Amorous Agatha Christie in the Seventh Case
Chapter 9:
Through the Cold Wind.
The harsh winds screeched across the chilly waters of the River Thames, freezing their faces as three men crouched for warmth. With their scarves wrapped around their necks and their caps down over their ears, Lefty, Charlie, and Lumper shivered as they finished unloading a stolen barge.
"This load is worth a pretty penny, eh, Lefty?"
"Shut up! Pull that rope tighter, Charlie."
"Don't worry what Lefty thinks. He loves his haul."
Lefty frowned while giving Charlie and Lumper dirty looks. By 1924, river thefts had become more frequent, especially targeting exported goods bound for Australian, New Zealand, and Tasmanian ports. The stolen goods were usually lifted from unattended warehouse sheds, such as the Royal Albert and Victoria Docks. These items could stay in sheds for several weeks.
"There's no need for the Marine Police to come out tonight. It's too cold for them."
"Exactly. Even the cops would rather stay in their beds."
"But here I am..." A shadowy figure emerged. "Hello, gentlemen. I hope the evening is treating you well."
"What the hell... It's Sexton Blake!"
"Sexton freaking Blake!"
The infamous private detective had been waiting patiently, observing their actions. He was brave, calm, sophisticated, clever, strong, and superior in all aspects. He made the crooks quake.
With speed and precision, Blake confronted the group, attacking each individually. By the time he stepped back, the three men were on the ground, moaning in pain. "There's the law."
"Detective Blake. I was just providing some assistance. I had heard these rascals would be causing trouble tonight."
"I'll handle them, Inspector."
Smiling, Blake left the scene and returned to his apartment. As he entered, he heard someone coming to the door. "Who is it?"
"A telegram, Sir."
Blake opened the envelope and read the message. "Sexton. Come to Raven Manor in Maidstone. Need your help urgently. Agatha Christie."
"What a strange turn of events. I'm always here for a friend in need. Especially from Agatha."
xxx
Agatha Christie sat in her bed, sensing an urgency in her lover, Tommy Thompson.
"So, who was it?"
"A telegram boy. He left this."
She glanced at the paper it told her to go to Raven Manor in Maidstone. "We'll leave in the morning. We'll drive to Edgar Wolstenholme's mansion, a millionaire crime writer."
The Rolls Royce Silver Ghost drove eastward through the Kent countryside at high speed. Sitting in the back, Agatha wondered why she had been summoned by Sexton Blake: "Raven Manor, in Maidstone. The mansion of Edgar Wolstenholme. Why would Sexton Blake need my help? Because I write crime stories too?"
As they neared the estate, they noticed several parked cars outside. They arrived; the fog became thicker as Agatha and Thompson stepped out of the car. "Who's that?"
A taxi pulled up, and Sexton Blake emerged. "I've just come from Victoria Station to answer your call."
"I thought it was me who needed you."
"Here's the telegram."
And so, the crimewriter, her chauffeur-manservant, and the world's most famous detective met at Raven Manor, where a mysterious situation awaited them.
Agatha reached into her purse for the slip of paper and peered at the perplexed crime solve.
Despite the slight nippiness in the air as the fog thickened, the generous redhead seemed eye-catching in a cream dress, equipped with a green silk taffeta sash and a bunch of bright ribbon poppies at her midsection. The dress was boldly short, and everybody's focus was on her long legs. Topping off her look was a straw hat with an oversized brim and velvet flowers. Sexton read the note and extended his palms.
"I never crafted this. Could it be you who penned it, perhaps?"
He reached into his breast pocket and passed her the telegram he'd just received.
"No, I did not. It seems to me that we've both been tricked."
Her lips remained open, and Sexton saw how red and damp they were.
Blake hadn't seen her since the shenanigans with Sir Oscar Trevelyan at Mostyn Manor, in Surrey. One of the most esteemed financiers in London. The memories of their affair resurfaced. She was outspoken, brave as hell, and he'd developed an infatuation with the renowned author. The only feature he didn't like was her short bobbed hair.
"Well, it's good to see you again."
"And you."
Just then, the main door of the Manor opened, and a uniformed house servant popped out. He soon vanished inside again for a few seconds and reappeared alongside another. A round-faced gentleman in a silk gown.
