Dr Watson's Wimbledon Wanton

A big blue horsefly began circling my head, then settled on my nose. One of the sisters engorged herself on the Prussian's organ, I twitched, and the other sister stood up and knelt down again, this time with her head between Maude's finely muscled thighs. A head which moved forward, apparently to perform the same service as the Prussian had performed for the girl on the ladder. Maude squealed, her arms were around the waists of the men supporting her back and her legs quivered against the necks of the clown and the Red Indian: quivered and shook as if she'd been struck by lightning. The fly began walking up my nose in a million tiny footsteps, the Prussian pulled up the girl from her position of service to his organ and stepped up to Maude with the other girl also standing up. Together the three of them stood in a group, looking down at Maude, the sisters hands clamped together, one in front of the other on the length of the Prussian's manhood as if he somehow needed some final encouragement before committing the ultimate outrage.

The fly crawled into a corner of my eye, I gripped my walking stick, the Prussian seized Maude's waist to cries of encouragement from his accomplices, the sisters performed their final act of betrayal against their fellow female by helping him to sheathe his sword in Maude's sheath and the Prussian bellowed in triumph as he ravished the tennis champion of all England.

Still no sign of rescue, and too late now anyway to save poor Miss Oakes's virtue. It was gone, plucked from her in the most shameful and disgusting manner conceivable. Inwardly, my trapped emotions seemed to be breaking loose with the uncontrollable force of a double charge of gunpowder within a gun barrel, my vision blurred, the horsefly touched one of my eyelashes, then flew away, Maude shrieked, my head seemed to be floating away from my body and I suddenly saw blades of grass very close to my face.

In fact I must have fainted. By and by my eyes opened, on a scene which I could not believe. The Prussian was seated on top of the umpire's chair, and Maude was on the ladder, her head bent forward over the Prussian's lap as she was forced to perform the same depraved act upon him as the twins had. Sitting below her, between her opened legs, was a naked male with neither his face or mask visible to me as they were hidden behind Maude's loins. I could well see where both of his hands were though, clamped deep against the soft half moons of Miss Oakes' buttocks. Kneeling in front of the seated male was one of the sisters, using her mouth to satisfy the ruffian's beastly desires in exactly the same degrading action as poor Maude was being forced to carry out. Underneath her opened thighs was the crushed mask of the Pirate and straddled on top of him was the last girl, her hands gripping her twin sister's shoulders as she fornicated wildly atop the Pirate. Other members of the gang were idly watching all this -- except for the Mandarin, who walked towards me with a small black bottle and a rag in his hand.

"Good match isn't it, Doctor? I think the best of three is the technical term. Pity you can't stay around to watch the double faults when we change ends."

He poured some fluid from the bottle onto the rag.

"What . . . " Even though I was still lying down and it was a useless gesture, I gripped my walking stick.

"Don't worry, Doctor Watson, it's only chloroform to put you back to sleep. But a word of advice before you nod off. Your face is clearly visible amongst the crowd in some of the plates we've already exposed. Not that we want to threaten you but if you were to continue this investigation in any way -- well, it could be very embarrassing for Doctor Watson as well as for Miss Oakes if those photographs were passed around. And, by jove, isn't our champion galloping along in fine style?"

I looked again at the disgusting scene on the chair and saw the pattern of muscles straining along the backs of Maude's legs as she twitched up and down like a kitten being teased with a spool of wool. This, I thought, was as complete a debasement of an innocent girl as ever been accomplished since Caligula reigned. Before any further coherent thought could be formed the rag was placed over my nose and mouth. No more did I know until another hour or more had passed and Wiggins was waking me up.

Of the masked men, of the girls, of Maude Watson, there was no sign. No dummies, no net, no chair. Even the clothes with the background scenery had gone, although the railway carriage still waited at the magazine loading platform. Waited, but empty and deserted. No sign of the passengers anywhere and Wiggins shocked to his very core when I gave him the barest inkling of how disastrously mislaid his plans had proved to be. Yet he was nowhere as grieved as I was. I took a cab straight back to Baker Street at ruinous expense, immediately went to bed and then found I couldn't sleep because of feelings of self disgust and crushing failure that have no place in this simple story. Let me simply record that in the small hours of the morning I was forced to administer a strong sleeping draught to myself and woke up at three o'clock the following afternoon when Sherlock Holmes walked into my bedroom and cast down a newspaper on my coverlet.

