A Victorian gentleman pictured diligently checking the saturated fat content in a murderous, Amazonian dwarf outside Fortnum & Mason’s
By Edgar Alan Pose aka Gary Hoadley
Shylock stood in Baker Street. He hailed a cab. The driver waved back and drove on.
Presently, he was joined by his friend and trusted companion, Dr Whatson.
“Have you hailed a cab Shylock?” asked Whatson.
“No, I thought I would stand here in the rain waiting for you”. replied Humes.
“Oh, why would you wait in the rain? Are you collecting evidence?” said Whatson.
“He get’s worse” Shylock said to himself. “Can you hail a cab please, Whatson?”
“Right ho, Shylock…Caaabbb!”
A cab pulled over, the driver sat under his rain cape. The horse had a crap.
“Where to guvnor?” asked the driver.
“Limehouse” answered Shylock.
“That’s a fair old trot guvnor”. said the driver.
“Just get there as quickly as you can”. ordered Humes.
With that, the cab took off at great speed, leaving our heroes on the pavement.
“I think we should have gone with him Shylock”. said Whatson.
“Would have been a good idea” sighed Humes.
“Did you give him the address?”. asked Whatson.
“Not yet”…answered Humes.
Later that day, Shylock and Whatson arrived at Cooks Pie and Mash shop. Limehouse.
“What is that awful smell Whatson?” enquired Shylock Humes.
“It’s not me Humes, I had toast for breakfast” answered Whatson.
“Let’s go into the shop and speak to the proprietor” said Humes.
Inside the shop, the smell intensified, Humes held a handkerchief to his face.
“Mornin dear” said a small rotund woman. “Can I ‘elp you?”
“Good morning Mrs Meatflan, my name is Shylock Humes, the world’s
greatest detective, and this is my friend, Dr Whatson” .
“That’s nice love, ‘ave you come abart the smell?” said Mrs Meatflan.
“Yes, where is it” asked Whatson.
“In the corner of the yard aht back” replied Mrs Meatflan.
The two men made their way to the back of the shop, they opened a small
wooden door and stepped into the yard. The smell was overpowering.
“My god!” exclaimed Whatson.
“Yes” replied Humes. “What vile creature would leave a thing like that!?”
Mrs Meatflan came to the door. “Wot is it then?” she asked.
“That” said Shylock, pointing, “Is a malodorous, gaseous, escape from the lower bowel otherwise known as a funk, and it’s a very nasty one to boot”.
“Oooh err!…Why leave it in our yard?” said Mrs Meatflan.
“We shall find out Mrs Meatflan, and have the devil thrown in prison” said Humes.
“Can we go now Shylock, I’m feeling a bit Tom an Dick”. asked Whatson.
“Immediately Watson, the funk is effecting your speech!” cried Humes.
The two men exited the pie and mash shop.
“That was close Whatson, you nearly became an Aaw Gawd Blimey” said Humes.
“You mean…” answered Whatson.
“Yes…An East End Cockney!”.
“My god! What would Mrs Whatson have become?” asked Whatson.
“A washer woman in the Old Kent Road I fancy” . replied Homes.
Humes and Whatson made their way back to 221A Baker street. Once inside
they drew a large fire and then drew the curtains, Humes drew a self portrait.
With the art work put away, the men began to discuss their new case.
“Do you think the Funker is a local man Humes?” asked Whatson.
“No, this evil criminal lives near the City of London” answered Humes.
“How so Humes?” said Whatson.
“He can disguise his funks by using the sewers to get to his victims”. said Humes.
“You mean, he lives in the sewers?” exclaimed Whatson.
“Are you deaf?” asked Humes. “I said, he uses the sewers to get around”
“Pardon?” replied Whatson.
There came a knock at the door. Both men sat waiting. After a minute, Humes spoke.
“Go and answer it then Whatson” demanded Humes.
Whatson opened the study door, before him stood a tall elegant woman.
“Good evening Madam, how may I help you?” asked Whatson.
“Is this the home of Shylock Humes, the worlds greatest detective?”.
“Certainly is, what would you want with him?” enquired Whatson.
“I am Lady Pardon from Paddington, my husband, Lord Pardon is in
Poland pressing Polish Prime Minister Prozchev to pardon Parsons, the
Polish protagonist, prior to the punishment Polish parliament will pronounce”.
“Pardon?” answered Whatson.
“Let her in!” shouted Humes.
Once inside, Lady Pardon explained, that while her husband had been away,
a strange and pungent smell had permeated the Pardon’s residence in Paddington.
“My god!” exclaimed Whatson, “You don’t think!”
“Yes” interrupted Humes. “I feel it could be the work of the Funker”.
“And now he is targeting the rich and privileged”. said Whatson.
“We need to act fast” said Humes, nodding off to sleep.