturally, you all leapt to my aid, scouring the corners of the earth in search of my treasured journals, seeking high and low in every nook and cranny, and every crook and nanny.

The first lead came from Mr. Jeffman, who suggested the books may have been lurking under my top-hat. Upon closer inspection, however, it transpired that they were not there, although I did find several pounds in change, a half-eaten sandwich and a copy of Strumpets and Trumpets magazine – a most delightful read if e’er I saw one.

Mr. Augusto hinted that he had found in underneath my dear friend Dorothy Mount-Worthy’s dress, but after a thorough search I turned up nothing, save for Ms. Mount-Worthy’s knickers, which subsequently came down and…well, let us just say she has nothing hidden about or indeed inside her gorgeous form.

Ms. Tiggy thought that I might have lost it in Penge. A quick telegram to Penge revealed that the place was still as bum-achingly dull as ever, so clearly my journals had not turned up and roused the spirits of its inhabitants, else there would no doubt have been a frenzy of wild boozing and wilder intercourse on the streets.

Mr. Scaryduck made the bizarre claim that I had left it up a goat, but his promise of pictures to follow was never realised. I can only imagine that he had become so lust-filled whilst taking the photographs that he spent the rest of the time humping the goat, and it would not surprise me at all if he and the goat were now married, with kids.

Mr. Wood offered the possibility that I may have lost the journals in a card game. I have, as you will recall, once lost my entire house in such a fashion, but since then I have learnt my lesson and now only gamble things of no use to me (e.g my trousers, my man-servant). So once again I came up blank.

Sir Static attempted the old blackmail ruse upon me, by claiming he had the journals and would return them for ten thousand pounds. Naturally, I saw through his caper, and so by about…now, Sir Static should be falling ten thousand feet, after I arranged to have him hurled off a dirigible for daring to tangle with this particular aristocrat.

Lady Catherine came up with a most intriguing proposition, that my journals may have been taken from me and used to form the basis of a new religion. The suggestion may have proven to be incorrect, but it is still an excellent idea, which should be enacted upon IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner.

But then, a breakthrough! The ever-enchanting Lady Softbreath helped jog my memory, by sending me this marvellous missive:

Kind Sir;

Far be it from me to suggest that your memory is failing, but I hasten to remind you that the aforementioned diary was not, in point of fact, lost at all.

It remains precisely where you left it, and however it might disturb me that your memory of the leaving is not as sharp as mine, I will make an attempt to clear what is quite obviously a muddy recollection on your part. Being a lady, please be assured that I will not divulge those things about the evening that might be unsavory to those whose eyes pass over this missive.

After a most delightful evening spent debauching each other, you propped up a device – which has been known to give me quite a lot of pleasure – proudly atop the diary. Upon arranging it just so, you declared to me that the things that gave me the most glee should be kept together in a place of honor near my bedside. The diary to be kept, of course, as a reminder of the decadent evening passed in your company.

It would seem that it was not I that required such a reminder, your Lordship. As such, I shall endeavour to return the diary by post at my earliest convenience.

It will be returned to you inside your missing left sock.

Ever yours,
Lady Softbreath
So THAT is where I left it! Of course! Sometimes it is rather difficult to keep track of who’s bed I have been in, so these things can naturally get quite confusing and muddled.

Suffice to say, I shall now journey to Lady Softbreath’s abode, to reclaim my journals and deliver her the grand prize of a damned good pounding.

All is well that ends well, and I thank you all most fervently for helping me locate my missing diaries. Truly, each and every one of you is a credit to the human race!

I shall return Monday, when I will no doubt have lost a fair amount of my seminal fluid, but gained a journal. And having done so, I shall immediately set about recommencing the transcription of my latest astonishing adventure – The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle!

Until then,

Toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely.

BLOODY big, bulging, buggering ball-sacks.

It appears that since transcribing the last chapter of my current astonishing adventure – The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle – I have somehow misplaced my journal (pictured above), inside of which were all the notes for the forthcoming chapters of this incredible tale.

