CONAN DOYLE - THE CASE OF THE RELUCTANT WHORE
A thick London fog lay over the city as I let myself into the lodging at 221B Baker Street. As I entered I saw Holmes reclining in his favorite chair, with clouds of tobacco surrounding his head.
Glancing at me as I came in the door, he asked, "Ah, Watson. And how is the esteemed Mrs. Goadby this evening?"
"Holmes, you amaze me again. Have you been following me and prying into my personal affairs?" I sputtered.
"Now, now, my dear Watson. I have not left the fireside all evening. It is hardly necessary to follow you to the Nunnery in order to know you have been visiting her lovely charges this evening."
"But how in the world can you tell, Holmes? I thought I had been very discreet."
"Now, Watson, when an unmarried man appears with his cravat awry, traces of powder on his vest, and the second button on his trousers undone, as well as having a strong scent of eau de toilette about him, is it difficult to conclude that he has been dipping his wick? Since I know you to be a man of discerning taste in these matters, it is only reasonable that you would visit the most famous house in London."
"Well, Holmes, you know I am a widower, and a man has certain needs ..."
"I am well aware of it, Doctor. In fact, the next time you feel the desire to have those needs tended, perhaps you can let me know and I might accompany you. I have as much appreciation for a damp cunt as the next man, you know."
Just then Mrs. Hudson appeared, to announce that Holmes had a visitor. I was about to excuse myself but Holmes urged me to remain. Soon Mrs. Hudson ushered the man in. He was a small man, neatly but not luxuriously dressed, past middle age and slightly balding. He wore gold rimmed glasses, with some sort of small device attached to them. He glanced at me and inquired, "Mr. Holmes?"
I shook my head and pointed to the detective reclining in his chair, examining our visitor carefully. "I am Sherlock Holmes," he murmured. "And you, I see, are a jeweller, but otherwise I do not know why you have come to consult me."
Our visitor gave a start. "Why, that is my trade, sir, but I hardly know how you know it."
"I see by the traces of rouge from polishing rings on your fingers, and the magnifying loupe you wear on your spectacles, and seven other signs that you are a jeweller. But the question remains, what brings a jeweller to my door on such a foggy night?"
"Oh, my, is it so obvious? Well, as you explain it, I guess it is. Mr. Holmes, I need help on a matter of great delicacy." He glanced toward me.
"You may rely entirely on my discretion, as well of that of my friend Dr. Watson," Holmes replied.
"My name is Lunsberg," our guest replied, "and I a partner in L&K Fine Jewellers in Whitechapel. We do a good business with people of society, and even some of the lesser nobility are among our patrons. It is one of these that is involved, I am afraid. In short, a valuable ring is missing, and the last person to examine it was the son of Sir Leicester..."
"Let us be discreet, Mr. Lunsberg," Holmes said. "The baronet you were about to name is well known to be the distressed parent of a profligate son. I hear that the boy bends his elbow at the taverns, risks large sums on the dice, and enjoys plying his cock in the brothels. No doubt he is frequently in need of money. So the young man is believed to have purloined the ring but you do not dare to challenge him without strong evidence, I take it."
"Just so, Mr. Holmes. He was in the store, and then he and the ring were not in the store. No one actually saw him leave with it. I dare not say a word unless the ring is actually found upon him," Mr. Lunsberg replied.
After obtaining a complete description of the ring and its ruby stone, as well as the circumstances of its disappearance after the baronet's son disappeared from the shop, my friend agreed to take the case, and promised the client a full report in a few days. Mr. Lunsberg departed, his despondent air slightly elevated.
"And now, Watson, I believe we were talking about the charms of Mrs. Goadby's girls. Why don't we visit her establishment? I feel a growing stiffness in my cock, just thinking about their perfect boobs and warm pussies," Holmes surprised me by saying.
I felt myself ready for a return session, so together we hailed a hansom and directed the driver to convey us to Mrs. Goadby's brothel, or as it was known across London, the Nunnery.
The driver dropped us off with a knowing look. We were in front of a building which seemed to occupy the entire block. A discreet red lamp burned in one window. I glanced at Holmes. He was in a deep study, regarding the building.
"Let us go for a bit of a stroll, Doctor," he said. Instead of entering the Nunnery he walked down to the corner of the block and turned around the side of the building. Behind it we found ourselves in the alley behind the brothel. Holmes gave a satisfied chuckle. "You observe, Watson, that there is only one door on that side. But there are a number of doors across from us. Let us go around the block and see what we see."
We exited the alley and turned away from the Nunnery. Turning again, we proceeded down the narrow street. Each side of it was lined with little shops of various kinds. There was a greengrocer, and a haberdasher, and so on.
Holmes stopped in front of a store in the middle of the block. I glanced at the signboard, and was amazed to see that it read "L&K Jewellers to the Gentry and Nobility."
"Holmes, did you know this place was here?" I asked.
"Elementary, my dear Watson. When I learned it was located in Whitechapel, the same neighborhood as the Nunnery, I realized that it surely was located here on the next street. I should have been extremely surprised if it had not been. This has been a most enlightening evening. Let us return home now."
"What, we are not visiting Mrs. Goadby's fine ladies?" I inquired.
"Not tonight, my dear Doctor. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I find my brain needs exercise more than my cock does. I need to do some thinking. This is perhaps a two pipe problem."
When we returned to Baker Street, I retired for the night but left Holmes in the old arm chair, stuffing tobacco into his pipe from the Persian slipper on the mantel.
On arising in the morning I found that Holmes was not at breakfast. I passed the day in reading medical journals. Late in the afternoon, Mrs. Hudson tapped on the door, and conveyed the information that a person was asking to see me. Her expression indicated she did not approve. My curiosity, however, inspired me to ask her to show him up.
In a moment, the door opened to admit an individual who could only be described as "odoriferous." From his boots to his unkempt hair there wafted a strong smell. I thought to myself, "Good Lord can that be the smell of horseshit?"
