|It was a dark, foggy night in December. Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson were enjoying a pipe and some intravenous cocaine in their flat in Harley Street when there was a sudden knock on the door.|
|Outside in the smog was a beautiful woman. Beautiful, but very wet. And enfeebled. |
A splendid specimen of Victorian womanhood.
"Help!" she gurgled. "Murder! Witchcraft!
|In front of the fire, gulping at a hot whisky toddy, the ravishing beauty, |
whose name was Lady Rebecca Armitage de la Marlborough, told her story.
|Lady Armitage de la Marlborough broke down into hysterical, womanly little sobs. Dr Watson put his arm around her - silently, strongly. "We must help her, Holmes," he said, with clenched teeth. He was that kind of man.|
|At Crapper Castle, Holmes did his stuff magnificently. He strode about, interviewing survivors, |
inspecting the drains, and always, always, washing his hands carefully.
|Dr Watson, meanwhile, concocted a hopeless theory about a family curse,which proved to be entirely illogical |
and not in the slightest evidence-based, and fell desperately in love
with Lady Armitage de la Marlborough, only to be painfully rebuffed.
Another mystery: The Body in the Bathtub: A Poirot Mystery
Want more? See all Toilet Tales
Thanks to Canadian Friend for knitting such a spiffing Sherlock and whacking good Watson.
Remember to buy Oxfam Unwrapped for loved ones this Christmas, to help combat preventable diseases casused by poor hygiene!