Big, steaming piles of elephantine effluence.

Of course, my memory has been well and truly water-logged thanks to my consumption of a near-Herculean quantity of alcohol, so without the journal at hand I cannot accurately convey the astonishing adventure at hand – hence the three-week lull you have all had to experience. You poor, Likely-deprived people. It must have been ruddy hell for you all.

I have been trying to think where I might have left my journal, and so far I have only managed to come up with these possibilities:

i) I left it in a lady’s bed-chamber (highly probable).

ii) I used it to beat a vagrant about the head, and left it embedded in his skull.

iii) A thieving no-good stole it.

iv) It has been confiscated by government agents, on the basis that the levels of brilliance contained within may prove too much for the public to handle.

v) My man-servant, Botter, mistakenly threw it away in a moment of all-too typical thick-headedness.

vi) I left it in a lady (less probable).

Other than those possibilities, I have drawn a blank, despite my tireless, never-ending efforts to relocate my prized journal, as evidenced by the illustration below:

(Illustration skillfully and sexily drawn by Mr. Sheldon Goodman. Further examples of his excellent artistry may be found by going hither.)

So, despite my best attempts to thrash out some clues as to my journal’s whereabouts, I really just do not know where it might be. Yes, for once, I – Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action – am completely and utterly bamboozled. I know – ’tis shocking, is it not?

For that very reason, I have decided to turn to YOU – my loyal readers and fantastic followers – to help me locate this critically important book!

If any of you have any suggestions as to where my journal may be, or if you think you have seen it, or have pictorial evidence of it’s current whereabouts, then please do let me know. Either leave a comment below, or send an electronic missive to:  hislordship@lordlikely.com

The person who’s suggestion either leads me to recover my journal, or the one which I declare to be the most imaginative/witty/arousing of all, will win an actual PRIZE – your very own brand-new journal, into which you can chronicle your own astonishing adventures!

As if that was not thrilling enough, I shall also personally sign the journal with my own noble hand, thus making the prize completely unique, totally invaluable and utterly priceless!

So hurry, my friends – help me track down my journal, lest the world be denied further astonishing adventures!

The future of humanity’s very well-being lies in YOUR hands!

Yours wonderfully,

- Lord Likely.

The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle:

Chapter Five.

THE Duchess of Fircombe’s cries of distress over the theft of her priceless pearl necklace continued on, which was of course perfectly understandable, but also ruddy irritating.

“For the love of buggery, have a vol-au-vent, woman!” I snapped, stuffing one of the aforementioned delicacies into the Duchess’ gaping, great gob. “I cannot hear myself think!”

Clearly taken by surprise by my actions, the Duchess duly shut up, allowing me to once more hear myself think. Now that I could once again hear my thoughts, I was able to ascertain that I was not in deep rumination about the mystery at hand, as I had imagined, but was actually contemplating pushing my penis betwixt Lady Marmalade’s bountiful breasts, and then thrusting away until climax.

Not at all useful to current proceedings, I grant you, but a nice thought nonetheless.

Anyway, I quickly realised that as I had already saved the day once, it would no doubt fall on me again to rise to the rescue, and solve this confounded conundrum. I therefore silenced the perplexed party-goers, and took control of the room once more.

“Ladies and gentle-men, as you have just witnessed, someone has rather brazenly stolen the Duchess of Fircombe’s pearl necklace, right in front of our very eyes! It is quite obvious to me that that someone is still in the room right now, thereby making us all suspects in this investigation!” I paused. “Well, aside from me, of course. I am in the business of giving pearl necklaces, not taking them.” I winked at the ever-radiant Dorothy Mount-Worthy, who flashed a bewitching smile in return. “Besides which,” I continued, facing the crowd, “I am the heroic protagonist of this piece, so can quite clearly be ruled out…”

“What in God’s name are you blathering on about?” blustered the Duke of Fircombe, interrupting what I thought had been a rather good and rather powerful speech.