"I say! What's going on here? Who the heck are you?"
"Permit me. I'm Sexton Blake, and this is Agatha Christie."
"Wow! Truly? The famous author and the illustrious detective? It's an honour. I am Edgar Wolstenholme, and this is my domicile. Since the weather is worsening rapidly, I believe you should come indoors. It's a house party, you know, and a pretty exciting one at that."
Agatha glanced at Sexton and shrugged. He nodded, and they entered the house alongside their shady host. She took Thompson for a spin in the servant's corner.
"You're probably aware that I write mystery tales. Hundreds of them in recent years. Generally successful. Have you read any, Mrs. Christie?"
"No, m'dear."
"A pity. Ah, allow me to introduce you to my guests. We have Simon Smith, a charming Sam Greaves, this is Colin Motson, a dear friend, indeed. And Jack Hammer, the mighty middleweight boxer. Maybe you've heard of him, Mr. Blake?"
Sexton lit two cigarettes and gave one to Agatha. Hammer was large, swarthy, and always appeared to have a permanent sneer.
"I should say so. Top-notch fighter."
"Quite. Here is Archie Gold. My agent. And Jeffrey Banks. My editor. And my butler, Carstairs, you met him at the door. And that's it."
"No female guests, I surmise," said Christie.
"Quite the contrary, my dear. Ah-ha-ha! How observant, my dear lady." He let out a rather dismal laugh. "Mr. Wolstenholme, blend in. Distract them. I need the two of us to talk."
Agatha and Sexton found a corner of the room and discussed the turn of events in hushed voices.
"Gosh. What a varied lot. Each one looks as though they'd sell their mom for a fiver."
"You're spot-on there."
"And I find Wolstenholme to be highly annoying."
"Sexton, dear Mr. Blake? Mrs. Christie?"
Carstairs seemed flustered as he carried a tray with snacks.
"Mrs. Christie, would you like to tell us about your excellent success with writing?"
"Just keep these men preoccupied while I investigate. Keep your eyes peeled."
x
Sexton managed to find the stairs leading to the servant area and made his way down. The door to the quarters was trembling in the grip of an elderly voice.
"Who's there?"
"Blake."
The creaky door opened slightly, and the butler crooked his finger for Sexton to come closer. The two men retreated into the shadow of the stairs, using the darkness to hide.
"All right, Carstairs. Now's the time to speak."
"It's all a sinister plan to mock both you and the lady. Wolstenholme is envy-driven. He can't stand rivals."
Sexton stroked his chin and then became alert at the clinking sound of metal against metal.
"We need to be on alert! Something's brewing."
The butler shrieked as a bolt from a crossbow pierced his back, and he crumpled to the ground. At that precise moment, Elliott and the crew shambled down the stairs.
"We heard a sharp cry. Is there a problem?" [
"Well, it's true. Your servant has been shot."
"We didn't hear any gunshot sounds."
"Someone used a crossbow to do it. Quite clever."
"Oh my, this is terrible. But who could have possibly done such a thing?"
Smith evaluated the body of the butler and shook his head.
"He's deceased."
"Okay."
Their attention shifted to the only woman present in the house. Agatha took a deep breath from her cigarette holder and waved her hand.
"A murderer is on the loose at Raven Manor. How intriguing." She leaned closer to examine the bolt lodged in the butler's back. "And speaking of crossbows, it seems there's one abandoned outside."
"It must be the murder weapon. Greaves, please go fetch it."
Sam Greaves nodded at Edgar and hurried out. Sexton peered out the window and saw the man pick up the crossbow and wave. Then, he grimaced as he seemed to take a bullet to the back.
"Oh dear, Greaves has been shot!"
Agatha turned to Sexton with worry in her eyes.
"I love nothing more than the news of an exciting murder, Sexton. But this case is quite unusual."
Blake checked his watch. It was getting late.
"Maybe it's the right time to call the police."
"I agree, my dear. They'll have to know sooner or later."
He searched for the nearest telephone and cursed.
"The line has been cut. The line is dead."
"Someone's been busy. Where is my servant Thompson?"
Colin Motson stood over the seated chauffeur, who had his head down on the tabletop. He took a sniff of the cup of cold tea.
