The Amorous Agatha Christie 03 1

Note- This is an alternative history tale featuring Christie as a thirty-year-old Flapper in the roaring twenties who becomes much sought after as a private investigator thanks to the success of her first, and only, novel. Embracing the free age, she also believes in free love for women.

Sexton Blake is a fictional character, a detective who has been featured in many British comic strips, novels, and dramatic productions since 1893. His adventures were featured in a wide variety of British and international publications (in many languages) from 1893 to 1978, comprising more than 4,000 stories by some 200 different authors.

xxx

Chapter Five.

The Incredible Theft.

England, 1924.

"MISTER BLAKE. COME AT ONCE. YOU ARE NEEDED."

That was all the telegram said. And, apart from the fact that Sir Oscar Trevelyan of Mostyn Manor, in Surrey, was one of the best-known financial magnates in the City of London, that was all that Sexton Blake knew of the case when he left his rooms in Farringdon and drove to Victoria Railway Station.

It was then half-past seven in the evening when Blake finally arrived in Surrey. An hour later he reached Mostyn Manor after Sir Oscar's personal motor car met him at the station. By a quarter to nine, he was at the Hall, a fine old Tudor mansion, surrounded by expansive gardens. Sir Oscar, pale and distracted, awaited him in the library.

"I thought you weren't coming!" he exclaimed, seizing the detective by the hand, and dragging him into the room.

Blake removed his overcoat to reveal his double-breasted grey suit. He looked dapper and collected as he took a look around the palatial home.

"I've been robbed of a document worth a hundred thousand pounds! My secretary, who apparently surprised the thief, was knocked unconscious and is now recuperating. I have no faith in the rural police so I sent for you. Find the thief and recover the stolen document before it falls into the hands of old Picot, for he's at the bottom of the business, I'll swear."

"Pray calm yourself, and begin at the beginning, and tell me what has happened."

"Permit me, Sir Oscar. I would be honoured to relate the crime to Mister Blake."

Both men turned to the door to see a tall and slender redhead standing there. She looked elegant in her grey beaded evening gown that sparkled with hand-embellished beads and sequins. The scalloped hem and deep V-neck added to her allure, and several strings of pearls completed her glamorous look.

"Oh, Mister Blake. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Agatha Christie. Her Father and I were the best of friends. She's just visiting whilst in the area."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," she said to Blake as she fitted a cigarette into her long holder. "Could you light me?"

The famous author of The Mysterious Affair At Styles put one end of the holder to her mouth and pursed her scarlet lips. Blake took a box of matches from his hip pocket and lit one up. As he held up the match, Christie clutched his hand with hers and didn't let go for several seconds. In her fashionable three-inch heels their heights matched well.

"Thank you."

It was not an overstatement to say that Christie was rather wealthy. And she had made every penny by her own acuteness of mind. She had written a successful novel and had reaped the rewards gladly. She was in no rush to write another book yet as she lived life to the full.

He watched her sit down in a plush armchair and cross her willowy legs. The swish of her silk stockings could be clearly heard with his keen ears. He thought she had an extraordinary charisma, unlike any woman he had ever known. And she was perfectly aware of the deep impression she made on him. The intriguing woman with the bob haircut and straight fringe down to the brows blew a stream of blue smoke from her lips as she regarded the highly regarded private detective.

He was the classic tall, dark, handsome stranger. Strong yet silent. Despite his rather pasty complexion, probably a result of skulking about after midnight, he did have bright blue eyes and groomed black hair. He exuded an aloof, cold, and distant demeanour that said to her he was the sort of man that could easily live without the close companionship of a female. He sat in the opposite armchair, and even when he sat down, he seemed tall and straight-backed.

"I must mention how much I enjoyed your novel. Quite a read."

"You're too kind. Likewise, I should congratulate you on the way you handled that Cornish Coast conspiracy. Excellent work."

"That was a fine result, yes."

"Tell me, Mister Bake. Are you married?"

"Widowed. And you?"

Blake fished about in his pocket and produced a pope with which he began to stuff tobacco from a small pouch.

"Divorced. My husband was a crashing bore. He wouldn't know a good time if it hit him in the face."