“Please, do not interrupt me. I am trying to conduct a criminal investigation!” I replied, before turning back to speak to the guests. “Now then – who stole the necklace? Own up! Come on, now!”

I was met with a stoney silence.

“Hmm,” I mused. “I had rather hoped that would work, to be honest…”

“Blast it all, do you have any idea what you are doing? Who put you in charge, anyway, sah?” grumbled Major Thrashing. “I oversaw many such investigation in my time in the army, you know? Saw many a man swing, you know. What are your credentials, pray tell?”

“Well, I work very closely with Scotland Yard, Major, and have helped them out on numerous occasions…here’s my card,” I explained patiently, proffering one of my business cards at the senile old sod.

“‘Madam Tipslip’s Knocking Shop? All Gentle-Men Serviced With A Smile?’” read the Major. “What in the blue blazes has that got to do with anything, sah?”

“Ah, bugger it. Wrong card,” I replied, giving my actual card in place of the other.

“‘Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action. Cases cracked, mysteries solved, ladies pumped. All cases and mysteries to be directed to Inspector A. Spunkleford of Scotland Yard in the first instance. All ladies may enquire directly to Likely Towers…‘”

“There, see? Are you quite content now?” I beamed.

“Well, I…I…” stammered the Major.

“Good. One more peep out of you and I shall charge you with obstructing police work, and have you banged up in a cell so quickly your false teeth will spin. Got that?” The Major nodded slowly. “Good. Now, may we proceed?”

“This is all a waste of time!” barked the Duke of Fircombe, to my great annoyance. “It is quite clear who the thief is…HIM!”

The entire crowd followed the direction of the Duke’s accusatory finger, and found the rather nervous form of Pilferton Swypes, the apparently reformed jewel-thief, standing at the end of it.

“Good evening,” he said, meekly.

“The man has a history of stealing valuables, for heaven’s sake!” cried the Duke. “Why, he even stole a necklace once – from Buckingham Palace, no less! And what sort of fellow comes to a ball wearing a robber’s mask, I ask? I shall tell you – a robber!”

“I’ve changed, curse you!” snapped Swypes, suddenly becoming highly animated. “I’ve become a best-selling author! I have a national tour coming up! My life is being adapted for the stage, with Mr Thomas de Cruise portraying me! Why would I go back to stealing jewellery again, with all that going on? I’m making more money now than I ever did then!”

“Maybe you stole my wife’s necklace to set yourself up for your book’s follow-up!” exclaimed the Duke.

“Why you puffed-up piece of…” snarled Swypes, clenching his fists.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” I interjected. “Please, we do not want any violence here, unless it is being administered by my own fair hand. As far as I am concerned, everyone is a suspect until I have concluded my investigations. Even you, Your Grace,” I said, addressing the Duke.

“What? You have a nerve, Likely!”

“For all I know this could be an insurance scam or some such…no-one is above suspicion, I am afraid. Except me, as I’ve already stated. Now, shall we stop bickering, and commence the investigation?”

“Fine,” snorted the Duke.

“Rightio. Well, it occurs to me that if the culprit is still in this very room, then it must follow that the necklace is still here as well. I propose we have a thorough search of the guests…may I suggest that I take the ladies?”

- Lord Likely.

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…

The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle:

Chapter Four.

THE party-goers swarmed around the choking form of the Duchess of Fircombe, rather like particularly well-dressed vultures circling a carcass. Indeed, had they actually been vultures, then I dare say there would be enough meat on the Duchess to feed a family of four vultures very well for an entire year.

But I digress.

I watched with bemusement as the assorted toffs and dignitaries flapped about the poor Duchess, quite unsure of how to proceed. While I have moved in such social circles for all of my life, it never ceases to amaze me that while the upper classes posses considerable wealth and prestige, they posses absolutely no common sense or practical abilities. Thus, with a weary sigh, I realised that it would be up to me – Lord Likely, aristocratic adventurer and gentle-man of action – to save the day once more, and so I reluctantly left my spot standing betweixt the beautiful Dorothy Mount-Worthy and the bewitching Maud Dreadful, and leapt up onto a nearby table, to address the hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” I bellowed, my powerful voice commanding the immediate attention of the guests. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

There was a brief pause, before Winsome Pine, the pathetic poet, stepped forward.