"This man has been drugged. He's asleep."
"Things are getting more complicated. Sexton, go check my car."
Blake went outside and returned with a serious expression.
"The front tires have been punctured with a very sharp blade. We won't be going anywhere tonight. The fog is also too thick to drive. Greaves is dead, by the way."
"You two are in a difficult situation," said Edgar with a touch of sarcasm. "I have an idea. Since it's dark now and there's no chance of leaving, why don't you both stay here for the night?"
Agatha shrugged and studied the detective's serious expression.
"There's no other choice, Sexton. We'll sleep here tonight."
"With one eye open," he added as an afterthought.
As a rule, the dedicated detective wasn't usually very cheerful, and tonight he was in a particularly gloomy mood. The situation was getting worse and worse.
x
"I won't sleep tonight, Sexton. Can I join you?"
"Of course, feel free."
Wolstenholme's house had many rooms, and the determined pair of detectives were sharing rooms at one end of the hallway. It was two in the morning when Agatha entered Blake's room. He was lying in the middle of the bed, wearing only his underwear. His body was toned with defined muscles. His eyes were steel-like and had lowering lids. His presence gave her a delightful sensation.
He looked at her silently as she removed her dress over her head. Her cheongsam followed, and she stepped out of her pants. Naked, the red-haired woman was a captivating sight - long-limbed with perky breasts and a flat belly. The deep navel pucker caught his eye, followed by the bushy pubic triangle and the wide hips. The long white thighs completed the picture. The memory of their past intimacy filled him with excitement.
"I haven't seen you here for some time, handsome. I desire you to fulfill my needs. Please don't look so glum, my dear. It's the modern era. The war is over, and I wish to enjoy life. To dance. To experience passionate love with no consequences. My methods of deduction tell me that sexual intercourse is completely exhilarating and stimulates my brain. Embrace me, Sexton."
He stood up and they pressed their bodies against each other, kissing with noses and lips. His hands quickly found her breasts, massaging her erect nipples. Agatha moaned, feeling the warmth spreading through her body. She tightened her grip on him, trapping his hands against her breasts, and enjoyed the hardness of his erect penis through his shorts. She stroked his buttocks. They kissed passionately, tongues weaving together.
"Impudent!"
He laughed as the sultry woman pulled his shorts down so she could grab his stiff member.
"Just what I like, my dear. Let's make love."
She wrapped her hand around his full length and stroked him gently. "Ask me what I want, darling," she teased.
"I want you," he replied, his voice hoarse.
She swung her leg over his body and straddled him. He caressed her breasts as they made passionate love, his hands exploring her body. They kiss deeply, tongues swirling together. His hands moved to her hips, guiding her up and down, progressively faster. Soon, they both reached their climax, their moans blending into one.
His organ got hard in my hand until it was a solid stick, hot and thick in my palm. I peeked down to see its purple veins and swollen tip.
We collapsed on the bed and Christie let Blake lie on top of her. He slid his rod between her thighs and pushed into her slick slit. He pushed in and entered the scorching cave of her pussy. The independent and pleasure-seeking Flapper wrapped her arms and legs around him, imprisoning his flesh in a sexy embrace. Blake dug his toes into the mattress for more stability as he thrust in and out of the amorous woman. Waves of pleasure rolled through her as he moved quicker and quicker.
"Yes! Keep going like that. My mind is clearing."
Agatha removed her legs from around his waist and extended them straight out, her heels sliding across the sheets. Sexton was moving with powerful strokes now, lifting her whole body with each thrust. Her feet slipped across the soft bed with each motion. She looked at his face. His eyelids were lowered and his mouth was open. The little, guttural noises he was making excited her even more. Her nails scratched his back as she tried to become one with him.
"You're a tiger!"
The detective responded by raising his buttocks again. He understood immediately and began to synchronize his movements with hers, pushing all the way into her, then all the way out, repeatedly. Her head swam as he went at it relentlessly. They fit together nicely, finding a natural rhythm, and moved in a smooth elliptical motion. His hands gripped her hips as he lifted her up in mighty arcs.