"Holmes! You're back."

"Watson, your powers of observation never cease to amaze me. Yes, my work in the Balkans is finished and the case of the Emperor's footsteps is closed."

I tried to wake myself up: "The case of the Emperor's footsteps? Are you talking about the Emperor of Austria?"

Holmes laughed and struck a match for his pipe: "No, Watson, nor yet the Kaiser's footsteps, or the Czar's. The Emperor that I followed down the shores of the Danube died two thousand years ago. Yet when I arrived back here at the crack of dawn from the boat train and begged an early breakfast from Mrs Hudson I learnt that you yourself seemed to have had a most interesting case dropped into your lap in my absence. Mrs Hudson didn't know what had brought Miss Oakes here but she knew it must be something important, especially when you summoned Wiggins with such despatch."

"Oh."

Once again the black bile of complete failure rose up in my gorge as the sweet oblivion of sleep dissipated.

"I found our good landlady's information somewhat interesting, Watson. My usual way with a case is to start at the beginning and work through to the end. But here I seemed to have two ends of a case and no middle. I knew that Miss Oakes had consulted you, and I could surmise that it had something to do with today's tennis final. So, before applying my mind to the mysterious middle part I decided to go to Wimbledon to see how Miss Oakes fared in her match."

I turned my face to the wall: "Then you must have had a wasted journey, Holmes," I said bitterly. "A walkover for Miss Cavangh because Miss Oakes was too indisposed to appear."

"On the contrary, Watson, Miss Oakes was not only present, she played the game of her life. A magnificent performance that absolutely blasted the American girl off the court. Your friend is now a national heroine."

"What, Holmes! What! Is that true or are you making fun of me?"

Holmes seemed startled, a most unusual response from him of all people: "I never make jokes, my dear friend, as well you know." He picked up the paper and passed it to me. "Here, read it for yourself in the late news column."

"But, but . . . Holmes, did you notice her racket?"

"Miss Oakes's racket? I took no special account of it." He closed his eyes in thought for a moment. "Leather covered handle, white stitching, a great deal of wear and tear, the handmarks on the handle matching Miss Oakes's grip exactly. All I can therefore tell you is that her racket was one which has long been in the lady's possession and which she evidently uses a very great deal. Indeed, I suspect that it is the only racket that she has ever played with. Oh, and I noticed that the maker's name was Mullard. Mullard and sons, to be precise."

"You took no special note of her racket yet you remember it in such great detail?" I protested.

The great detective shrugged: "I've told you many times, Watson, we both see. The difference is that you only see but I see and notice. Never mind, tell me why this matter of the lady's racket seems so important to you -- and why did you call in Wiggins?"

Totally bewildered, I explained what had happened, knowing full it was a story which reflected little credit on myself. As for what had happened in the old magazine store, it would have been almost impossible to repeat the details to any normal listener. Holmes, however, was not normal. Indeed, there were many times when I had felt that he was simply some kind of a superb reasoning machine concealed behind a mere facade of flesh and blood. In that spirit I enlightened him as to the details of the case without the embarrassment which I would have felt in laying the information before anyone else.

When I'd finished he put his meerschaum pipe on the mantelpiece to cool down and left the bedroom without a word, returning a few minutes later with one of his innumerable files. He opened and spread out a mass of photographs and drawings, each one displaying a view of one of the stately homes of England.

"There, Watson, there." He passed me one of the drawings. "Does that look familiar to you?"

Indeed it did -- it was a view I would never forget: "That's the mansion I saw on the scenery clothes,with the same observatory dome," I said. "What is that place? To whom does it belong?"

"That is Leavenworth Hall, the ancestral home of Lord Leavenworth, Watson. The most politically influential peer in the realm and the man who holds the reins of power in the internal affairs of the Liberal Party."

"My God!" I stared at him, thunderstruck. "So this is indeed all part of some nefarious foreign plot, Holmes!"

The great man shook his head, a faint smile on his lips: "No, Watson, hardly that. You see, I happen to know that young Wiggins has ambitions of standing for a seat in the House of Commons in the next election. Standing, furthermore, in the Liberal interest, which means that he must first be selected by that party to contest a seat."

"Wiggins!"

"Of course, Watson. Wiggins. He has contacts everywhere. Contacts enough to know that I had purchased boat train tickets and would thus be out of the country, and contacts enough to have Miss Oakes's racket stolen. No doubt he also arranged for the lady to be directed here from her hotel, knowing that in my absence you would almost certainly seek out his services."

