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[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]
This odd little adventure began one Sunday at the start of July when Olivia, a new maid at the house, came up unannounced shortly after breakfast. Fortunately I had had my coffee and bacon (and only half of John's bacon), and he was lying in our bed groaning at the unfairness of blue-eyed sex maniacs who woke him with unannounced hand-jobs of a morning. I had had to go and hold his plate for him while he had eaten but the look of undying love I had gotten in return nearly made me give him his bacon back.I said nearly! Olivia was a decent enough girl but she always seemed nervous in my presence for some reason, so I waited patiently for her to get the words out. I did not have any appointments until the afternoon, which given the speed she was getting her words out was just as well.“Begging your pardon sir but..... but..... there's a cab-driver here.”I frowned.“We did not order a cab”, I said (I had not and John certainly could not have done, at least not in his current condition). She looked at me nervously and I waited as patiently as I could. I was sure that at least a minute passed.“To see the both of you, sir”, she said. “About..... a Matter.”She came to a grinding halt and looked hopefully at the door. I sighed.“Please inform Mrs. Singer that she may send them up in fifteen minutes”, I said, looking at the clock. “In fact, make that nine o'clock, please. Not before.”“No sir!” she squeaked before almost falling over her feet in her haste to leave. I sighed again and went to see if John needed help to rejoin the land of the living. Most probably.
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By the turn of the hour I had helped John to his table although he was still in poor shape. He glared at me when I pointedly placed a cushion on his chair.“I could always remove it, you know”, I teased.“It is at times like this that I wonder about that life insurance policy”, he grumbled as he lowered himself carefully onto the chair. He sighed happily once he was down then looked suspiciously at me.“And tone down that damn smirk!” he grumbled.I sniggered but crossed to my chair, just in time for Olivia to usher in our visitor. Very much the atypical London cabbie was my first impression; short, undernourished, scruffy....Maybe not that typical. Add 'female' to the list.I heard a brief yelp as John instinctively tried to rise to his feet before realizing no, that was not going to happen any time soon. I suppressed a smile (it was not a smirk whatever anyone said) and turned to our guest.“Greetings, madam”, I said courteously. “You are here to seek our help?”The woman – and with her hair unfolding from beneath her cap she was definitely a woman – eyed us warily before nodding.“Name's Elaine Nardo”, she said. “Latka, the repair fellow at the depot, he says you solved something for a cousin of his some years back. Can't remember the name but he said you likely knew him as John Halberd.”I knew from the pained silence a few yards behind me that John had just done much the same calculations as I had. One of our very first cases not long after we had moved into Montague Street, our first home together. Twenty-three years ago!On the bright side I knew how to distract John when he got maudlin about the passing years. And I quite enjoyed distracting him!“Thing is Louie, the manager at the depot – he's a creep”, she said. “He tried it on with me the first day I was there but I was ready for him and he left a lot quicker than he'd come up to me. That was six months ago and he obviously doesn't want me there.”“You believe that he may be taking actions to force you out?” I asked. She nodded.“He's very much one of those 'a woman's place is in the home' fellows”, she said disdainfully. “Funny thing is his girlfriend Zena who comes round from time to time, she's got him totally under her thumb. She's all right but he wants me out and I'm sure he is up to something.”“To what is he 'up'?” I asked.She hesitated.“You spend a lot of time thinking as a cabbie”, she said. “Maths has always been a thing of mine and I know it's not likely for a cabbie to get the same customer more than once or twice; people want a vehicle rather than a specific driver. Yet in the past few months I've had the same fellow four times. And I know him from the newspapers; he's that pompous git of an M.P. who is always going on about morals. Festery or some such name.”Mr. Arthur Festerigg was indeed a moralizing politician, the member for one of the London constituencies if I remembered. He was always sounding off about 'the good old days' and was remarkably effective, especially when it came to the rapid emptying of any room he was speaking in.“Did you take this man to the same place each time?” I asked. She nodded.“There were a couple of odd things about that though”, she said. “He got taken to Maryland Road and just asked to be dropped off outside a molly-house there. First time I thought nothing of it but the second time I got a fare almost immediately and had to take a turn round the park to get out of the place. I saw him walking towards up the steps of another house some distance down and looking damn shifty about it.”“What was the other odd thing?” I asked.“I looked up where he lived”, she said, “and I saw that he always asked to be picked up around the corner and out of sight of the house. Suspicious, I thought.”I nodded and looked expectantly at her.“Is there anything you can do?” she asked hopefully.“Not until you tell me the fact that you are currently withholding”, I said firmly.She looked hard at me, then chuckled.“How did you know?” she asked.“Despite his doubtless thinking that he should be in the newspapers as often as possible, Mr. Festerigg is not seen around London that much”, I said. “I doubt that even an interest in mathematical probabilities would have led you to seek my help in this matter. What else has happened?”“You are good”, she said. “All right. There were four trips to the molly-house, and the morning after the last one I was asked to pick him up from there and take him home, or at least to round the corner from his home. And he was not alone; he had some fellow with him and they were being intimate in my damn cab!”“Did you see where this 'friend' went?” I asked.“I dropped him off in Vermont Lane, three streets over from the molly-house”, she said. “Small run-down place; he went in the house as I left.”I thought for a moment.“I do have some lines of inquiry that I can make into this matter”, I said. “If you leave your address in the notebook on the table next to you, I promise you that I will contact you if and when I have news.”She looked surprised at her success but did so, thanked us again and left. I looked across at John and grinned.“Oh come on!” he said, clearly horrified. “Have mercy on a broken man!”“Not up for a cab ride?” I asked innocently. “All for the case, of course!”He just pouted at me.