"Are you drinking?" Asked Sir Oscar.

"Scotch, thanks."

Agatha looked directly at the detective and searched his chiseled face for a reaction to her unblushing order of hard booze.

"Same for me, Sir Oscar. Anyway. Please enlighten me of the events here."

"If I am to begin at the beginning," said Agatha, "I must tell you that Sir Oscar has large financial interests in South America. Another firm, with equally large interests in that country, is the well-known financial firm Picot of Paris. Between their firm and Sir Oscar's, there has been for many years the keenest commercial rivalry, amounting to him and Picot being involved in a bitter personal feud. About six months ago he sent an expert over to Peru to inspect and report on certain properties which were on offer. His confidential report, written in Spanish, reached London yesterday. I do not wish to weary you with details so I will simply say that if that report falls into the hands of Picot before the end of the week, the result will be a loss to Sir Oscar to the tune of at least a hundred thousand pounds."

Blake listened intently as he finished his pipe. During her monologue, Christie had crossed her legs several times, and he was instantly attracted to the radiant thirty-year-old. It had been quite a while since he had been intimate with another despite his on/off secretary Maggie flirting unashamedly.

"I definitely locked it up in a small safe in my study and went to bed." Confirmed Sir Oscar.

"Excuse my interrupting you," said Sexton Blake. "How many persons knew

you had brought the report home with you?"

"Two. My confidential clerk, in London, and my private secretary, a young fellow named Percival, who lives here. At six o'clock this morning I was roused by one of the servants with the startling news that the study window had been broken open during the night, the lock of the safe had been picked, and the unconscious form

of my secretary had been found lying outside the study window. He had evidently heard a suspicious noise in the study, had come down to investigate,

had surprised the thief at work, and had jumped out of the window after him."

"On hearing the servant's news," continued Agatha, "Sir Oscar rushed down to the

study. The lock of the safe had not been picked, as the servant had said. It had

been opened using a duplicate key, which was still in the keyhole. And

the only thing which was missing from the safe was the confidential report. Which proves, to my mind, that the thief was an agent of Picot's."

Blake shook his head, much to Christie's chagrin.

"Oh? Is that right?"

"Your theory doesn't impress me at present," he said. "However, may I see the

room in which the robbery was committed?"

"Tomorrow, old chap. We all need some rest. I have prepared two rooms for each of you, as well as Agatha's chauffeur."

Christie rose and gave Blake a cold look.

"Then I shall bid you both a goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Christie."

x

Blake took a welcome soak in the bath and eventually retired to bed at approximately one in the morning. Not a half hour later he heard muffled sounds from down the corridor. Being a curious sort by profession, he donned his dressing gown over his pajamas and went to investigate.

As the sounds of more than one person could be detected from Agatha's room, he feared something was amiss. As he drew closer to the door of her room, the sound of moaning was evident.

He turned the handle and opened the door a few inches. He cocked his head and strained his ears. Shadows danced in the dimly lit room and it took him a few seconds for his vision to adjust.

"Good lord!"

Blake could make out Agatha on her back on the bed in the nude and with her legs up in the air. A broad-shouldered chap was on top of her with his big hands wandering all over her svelte frame. Her perky nipples were crushed by his sculpted chest as they wriggled about together.

With her head up against the headboard all he could see was her pale legs wrapped tightly around him, and his muscular back being raked by her scarlet nails. His enormous plums were large and visible as he humped her merrily.

The atmosphere in the room was incredibly erotic and for reasons he did not yet fathom, Blake burned with jealousy at the sight of them in each other's arms and wished it was he with the wanton redhead.

The fellow, presumably Christie's driver pulled out of her and Blake got his first proper view of her sweat-dappled ginger bush.

The man then dived down and his face smacked against her wet snatch which made her gasp aloud. His darting tongue protruded and slipped into her vertical smile which made her mouth open and close in silent gratification. His right hand held her slender thigh wide as he lapped and slobbered on her with his lips.

Under the lamps, Blake could just make out a trail of saliva trickle downwards and into her ass crack. His hand made its own way to his groin and he began to massage his aching dick which had risen to the occasion.

