Holmes and The Cad's Diary Ch. 01

'Birthmarks!' exclaimed Holmes in a whisper that hinted almost at admiration.

Having finished his examination and sketching the man then made some written notes then, after tucking the pencil away in the spine of the book, produced a small pair or scissors that glinted silver in the lamplight and proceeded, with no gentleness to cut a sizeable clump of the woman's pubic hair and place it into the leaf of the notebook onto which he had been writing then closed the book, firmly fastened it with the india rubber and replaced it under his cloak. He sat back and leisurely finished his cigar, sometimes idly surveying the slumped form before him and at other times casually surveying the room. After finishing the cigar, stubbing it out on the side table and leaving the butt there, he stood up with a start that made Holmes and I jump back into the cover of the window frames but to my surprise the man strode confidently towards the door of the sitting room and pulled it open, uncaring of waking the staff. A few moments later we heard activity and loud voices at the front of the house and Holmes set off, skirting the open lawns along the margin of the covering shrubbery to investigate. I turned to follow but was halted by the arrival of a maid-servant in the sitting room, carrying her own lamp. With a gasp she ran over to the woman, whom I presumed to be the lady of the house and, after surveying the distressingly wanton detritus of the preceding events knelt at the woman's side and started to revive her by gently tapping her cheek. She was soon joined by another two women, also staff members by the quality of their night attire, and older in years, who after also pausing to recover their senses at the scene before them, pulled the younger servant away and, one of them producing a vial of smelling salts, made a more concerted effort to revive the woman.

Their efforts seemed to start to accomplish their aim as the young woman began to stir, but as a male servant appeared, framed in the doorway, I feared detection and turned to follow Holmes.

I caught up with him in time to see the caped man, his high collar still in place, walking casually down the gravelled drive and out into the street beyond. Light from the open front doors spilled across the gravel and a man I assumed to be the Butler of the house, hastily dressed in black trousers and a half fastened dress shirt, was stood, open mouthed in shock, looking after the caped man.

'We must get back to Jeffers and follow the carriage back to this monster's lair Watson and we can't wait for the faithful retainer (he laced that descriptor with irony) to return indoors. Back over the wall.' Holmes whispered.

My feet crunched the gravel as we turned which harvested a half-hearted and inconsequential 'who's there' from the Butler but we made our way carefully back through the shrubbery until we reached the point where we had scaled the wall and once over made more urgent haste to the street where we had left Jeffers was waiting for us.

It was with no small amount of shock that we discovered that Jeffers had left without us and, hearing the skittering of wheel on cobble we looked down the gas-lit street to see our hansom in the distance, following the caped man's carriage.

'Damn Jeffers,' exclaimed Holmes, 'Damn him! He's acted on his own initiative and followed the carriage on his own! It's taken me months to get a lead on that fellow and now I've lost him again. We must hope that Jeffers doesn't lose him and we can extract a location from him in the morning.'

It was rare for my friend to show such strong emotion during a case, he was usually so in control of himself. I took it as a mark of the importance of the case and felt it best to keep my own counsel. Instead I walked off towards the junction at the end of the road in the hope of securing a passing hansom in the busier road ahead. At this time of night that was no easy prospect and it was indeed nearly an hour before we returned to our rooms at Baker Street.

A dark cloud had descended over my friend and he uttered not a word for the whole hour and when we finally arrived in our own familiar sitting-room he flung himself into his favoured chair by the fireplace and generously loaded his pipe with a particularly acrid brand of tobacco. He slumped into the back of the chair and I immediately realised that he would not be sleeping tonight as he worked over his new problems in his head. For my part I decided that the hour was too late now to travel back to my house and ever-understanding wife and settled on staying in my old room upstairs. I guessed that, after the amazing events to which I had been witness to earlier, sleep would not come easily to me either.

The next morning I rose late, having had a broken night's sleep peppered with vivid and erotic dreams. I was not going to be able to push the memories of last night's events to the back of my mind for some time, and if I was honest, I wasn't completely sure I wanted to. Despite the wantonness of the episode, the sheer animalistic lust of the scene had been, to my shame, one of the most powerfully arousing sights of my life.

I dressed and went to the sitting room, from where the aromas of one of Mrs Hudson's excellent breakfasts was almost completely overpowered by the pungent smoke from Holmes' pipe, despite Mrs Hudson I presumed, having thrown open the windows in an effort to clear the air. It was obvious that my friend had spent the night at his pipe, exercising his mind at the problem at hand. My entry seemed to break the spell and he looked up from the empty grate, flashed a momentary smile and placed his pipe on the small table at his side.