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It was not John's lucky day despite my most generously sparing his abused backside. I sent round to Mr. Godfreyson to ask about the Maryland Road molly-house and he sent his deputy round to help out - Lowen, John's least favourite Cornish ex-fisherman. My beloved staggered over to my chair to glare at the fellow even if the effort clearly cost him. Which reminded me; I needed to thank our visitor for suggesting that spicy unguent which was why John was in such poor shape today. Apparently it really did make the recipient 'Feel The Heat'!Perhaps I had better not thank our guest not just now or John might well try to kill him. Or worse, pout so adorably that I would just have to take him back to his room and fuck him again.Lowen sat down (elegantly as usual) and began.“My first reaction to your request was to wonder if it was April the First”, he smiled, somehow managing to leer at me at the same time. “Of all the so-called great and the good, the likes of the pontificating Mr. Festerigg using our services seemed about as remote as the planet Neptune! But we checked and he definitely did not come into that house at any time.”“What about an assumed name?” John asked suspiciously.Lowen smiled brightly at him, then leered at me again before answering. I heard a definite growl from a green-eyed someone nearby.“Someone as infamous as Frederick Festerigg passing himself off as someone else?” he said. “No, doctor. In a business like ours it pays to know one's enemies as well as one's friends, and we would have known if he had tried that. And to answer your other question, we have no boys living in Vermont Lane. Whatever your client saw, it was apparently not what it seemed.”“As I suspected”, I said. “Thank you for coming, Lowen. You always spice up any day.”He barely suppressed a laugh at that but fortunately John did not get it. That was all right though - he would be getting it later!
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This was to be another of those cases with a link to a past one, albeit a tenuous one, for the one person who worked in the cab industry that I knew well was Mr. Henry Percy, younger brother to the Harry Percy whom we had helped elope with Miss Heather Rosewood from the clutches of the obnoxious Mr. Salerio Hayland Merriweather (The Boscombe Valley Mystery) back in 'Eighty-Eght. That lucky young buck's actual name was, it only later turned out, Harold and before leaving he had asked if I might contact his brother Henry so that the latter could let their mother know that he was safe. Mrs. Percy was close to her sons but unfortunately her husband was one of those Victorian 'gentlemen' who might well have been prepared to go to the United States to drag his son back, so the communication had to be done discreetly. Mr. Henry Percy had sibsequently come to London where he had established himself as a carpenter of some considerable repute specializing in repairs to carriages, even working in the Royal Mews from time to time. I say curiously because what had brought him to London had been the death of his mother which had bequeathed to him a considerable estate (to his father's annoyance), yet he lived in a small house and was nowhere near as ostentatious as his funds would have allowed him to be. He had also been seeking my assistance in a small matter on his arrival as his mother had bequeathed several items of personal jewellery to her eldest son which her second one had taken possession of as his father would have otherwise had a conniption. Thanks to the oceanic telegraph system I had been able to communicate with Mr. Harry Percy and he had asked that I sell everything except a single sapphire ring which he wanted for his wife, and then wire it and the funds to him. I suspected that another reason Mr. Henry Percy had decamped from rural Northumberland (he was no relation to the earls there) to the capital was that it enabled him to work at Mr. Godfreyson's molly-houses where he had used his skills to create a most unusual 'cab-bed' for some clients. For those who wondered at the small window at the back of a hansom which seemed to serve little purpose – well, as I said to John when he treated Mr. Percy one time, all those inches came in useful when his clients sucked him off through it!John had scowled at me for some reason over that. And he was scowling again when the handsome Mr. Percy came round that same evening to tell us what he knew about Mr. De Palma.“Utterly horrible fellow!” he said firmly, smiling his thanks as I handed him his drink (John was coughing again for some reason, I noted). “And considering where I work that is saying something. I only thank my lucky stars that he does not swing my way.”“One of his employees thinks that he wishes to be rid of her”, I said.“That would be Miss Nardo”, he said at once. “She works around the house where I work most of the time; more than one client has expressed his utter horror at having had to have been driven anywhere by a woman! Oh the inhumanity!”“Do you know anything else about this Mr. De Palma?” I asked.“Only that he is reputed to put it about a bit”, he said. “He has money, which some women in the capital will consider reason enough to overlook physical and character failings. But then some people will do anything - or anyone - for money.”He gave me a leering look. John coughed. Again.