The naked Christie knelt up then and held his stiff cock upright, directly in the detective's line of view. She eagerly made sweeping licks up and down on the glistening shaft of the buff young fellow. Every inch of his organ was smeared with her spit which made it somewhat easier for her when she swallowed his thick length and slid down on him further and further until she had his entire cock in her mouth.

"Goodness me! I have never seen the like!" Sexton Blake muttered as he fished out his erection and jerked it in his sweat-soaked palm.

His hand became a blur as he put his weight on one foot and backed up against the wall. Agatha's mouth managed to consume his entire shaft, accomplished by letting the head of his cock rest in the very back of her throat. Closing her eyes, she swallowed, creating a vacuum-tight seal around his cock with her lips.

She began sucking him as fast and as hard as she could. Her tongue never stayed still as she danced around the head. All of the fast sucking created a great deal of saliva and Blake thought it the most incredible display of fellatio imaginable. The detective marveled at how talented the redhead was, as she gagged audibly on the big cock. She came up for air and her eyes streamed as she smiled.

"Come on, lover. Let's join giblets."

The man rose up and leaned on his knees between the splayed legs of Agatha. He rubbed his stiff cock on her slit several times until he finally relented and pushed his rock-hard length inside her. She widened her legs in lewd invitation and pulled him in with her feet. Was that his imagination or did Blake actually hear his cock penetrate her wetness with a soft sucking sound?

"Be still my beating heart!"

The eminent crime writer pushed her hips up to get all of his steel-hard prick inside her and he gave her intense and firm strokes that brought forth loud moans from the grateful female. Blake's vision was filled with the sight of his big backside rising and falling on her with his balls jiggling. The mesmerised detective was under no illusion that he was buried inside the shrieking blonde as the chauffeur pounded her again and again.

"Oh...my...word!" She screamed as her cunt was stabbed over and over.

Each and every home thrust made him grunt like an animal in heat as his body weight pinned the slender redhead to the bed. Blake could only imagine the intense pleasure she was enjoying from the hot fuck. Green with envy he cursed as he witnessed the man pull out of her momentarily and lift her quivering legs up onto his broad shoulders.

Then she yelled out and he saw her tremble as he surmised that she was having an orgasm. He could not hear any words but the chap whispered in her ear as he stopped fucking her and they both turned sideways to look in his direction!

"Alright, Mister Blake? Getting a good eyeful?"

Sexton stopped wanking and inhaled sharply. They knew of his eavesdropping! He retreated from the threshold of the room, feeling decidedly sheepish.

x

Agatha Christie lit a cigarette and put it into the end of her black holder. She picked at a dish of kippers and buttered eggs. She leered at Sexton Blake who sat opposite her. He avoided her gaze as he ate his shredded wheat. Thompson, Christie's chauffeur stood with a straight back in his uniform by the door. He was a fine specimen of masculinity and looked to be about twenty-six. A rugged type, he was an inch under six foot, with a broad chest. He had a thick head of dark hair, and deep, chocolate-brown eyes to match. Blake caught his eye and swore the man gave him a smug grin.

"Sleep well, Mister Blake?"

"I tossed for a bit, Mrs. Christie."

"I bet you did, SEXton."

The unrepentant flapper emphasised the sex in his first name and took a gulp of sweet black coffee and scoffed.

"I have no regrets about my 'unladylike' behaviour. I love sex and find intercourse help stimulate the little grey cells."

She tapped her temple to make her point.

"Since the turn of the decade, women have embraced the age and liberated themselves from the shackles of marriage for the sake of it. I enjoy free love with whomever I choose and feel no guilt. I never turn down an invitation to a party, and I like to drink and smoke. Do I shock you?"

Very much so, he thought. She was one of the most extraordinary women he had ever met.

"Not at all," he said.

This seemed to placate the redhead. She noted the brooding detective had the same grey suit on from the previous evening. She supposed that he didn't earn much in his profession. Since the successful publication of her novel, Christie had reaped the rewards and was reasonably well off. She loved to shop for clothes, and on this very morning had a plaid buttoned-up shirt and oversized corduroy trousers. She wore a headband around her head which emphasised her vivacious bob.

"Good morning, dear people. Are you fed and watered? Then let us begin."