“I…I am a doctor,” he said.

“Really?” I asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Well, I have a doctorate in creative writing,” the sap continued.

“Hmmm, well I am not sure that is entirely relevant to the current problem, is it now? Unless you plan to make the Duchess vomit profusely by reading her another of your sickening verses…actually, that might work…”

Pine glowered at me and then returned to the crowd, who had refocused their attentions on watching the Duchess turn a rather deep shade of crimson.

“Excuse me,” said a tall, blonde man nearby. “I am a doctor!”

“Yes?” I said, lowering my quizzical eyebrow and raising a sceptical eyebrow instead.

“Yes! My name is Albert Doctor! I’m literally A. Doctor!”

“But are you an actual doctor?”

“No,” replied Albert Doctor. “I am an accoutant.”

“Then kindly fuck off and come back when you are useful,” I snapped, stepping off the table. “In the meantime, it looks like I shall have to sort this whole ruddy mess out.”

I left Mr. Doctor looking rather sorry for himself, and pushed my way through the massed crowd assembled around the still-choking Duchess.

“Let me through, you swine!” I roared. “And give the woman some room, for Christ’s sake!”

The crowd duly parted, allowing me to get behind the Duchess, whereupon I placed my arms around her (which was quite a challenge in itself) and with my hands clasped at the base of her diaphragm, I begun to perform some wild exertions upon her person.

“Heavens above!” exclaimed the Duke of Fircombe as he watched me thrusting away at the Duchess’ hindquarters. “This is no time for you to start dry-humping my wife, you blaggard!”

“You are quite right, of course,” I said between thrusts. “I should require several more whiskies first.”

The Duke was about to chastise me some more, but then all of a sudden the Duchess let forth and almighty cough, and the offending olive which had been trapped in her throat came flying out of her mouth with tremendous force, smashing through a window and sailing off out into the night.

“There.” I said, wiping my hands together with much satisfaction. “The problem is solved.”

“How the devil did you do that, sir?” The Duke asked, clearly and rightfully amazed.

“It is a little trick I picked up in the tropics,” I explained. “I had been engaging in the act of oral sex with a young Brazilian beauty I had met on my travels, who had gratefully received my noble nut-juice and had swallowed it down greedily. After that, I bent her over a chair and began giving her arse-hole a damned good pasting, when all of a sudden she started choking. Clearly, my lordly love-cream had proved too much for her to take, but she claimed she was alright and urged me to continue. As I thrust harder and faster, she began spluttering and wheezing, until suddenly a great big globule of my man-milk came whizzing out of her mouth. Somehow, the act of my exertions and her position over the chair had dislodged the obstruction, and she was perfectly fine again. So I went on to penetrate her five more times that night. A thoroughly good time, by my recollection.”

The Duke and his guests had fallen completely silent and were looking at me agog.

“What?” I asked indignantly. “You did ask. Anyway, since that night I have used that procedure many a time, and it never fails. I call it the Likely Manoeuvre, don’t you know? I dare say my name shall become synonymous with choking and thrusting, quite as it should be. I wonder if – “

But my musings were quickly cut short by a piercing scream from the Duchess.

“Oh God,” I muttered. “It seems she is back to normal.”

“My necklace!” cried the Duchess, desperately pawing at her bare neck. “Someone has stolen my necklace!”

“Bloody hellfire,” I sighed. “It never ruddy ends, does it?”

- Lord Likely.

His lordship would like to apologise for the tardiness of this chapter, but it seems his scribe, Mr. A. D. Fanton, is currently broken. Needless to say, he shall have his hide thrashed soundly until he pulls himself together and bloody gets on with it.

His lordship also extends his best wishes to all his loyal readers for this Easter holiday. May you all enjoy some cream-filled delights this week-end!

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…