Faster and faster they moved, the bed shaking beneath them. Christie panted uncontrollably, a warm, deep feeling growing inside her. She was almost there now, as her pussy pulsated around his length. She climaxed and hissed through clenched teeth, feeling the earth shattering orgasm ripple through her. She felt Blake's sweaty back become slick with perspiration under her fingertips. He lifted himself up on his elbows and smiled at her.
"Too much!" he mumbled as he erupted inside her.
He spasmed four times and then relaxed on top of her.
"That was a good one," she said. "God, was it good."
Agatha wiggled out from under him and stood up. She lifted her hair away from the back of her neck to let the air cool her. His eyes followed her as she picked up a towel and cleaned herself up.
"You look absolutely radiant, my dear."
"I feel wonderful. And I have a vague idea as to what's happening."
As he lit a cigarette and lay back, he thought he heard a dull thump from the room upstairs. Within a minute, a frantic voice came from outside.
"Blake! Blake! Come at once! There's more mischief!"
Wolstenholme banged on the door until Sexton rose to answer.
"It might be best if you put on that dress, love."
They both stood at the door together to see the same group of faces.
"Ah, there you are. And Mrs. Christie. How very modern. By the way, we heard a loud thump from the room above. Archie Gold's room. Do you think he might have taken a fall, dear?"
"Let's go and take a look. Maybe he's not feeling well."
Sexton led the way up the stairs with Agatha bringing up the rear.
"It's his room," said Edgar, pointing with a bony finger. "We should take a peek. He might be ill."
Blake rushed to the door as the others hesitated and followed him. The daring detective knocked on the door.
"Hello! Archie Gold! Are you okay in there?"
No response.
"Archie! Hello! Answer me, buddy!"
He tried the door and found it to be locked.
"I'm not at all comfortable with this!" said Edgar. "Should we break the door down?"
"Perhaps he's not even in there anymore," mused Agatha. "He might have left the room and locked it behind him."
Wolstenholme waved his hand.
"I won't rest until we know what's behind the door. Jack? Do as you please."
The massive boxer braced and slammed into the door, breaking the lock and thereby opening it. In the middle of the room lay the lifeless form of Gold.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Edgar, pushing past the others. "A dagger! A dagger has been driven straight into his heart! The poor fellow killed himself!"
Agatha shook her head.
"Impossible! Look at him. He's on his back with his arms folded beneath him. How could he have fallen like that if he'd stabbed himself?"
"But the door was locked! And see, so is the window! It's too high to allow anyone to escape that way!"
"What do you think, Mr. Banks? Could the man who did this still be in the room?"
Everyone in the room looked uneasy as they realized that there was no place for a man to hide except under the bed or in the closet, and neither of those places had anyone in them.
Blake furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the situation. What was the motive behind these senseless murders? perhaps Agatha had more insight. In fact, the red-headed writer was tapping her knuckles against the wall panels, searching for a hidden opening. After two minutes of searching, she concluded there was nothing of the kind in the walls, floor, or ceiling.
"The room is secure," she said. "If it wasn't so obvious from Gold's position on the floor that the blow wasn't self-inflicted, I would say that suicide was the only possible solution. But we need to find another answer."
"Agreed," said Sexton Blake.
He took Agatha by the arm and went into the library. They smoked and talked in tense, hushed tones. Sexton looked at her.
"Who did it?" he asked aggressively. "Did he escape through a secret trapdoor?"
"I can assure you that there is no trapdoor or panel of any kind in that room."
"Nonsense. There must be. There's no other possible solution."
"Except one," she offered. "The door was locked. The window was locked. So what's left? Only that Gold knew his murderer, and what's more, allowed himself to be killed. It's just a matter of reasoning."
Blake sat back in his chair and folded his arms, steepling his fingers.
"I don't follow."
"Consider this. We were lured here by an unknown person or persons, and then told we were to be murdered. But before we were, three of the gathered party were killed. While we were present. If the proposed killer merely wanted us dead, we would be gone by now."
"So this is some kind of game?"
"Exactly."
"I say you two. Come to Edgar's study. He has something to show you."
Simon Smith said his piece and then left.
"Come on."
"It might be a trap," Blake said cautiously.
"I agree. Hurry."
Despite Christie's enthusiasm, Blake moved slowly. They found the study and saw that the door was open. They entered and looked around the dimly lit room.