Sir Oscar conducted them both to the study, which was on the ground floor and overlooked the grounds. The window had been opened by the well-known device of scratching a circle with a diamond on the outside of one of the panes, sticking a lump of putty in the center of the circle, and pulling out the disc of glass. A hand had then apparently been thrust through the opening, and the catch had been forced back.

Sexton Blake examined the safe and the duplicate key, and then he opened the window. On the ground outside was the disc of glass which had been cut out of the pane, and which had been overlooked by the servants and the village constable. The putty was still adhering to it, and on one side of the putty was a beautifully clear impression of a thumb, whilst on the other was an equally clear impression of a finger.

"These fingerprints may prove of incalculable help in identifying the thief."

He opened the window, climbed out, and examined the ground outside, where the secretary had been found. Suddenly he uttered a low whistle of astonishment, and, to Sir Oscar's surprise, he began to walk slowly away from the house with his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Where are you going?"

The detective made no reply. With his eyes still fixed on the ground and followed by Agatha, he walked across the lawn, round the end of the shrubbery, and pulled up at a small rustic gate, which opened into a deserted lane. Just outside the gate were the prints of a horse's hoofs and several cigarette ends.

"A man on horseback evidently role up to this gate, either last night or early this morning," said Blake. "He waited, judging by the number of hoof-prints. He waited a considerable time. Observe."

He picked up and counted the cigarette ends. There were five of them.

"Turkish," he said. "Evidently not a poor man. Allowing a quarter of an hour for each cigarette, that means he waited here for upwards of an hour."

Suddenly his eyes fell on a yew tree, which grew beside the gate. Several of the fresh young shoots had been recently torn off. On one of the branches were the marks of teeth.

"Splendid! The man whiled away his time whilst he was waiting here by smoking Turkish cigarettes. The horse amused himself by munching the leaves of this yew tree. And now I'd like to see your private secretary."

They returned to the house. Percival, the secretary, had been carried up to his bedroom and put to bed. Blake picked up the piece of putty, which he had brought upstairs with him, and compared the impressions on each side with the finger and thumb of the man's right hand.

"Mr. Blake. You don't suggest that Percival had something to do with it?"

"I do," said Sexton Blake. "Come downstairs, and I'll tell you."

They retraced their steps to the library.

"When I examined the ground outside the study window, I discovered a double track of bare feet, leading away from and back to the window. I traced them to that rustic gate, and found, as you know, that a man and a horse had been standing there for an hour at least. That gave me my first inkling of the truth. I returned to the house, examined your secretary's wound, and his finger and thumb, and then I knew my theory was correct."

"And what is your theory?" Asked the unimpressed Christie.

"It was the secretary who opened the safe and took out the report. The duplicate key had probably been in his possession for months, and he cut the piece out of the window to make it appear that the house had been broken into from the outside. After he had secured the report, he climbed out through the window and walked to that gate, where he handed the report to a confederate. He had arrived on horseback and had been waiting there for more than an hour. He

then walked back to the house pretending to have been struck."

"And to think I trusted him!" Sir Oscar said in a hollow voice.

"Who do you think was his confederate?"

"That's just what I'm going to find out," said Sexton Blake, rising to his feet. "May I borrow the car? It's still outside, I see."

"Certainly, but where are you going?"

"To find your secretary's confederate, of course, and to compel him to disgorge his booty."

"Never mind that we'll take mine and I will accompany you," said Agatha quickly, not wanting to miss out.

"By Jove, Mrs. Christie. You've got pluck."

x

Sexton and Agatha sat in the back of her Rolls Royce motor car as Thompson drove them to the village. Christie smiled to herself whenever the car made a jolt and their thighs touched. Blake, although not the shrinking violet type, visibly cringed. Surely he wasn't a queer. On the way, Blake observed the door of the Veterinary Surgeon. It was to this house that he now directed Thompson.

"Here?" wondered Agatha.

"Precisely. Come."

They both hurried inside where they were greeted by the vet, Deacon.

"Welcome, welcome. How may I be of service? I see you have no pets. Is it a larger animal in distress?"

"We seek information, my good man. You attend most of the horses hereabouts when they are ill, I suppose."