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I paid Mr. Percy for his time and saw him off, then returned and got something out of a draw before dropping it on the desk by John.“Pastilles?” he asked, confused.“For that cough of yours”, I said innocently.He glared at me. I was in for a rough night. Good.
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The following day I arranged to hire Miss Nardo's cab for a period of time and asked that she meet John and I in Grendon Park. She duly arrived and looked at us curiously.“This is Louie's road”, she said, “but he is not in yet today.”“I know”, I said. “I thought that you might find it enjoyable to see what is about to happen. Can you please drive us to the south side of the park to where we can see Mr. De Palma's front door?”We got in and made the journey of under a minute before stopping again. We did not have to wait long; barely five minutes later the black door opened and a short balding fellow came out, locking it behind him. If anything Mr. Percy had been a little too generous over his description of him.“That is him!” Miss Nardo told us through the window at the back of the cab.Mr. De Palma barely made it to the bottom of his steps before I saw two women approaching him from opposite directions. One was smartly if plainly dressed while the other was very visibly a 'lady of negotiable affections', as her green dress was not so much off the shoulder as almost on the pavement.“The one in grey is his girlfriend Zena”, Miss Nardo told us. “No idea who the other one is, though I wouldn't want her in my cab.”The questionable lady reached Mr. De Palma first – and immediately planted a kiss on him! He struggled in surprise but she was stronger than he was and held him for some moments before releasing him and sailing away with a “Later, Lou!”. The plainly-dressed woman gaped in shock, then marched up to Mr. De Palma who was still reeling and....Ow! Who would have thought she could have gotten her knee up that high in that dress?Mr. De Palma writhed on the ground and I quickly tapped on the cab roof. Miss Nardo had us next to the stricken fellow in no time.“Greetings, Mr. De Palma”, I said smoothly. “Actors are such wonderful things, are they not?”He struggled to his feet still clutching his vitals and stared confusedly at us.“Who are you?” he demanded. “And what do you mean?”“My name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes”, I said. “Miss Nardo employed me to uncover the fact that you had employed two actors, one of whom bore a reasonable facsimile to a well-known pontificating politician. You planned that eventually Miss Nardo would make an accusation against the real Mr. Festerigg and she would then have to be sacked as a result.”He stared at us all in shocked silence.“I have to tell you”, I said, “that I tracked down the actors you used who mercifully for them were unaware of the reasons for your subterfuge. When they were told they agreed to sign a written statement of your guilt, and if Miss Nardo here has any future problems with your behaviour she will immediately forward it to your employers. I myself decided that two could play at employing actors and actresses, as your girlfriend just witnessed.”“You bastard!” he ground out. “Most definitely”, I said. “And if you continue to persecute Miss Nardo you will quickly find out just how much. Good day, sir. Driver, onwards!”Our client took us away at a smart pace, ignoring the rather expressive language from her depot manager.
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Miss Nardo dropped us off at the Maryland Road molly-house as John had been asked to treat a couple of the boys. At least his nemesis Lowen was not available (he was in fact having a half-day off with his lover Philip, of which relationship John did not yet know) although we did meet Mr. Percy and told him about the case. I really wish that technology had advanced enough for a camera to catch John's face when our friend said that he was done for the day and we could use his cab-bed to celebrate. Although when Mr. Percy offered to demonstrate his 'open window routine'.... the way John looked at him my next case might well be one of murder!I would never look at those cab-windows in the same way again, though.
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