"Wolstenholme?" Agatha asked. "Are you in here?"
Agatha immediately noticed a hunched figure at the writing desk. It was Wolstenholme himself, slumped over with a grim expression on his face. She sniffed a discarded bottle and nodded.
"Is he...?"
"Poisoned. This is arsenic. That's the fourth."
"Look. There's a written page."
Blake grabbed the paper and gasped.
"Listen to this," he said excitedly. "The Demise Of Agatha Christie And Sexton Blake. By Edgar Wolstenholme. Chapter One. Having easily lured the two pathetic creatures named in the title to Raven Manor, my devious plan was put into motion. After toying with the amateur detectives, they were drawn to the study by the author where they met their end."
"I see," Agatha said, putting it all together. "Wolstenholme is the killer. And he intends to finish us off as well as himself."
"What? How?"
Even as they spoke, a faint hissing sound could be heard, accompanied by a cloud of vapor.
"It's gas! Quick...the door!"
Despite their best efforts, both were rendered unconscious within ten seconds.
x
The darkness lifted and Agatha woke up, feeling the heavy weight of Sexton on top of her, his bare chest pressed against her breasts. Both of them had been stripped of their clothes and tied to a wooden stool with rope. The author of "The Mysterious Affair at Styles" tried to remain calm, keeping her breathing steady and acting nonchalant. She wondered if Sexton could feel the rapid beating of her heart against his chest.
"Sexton. Sexton, wake up."
The groggy detective shook off the effects of the gas and thenfocused on his situation. He tried to stand up, but it was clear that he was tied to the stool at his knees, leaving him unable to escape.
"Agatha! Are you okay?" he asked, panicked.
"I...I don't know. I feel really strange." she answered.
"We're both laying naked and tied to a stool," he said, his eyes widening.
"In a nutshell."
As she raised her head, she saw a worried look on his face as he looked past them to the wall behind.
"My dear, this is deadly serious. I see what looks like a bomb, not ten feet from us, and it's hissing and emitting vapor."
With my head tilted, I strained to see, but I didn't get far. Sexton informed me it was a massive black ball with a burning fuse approaching my neck.
"Essentially, it's a mortar bomb filled with gunpowder. Certainly repulsive," Sexton commented.
"Wolstenholme! But we saw you dead!"
"Not dead, Sexton," Agatha said calmly. "Just pretending to be poisoned. Check your surroundings."
The basement's shadows shifted as a sinister band of men emerged. The group included Archie Gold, Sam Greaves, and the butler Carstairs.
"What a delightful surprise! Dead men walking."
"I suspected as much," sneered Agatha. "If Wolstenholme had been discovered dead, who would suspect him of committing a crime? A dead man is rarely suspected. The perfect alibi."
"Exactly," Christie stated from beneath Blake. "The man was first drugged to keep him out of the way, and Carstairs had a fake bolt between his shoulder blades. Greaves had a bag of blood sewn into his jacket to trick people into thinking he'd been shot. I examined the dagger in Gold's chest, and it was evidently just a theatrical prop. He merely inserted it himself and locked his room's door."
"You're right," Christie continued. "We faked all the deaths and put our deductive skills to the test. This will make great material for my next book. I've experienced quite a dry spell in terms of writing for a while now. Consequently, Mrs. Christie should be commended for seeing through the deception so quickly. And what's next? The dramatic end is upon us."
"I've given you two a chance to save yourselves. You have ten minutes before the fuse is finished and you're blown to smithereens. Just snuff out the fuse and the bomb is safe."
With a boisterous laugh, the group left the helpless couple to discuss their circumstances.
"Can you walk, Sexton?"
He struggled with the tough rope, causing a fascinating sensation in Agatha's lady parts.
"My legs are tightly bound, and my...dear God!"
They both stared in disbelief as they saw the dildo joining them. He was connected by a band around his waist, with the concealed object soon outside Agatha's vagina.
"Agatha! Are you okay?"
"I'm not sure."
"I need to be hard. Excuse me."
Blake stroked and caressed Agatha's sides, reaching her bosom. He squeezed her nipples between his thumb and finger, being careful to preserve her modesty.
"I'm hard now. I can sense myself spreading within the hollowed-out dildo."
