In Which the Great Detective Arrives …
The next day, four white stallions wearing feathery plumes on their heads pulled an enormous carriage up the drive.
To say that the inhabitants of Smugwick Manor had never seen a carriage like it would be to suggest that there was another carriage like it that they had simply not seen. There was not and still is not.
When Portnoy St. Pomfrey solved the Case of the Sultan's Sapphire, the sultan kindly offered to reward St. Pomfrey with anything he wished. St. Pomfrey asked for the hand of the sultan's daughter in marriage.
When the sultan pointed out that his daughter was already married with three children, St. Pomfrey said he would settle for the "magnificent carriage" parked behind the sultan's palace instead.
The sultan was too polite to tell St. Pomfrey that this was really the Royal Outhouse. Instead, he ordered the outhouse set on wheels and shipped to England. St. Pomfrey has ridden in it ever since, always wondering about the lingering odor and lack of windows.
This wheeled water closet was immediately followed by another vehicle, one that was certainly a carriage, but a really lousy one. Out of this vehicle jumped three members of the press.
"M. Hillhemp of the East London Tribune and Rannygazoo," shouted the first as he leapt from the still-moving carriage.
"L. Gateberry of the Wapping Worrier," shouted the next, a young woman who hopped gracefully to the ground despite her long dress and petticoats.
"I. Howbag of the West London Rannygazoo and Tribune," hollered the last, tripping on the carriage steps and landing in a heap from which he sprang gymnastically, pulling a pad and pen from a pocket.
To whom these introductions were aimed remains unclear, as only Blight and Blemish happened to be near enough to the drive to bear witness to their arrival.
Hillhemp, Gateberry, and Howbag ran to the as-yet-unopened door of St. Pomfrey's carriage.
"Any leads on the Lump, sir?" called either Gateberry or Howbag.
"Is Sir Luggertuck's nephew Lord Crimcramper a suspect?" called another, who may have been Howbag, which means that the first one was Gateberry. Or Hillhemp.
Frankly, Reader, it is too difficult to tell these penbrandishing members of the reporting trade apart. Their actions were so similar that I shall no longer bother.
It was their job to follow England's most famous detective and recount the details of his investigations in the pages of their newspapers. Do not judge them harshly. I worked among their number once. Their job was not easy.
The door of the carriage and the door of Smugwick Manor burst open at the same moment. From Smugwick Manor came a stream of footmen, a valet, Crotty and, yes, M'Lady Luggertuck herself.
She was not surprised by the sight of the carriage, of course, having closely followed St. Pomfrey's adventures in the papers.
From the carriage came a commanding voice. Yes, it must be the great man himself! It must be Portnoy St. Pomfrey!
"Back! Get back you nattering nimrods of news, you journalistic jugwumps, you itchy inkers of inaccuracies!"
Hillhemp, Gateberry, and Howbag did not get back. They kept babbling questions.
A giant shoe emerged from the carriage. It was a fine shoe. It bore the St. Pomfrey foot. The very same foot that—according to these very same newspaper reporters—had tracked down murderers, thieves, and shysters from one side of Europe to another.
The rest of St. Pomfrey was equally impressive—seven feet tall and four hundred pounds heavy. Three tailors spent a week and two bolts of fabric to make each of his silk suits. The ruffles required another bolt.
Incredibly, his massive coiffure, which looked like one of M'Lady Luggertuck's cast-off wigs, was actually his own hair.
The big man moved fast. Walking directly into Hillhemp, Gateberry, and Howbag—knocking one of them down and hurting another's feelings—he strode toward M'Lady Luggertuck.
"Oh, Mr. St. Pomfrey, thank you so much for coming, we—"
"Wait, M'Lady, I beg! Wait for your gilded door to swing closed on its golden hinges and shut out this pack of nosy narwhales! Say not a word!"
And that's just what happened. M'Lady Luggertuck, the valet, several footmen, and Crotty ducked back inside as St. Pomfrey rushed the door, the reporters just behind him.
"Just one quote, please, sir …"
"If it's no trouble, sir …"
"Is it true that a kitchen boy was …"
SLAM!
And that was that. They were outside, and the story, dear Reader, was inside.