'Watson, dear Watson, you are quite right of course.'

He laughed at my questioning look.

'You think I should take some of that excellent breakfast and that staying up all night is bad for me.'

'Well, obviously.'

'Then let us eat Watson, let us eat. There is little to do for a while; good but overly enthusiastic Jeffers will be a-bed after his night-time explorations and we must let him have his rest before we press him for the address that the carriage went to. Our trail may not yet be cold Watson . . . . . . unlike this coffee! '

He picked up the coffee pot and carried it to the door.

'Mrs Hudson! MRS HUDSON! Some fresh coffee please, Watson abhors his coffee cold!'

I squirmed under the withering gaze of London's most persecuted housekeeper as she came to snatch the coffee pot back to recharge it with hot coffee and I gave Holmes an admonishing look on his return to the table.

'Are you ready to tell me what last night was all about? I take it we haven't just become the capital's greatest consulting voyeurs?'

'Last night was very instructive Watson.'

'I certainly learned a thing or two.' I replied, but my friend continued without even registering my attempt at humour.

'Have you heard of The Cad's Diary?' Holmes asked as he buttered some toast.

'Most of the Gentlemen in London have I suspect,' I replied, 'but I'd always assumed it was merely a titillating rumour.'

'Unfortunately not Watson; the Cad's Diary is very real, and many of the gentlemen you refer to live in fear of it, men from even the highest echelons it is rumoured. The man known only as the Cad is an unsurpassed seducer of other men's wives and, as I think we witnessed last night, an unparalleled master of the erotic arts.'

'That was him, that was the Cad?!' I exclaimed.

'I believe so Watson. I received a tip-off that the wife of the Minister for European Trade was one of the women in his diary and that, as the Minister is currently abroad on a trade mission, the Cad was planning to renew her acquaintance last night.'

'That was the Minister's wife?! She seems a lot younger than him.'

'She is his second wife Watson, and she is the daughter of a very well-connected and wealthy shipping magnate. It was a useful arrangement for both sides of the bargain.'

'So, that notebook that we saw him writing in, that was the legendary Diary?!'

'The very same Watson, the very same. It is the information and artefacts held within those pages that keeps the Cad safe from reprisals from the husbands of his conquests. If that book were to fall into the wrong hands who can say what scandals would emerge? I even heard tell that the late Charles Augustus Milverton had a standing reward of ten thousand guineas for anyone who could place it in his hands'

'But don't the women know that he is, shall we say, er, profligate with his attentions?' I asked.

'They do,' replied Holmes, 'but it is rumoured that he is able to lift them to such heights of ecstasy that he is able to keep them in his thrall to an almost fanatical extent. I think we saw that in the face of that poor young woman last night. And I think, for the first time, we have also gained an insight into how he does it. As well as an above average sized penis I think that the secret must be in that cream that he kept in the jar and applied internally, both orally and via the vagina it seems to enhance the pleasure of orgasm quite spectacularly. The poor girl acted like the worst of opium addicts in its presence Watson.'

'The effects were certainly astounding Holmes, and yet I know of no medical compound that can have such an effect.'

'There are more things in heaven and earth than even our medical science can know Watson and I think we have glimpsed an insight into his legendary power. But wait, I think we must halt this conversation momentarily for friend Lestrade approaches.'

My quizzical look prompted more information.

'He customarily retains the services of a particular cabbie, Wilkinson, and I pay Wilkinson a small retainer to use a specific nail in the shoes of his horse to give me warning of Lestrade's approach. Unless I am very much mistaken that is Wilkinson approaching now and so I assume we are about to entertain Lestrade. Pour him a cup of coffee Watson.'

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Lestrade was standing in our sitting room with a quizzical look of his own as I handed him a coffee, ready poured to his liking.

'Thank you but no Dr Watson, I'm afraid I'm here on business. There's been a murder.'

'And you wish me to come and inspect the scene with you Inspector?' asked Holmes, standing and reaching for his coat.

'Ah, not exactly Mr Holmes,' replied Lestrade, sheepishly as two constables entered the room behind him, 'I'd like you and Dr Watson to accompany me to the Yard. We have a witness who says that one of you is the murderer!'