"Let's move toward the bomb. It's simple. My arms are free."
"I concur. But how?" Agatha wanted to know.
"By giving the stool a strong push with all my might. If I do it right, it'll propel you toward the bomb."
He gestured toward the dildo's hidden opening.
"Ready?"
Agatha nodded as she focused on his eyes. He grabbed her thighs and breathed in, preparing for his next move.
"Getting tired, Agatha? How much longer?"
But even as he questioned her, Blake pushed with all his might. The stool didn't budge much. The false cock, however, plunged deep into Agatha as if it had a mind of its own.
"This is brutal," Agatha gasped as her girl parts were filled.
"We're almost there," Blake encouraged her. "The fuse is running out fast."
"Now, I must come. I can't hold it in any longer!"
Agatha exploded in an overwhelming orgasm, causing a thick liquid to gush out of her wet pussy. Sexton heaved in response, releasing himself within her.
"You're doing great, Agatha. There's no time to waste!"
"I can't stop now! The fuse is almost out!"
As She thrust his hips into her, his member moved the stool forward. Their progress was slow but steady.
"No more teasing! Let's end it now!"
Her girl parts tightened around Sexton as the fuse burned down.
"This is the end."
"Ten feet! Almost there!"
He pushed with all his might, and the stool moved as if on a magic carpet toward the bomb, with Sexton and Agatha gliding alongside. She strained to snuff out the fuse just before it reached the bomb.
"We made it!" Sexton breathed, relieved.
The situation was grim, but they had at least prevented a potentially fatal explosion.
"It was a test."
"I suspected as much," Agatha admitted, wearily. "But the final judgment was important."
"Agreed, and you passed," he said, looking into her eyes. "We're safe, dear."
"So endeth this game of ours," Sexton said simply. "God speed, Agatha."
"Until we meet again," she whispered.
He pumped harder as she lifted her hips up, and they inched closer and closer to the ball-like object. The dildo widened her open with its large girth, and she experienced a series of little orgasms because of this.
"It's so...oh my! Coming again!"
Agatha screamed aloud as her leg muscles clenched tight and her back shouted with the effort.
"Hold on, hold on!"
Sexton shoved into her as they scuttled across the floor, and the dildo stirred her quim into a foaming frenzy.
"Almost."
Push!
"Almost."
Push!
"There! Yes, I've got the bomb!"
On the verge of passing out, Agatha smiled faintly as he snuffed the fuse out with his fingers. With a complete stop, Blake dry-humped her with he neared his own climax. He threw his head back as he ejaculated into the dildo, and his cum dripped out in dribbles down their legs.
"Hey! It's Thompson. Loosen us up, my friend! Hurry!"
"Good God, what HAVE you been doing?" exclaimed the redhead's chauffeur and part-time lover.
"Forget about that," growled Sexton as he scurried around for his discarded pants. "We must stop Wolstenholme and the others."
Thompson grinned as he rubbed his knuckles. The ex-military man beckoned Blake to the next room to show him a heap of crumpled and damaged men.
"You clashed with all of them? Even Jack Hammer?"
"I took care of him first. Surprisingly, he had a glass jaw. The others were not an issue."
Agatha walked in and massaged her aching wrists and ankles, unaware of the fact she was standing completely naked in the presence of the two blood-thirsty men.
"Look, sweetie. Your fellow here has beaten them all."
"There is nothing more obvious than an evident fact, Sexton. Get me my dress, please."
As she put it on, she gazed at the wretched group of scoundrels. Wolstenholme had promptly escaped, leaving nothing but his traces behind.
"Do you think we'll ever see him again?" asked Blake.
"I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. He was a pathetic being with a distorted sexual habit. Tying us together revealed his true nature. Despicable and twisted."
"An unsightly situation, definitely. An utterly horrid situation."
Sexton drew a deep breath and blanched a bit.
"Crikey! I just had sex with a dildo! An appalling act. Wolstenholme is an absolutely nasty fellow."
"I get the sense there are many more like him. Waiting patiently until they strike."
"Correct. And I'll be the one waiting for them."
"Kudos, Sexton. You're full of energy."
Blake grimaced and glanced at his groin. Then he spread his hands and laughed heartily.
END
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