Holmes shook his head ruefully: "I fear I may have created something of a Frankenstein in that young man. Still, there always was a spark of genius about him."

"But, but . . . Holmes, are you saying that Wiggins allowed Maude and those girls to be abducted?"

"My dear Watson, Wiggins was the abductor. He and his gang. No doubt he was the one wearing the Prussian mask. And, by the way, the two sisters you describe almost certainly weren't abducted. They knew exactly what was going to happen and merely served as Judas goats to help lead Miss Oakes into the trap."

I could hardly credit my ears: "Why would Wiggins do such a thing?"

Holmes smiled: "Exactly for the reason you surmised, Watson. For blackmail. Either Lord Leavenworth helps Wiggins to be pre-selected for a seat he has a good chance of winning or some very unsavoury pictures are likely to appear, photographs which appear to have been taken on the grounds of Leavenworth Hall."

"This is nonsense, pure nonsense, Holmes," I protested. "Whatever Lord Leavenworth might be induced to do and whatever his influence, it is impossible for me to believe that a reputable political party would offer to adopt somebody like Wiggins as one of its parliamentary candidates. He's a vulgar little upstart, a hobbledehoy, a man of no family whatsoever. Nobody has ever even heard of him. And, anyway, he's only a boy. The whole idea is absurd to the nth degree."

Holmes smiled, as if seeing a chemical reaction behave exactly as he had expected it to do so: "Once again, I urge you to read the latest news column in that newspaper."

Extremely puzzled by his words, I picked up the newspaper, read the column, and nearly suffered a stroke as I read it aloud: "After the match Miss Oakes announced her betrothal to Mr Harold Wiggins!"

"A nice touch, hey, Watson? Wiggins is a nobody no longer, instead he's affianced to one of the most beautiful and best known young ladies in the land. Under those circumstances and with Lord Leavenworth's ardent support, I'm sure he'll have no problem in being selected -- nor in winning a seat."

"But he's blackmailing her into marrying him, Holmes, blackmailing her with those photographs. It must be stopped."

"Hmmm . . . " Holmes stood up, removed his pipe from the mantelpiece and took out his tobacco pouch. "Well, Watson, it's true that whenever I've made a mistake in handling a case, it's almost always been because of my inability to understand the feminine psyche. Yet I was standing next to Miss Oakes when she made her nuptial announcement to a crowd of reporters and a gentleman from the Times. If she was not greatly excited and blissfully happy about the matter then she must be a far better actress even than she is an athlete. No, I don't believe she is being blackmailed at all."

"You were standing next to her? How was that possible."

"Wiggins invited me to be there. And to stand as best man for him at his wedding, so if his intended bride does change her mind I'll be in an excellent position to know about it. But I don't think she will."

"Best man? You've agreed to be his best man?" I was totally bewildered.

"His mother is dead, he never knew his father, I was the first adult to give him any kind of helping hand and he has followed in my footsteps. It's not unreasonable to regard myself as standing in loco parentis to the young man." Holmes struck a match, applied it to the pipe and spoke rather indistinctly around the mouthpiece as he drew on it. "Besides, Watson, in our latter years we may be very glad to claim acquaintanceship with a member of cabinet -- perhaps even Prime Minister Wiggins himself."

I was bewildered: "But after what I've told you, there's no question of allowing the marriage to proceed. Maude is being forced into going to the alter with the young thug."

"And, I repeat, I have seen no evidence of Miss Oakes being forced into doing anything. Wiggins certainly abducted her, he most certainly gave some experiences she would never otherwise have been exposed to -- if you'll pardon the phrase, Watson. Perhaps by the customs of our society she should have become distraught as a result -- yet the only female suffering from any degree of distress appears to be Miss Cavanah, deprived of her championship. But I doubt very much if we've seen the last American contender on the courts of Wimbledon.

As for Miss Oakes, she appears to have thoroughly enjoyed the whole business and to have acquired a special pleasure from Wiggins' company -- his very close company, shall we say? If she wishes to continue to enjoy that company within the bonds of holy matrimony, than that is a matter purely between her and Wiggins. In matters of this kind there are urges which outsiders meddle in at their peril."

"Urges? What kind of urges, Holmes?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary."

THE END