Sherlock Holmes and the Underpants of Death † PAGE TWO

Our guest did as directed, and for over an hour Holmes and I listened to his rambling. To omit much strenuous and wandering detail, the upshot of the matter was that Sir Henry's mother-in-law to be, the same Lady Boyd-Peterson as his fiancé mentioned (it took Holmes and I a good half hour and not a few diagrams to connect this), had recently lost a pair of bloomers to a thief.

"Pants, Sir Henry, belonging to your fiancé's mother? Are you sure it was not a shoe, one of a new pair perhaps, belonging to you, which is about to be returned as it is essential to the plot that the thief has a shoe you have worn which carries your scent?"

"No, Mr. Holmes. It was most definitely pants. I'm sure I wouldn't get the two articles confused," said Sir Henry as he crossed his legs, thus snapping the elastic.

Sir Henry's guide in England, a noble old gentleman, currently residing at Sir Henry's suite of rooms at the Carlton, was convinced that the family curse was afoot and was the secret at the cause of Sir Hovis Baskerville's death. This was Sir Henry's uncle, who had recently popped his clogs. There was something about a pair of enormous, ghostly pants which all Baskervilles must fear etc. but I don't recall that too well.

At some considerable length he wound his address to a close, and turn expectantly to the recumbent figure of Holmes, who spoke from beneath the copy of The Times which was currently draped over his face.

"This is all very interesting as folk lore, Sir Henry, but how, may I ask, does the humble crime specialist fit into your plans?"

"I would be tremendously grateful, Mr. Holmes, if you would accompany me back to my hotel and satisfy the good doctor that his fears are groundless."

Holmes touched the tips of his fingers together, and closed his eyes.

"It is impossible. I am deeply involved in many cases at the moment, two of which near completion even as we speak, and even an hour is too great a cost. No, sir, what you ask is impossible—"

"I'll give you five quid."

"Of course I'll need expenses."

Our guest produced a postal order, and Holmes ran for his hat and coat.

We arrived at our client's hotel named by our new client and stood for some moments waiting at reception. A porter came along to attend to us after Holmes waved him over.

Sir Henry had given instructions that we were to be made welcome, and we were shown to his suite of rooms. Inside, sat in a fine leather armchair, sat a venerable old man with a full head of the starkest white hair. His visage was crumpled as if a fine balloon had been slowly deflated. The size of the lenses in the spectacles on the table beside him stated clearly that such vision as he possessed was immensely poor. Upon realising this, Holmes and I put our tongues out to him, and Holmes made "grab it" gestures with his buttocks.

The doctor stood to greet us, shaking the hatstand firmly by the umbrella. Sir Henry entered the room. He greeted us warmly, but it was evident that he had been greatly disturbed.

"Mr Holmes," began Sir Henry, clearly in a state of shock. "I found this garment in my private bathroom not ten minutes ago." He held forward a large, one might almost say unworldly, pair of ladies bloomers, easily three feet wide and the same in length.

"They are not mine, gentlemen. Nor did I give any instructions for my rooms to be disturbed. The good doctor here has not left the room all day, and he swears he saw no-one enter." The old man looked up and gave his assurance of this, addressing the grandfather clock as he filled his pipe with soil from a plant on the side table.

Sir Henry spoke again.

"Well, you had better hear the myth, gentlemen, and decide for yourselves if this oddity has any substance." The old doctor in the chair stirred with a certain self-importance and reached into his coat for an old parchment which I recognised from the BBC props department. The old man cleared his throat and took off his glasses.

"It is the oddest thing," said Sir Henry. "Old Ted here needs the thickest glasses to be able to see even a very little, but his vision is perfect with the naked eye." Holmes narrowed his eyes slightly for a moment, and then he shook his head and began to listen.

The doctor began:

It was in the sixteen hundred and eighty-fifth year of Our Lord that on the great house of Baskerville a great curse did descend.

Of the line of Baskerville a great man of evil did walk forth, Sir Homburg, a spitting figure of indecency more wretched than any other man of his age.

Sir Homburg's followers included many desperate characters, among them some of the most desperate and depraved men of his time. Never before had so many politicians and children's television presenters met under the same roof.

They were all men of despicably foul character. In each chest beat a degenerate heart. All were heavy drinkers, and their karaoke sessions often lasted until the dawn. Such terrors were the meat and drink of Sir Honburg's life, and his reputation among the people of the town was of such infamy that each villager would sooner spend a night alone on the dark and fearful Edward Heath than incur Sir Homburg's wrath.

Upstairs was a poor young maid from the village, who had been dragged back to Baskerville Hall by Sir Homburg and his evil followers. She would doubtless have been scared half out of her wits by the language they used, and had not Sir Homburg promised to pay her well for services rendered, nudge nudge, then she would surely have fainted clean away. Sobbing heartily at her fate, she counted the money twice and called medieval room service.

At great length the revels downstairs wound to a close as Sir Homburg finally won at Trivial Pursuit. Thus invigorated, he decided to head upstairs and have a bit of fun with the village maiden. But as he arrived at her room, a huge lascivious grin wiped across his features, his gaze was met with emptiness, as the maiden had somehow managed to escape with her virtue, a towelling robe and one of those expensive trouser presses.

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