A/N: Story idea suggested by Lachlan Murdoch himself at MM 2018 Toronto's Valentine's Day Luncheon – (I just could not resist!)

Thank you to the organizers, Steven Wong's work behind the camera and Pendrick Arrow's arranging of the souvenir post cards. Awesome! -rg

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"Henry Higgins and the Sticky Situation"

…The telephone's shrill echoed through an otherwise quiet Station House No. 4.

Desk Sergeant Morgan answered the ring and listened for a minute before scribbling a few lines and calling over to his superior. "Inspector Brackenreid, sir?"

"What is it Morgan?" Brackenreid hollered back across the empty station house space.

"Someone is asking for the constabulary to go back to the Pasta Silo." Morgan held the mouth piece against his uniform to muffle his voice.

Brackenreid wandered over to the desk. "The restaurant? Is it related to that theatre critic's death Murdoch is working on?"

"Don't know as it is, sir. They are reporting a robbery now."

Brackenreid removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Bloody Hell! Crabtree is in that darkroom developing photographs, Murdoch is searching the victim's lodging and everyone but Higgins is already been sent out on other business." He glanced at Henry, busy sorting paperwork. "Morgan, tell them we are in the middle of a murder investigation, so someone will come 'round later and get their particulars about the missing money or knives and forks or whatever one can steal from a restaurant." Satisfied, he turned back to his office, only to have Morgan object in a tense whisper.

"But sir! They are rather insistent someone come immediately. They also asked for Constable Higgins, personally," Morgan said through clenched teeth and a flick of his eyes towards the bull pen.

Brackenreid's face registered surprise. His ears registered loud squawking emanating from the telephone ear piece Morgan was holding as far from his head as the cord would allow. "Did they now?" Brackenreid was annoyed, his eyes narrowing in a calculating manner.

"Oh, oh…not good," Henry muttered to himself, snapping his chewing gum. He'd spent an hour placing the one hundred-plus names and statements from the Pasta Silo into neat piles for the detective, whilst the rest of the station house crew was sent out on other calls. Henry was pretty sure that unless he slipped out of there by going around desk sergeant from the back passageway, he was going to have to take that call. He checked his watch and sighed. Plans to take Ruth to supper were being threatened.

"Higgins!"

Henry actually flinched. You bellowed, sir? he thought. Of course he said no such thing.

Henry licked his dry lips. "Yes sir? I was about to…"

Brackenreid approached his constable and placed a meaty hand on the other man's slender shoulder. "Constable First Class Higgins, you are about to run your first solo investigation. Someone down at that Eye-talian eatery has reported a robbery. You must have made the right impression because they asked for you…personally."

Henry was stunned, feeling a slight shiver down his back. He stood straighter.

…And tried not to squeak…and not choke on the gum. "Me, sir?"

"Yes. You! This is your case, soup to nuts as it were." The inspector laughed at his own little joke. "See if this is related to that Smyth woman from earlier today, get to the bottom of it and report back to me. Show 'em what you got!"

Henry's tunic buttons barely contained the pride swelling in his breast. "Yes, sir!"

Brackenreid clapped him so hard on the back it nearly toppled him over, popping the gum down his throat in a strangled gulp.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Henry arrived at the Pasta Silo's front door, juggling three large boxes of material he selected to bring with him to aid in his investigation. He figured if Detective Murdock had a murder bag, then he needed to be as prepared, and on the way over he imagined a dramatic confrontation or foot chase, or a clever puzzle solved easily with his powers of deduction.

Yes, indeed.

Henry could almost hear the claps of congratulations from his workmates, praise from the Inspector, and was that the flash of a camera capturing a photograph for the Gazette?

But first, he needed to actually get into the building. Over by the front desk, an extremely tall and imposing Maitre d' was rearranging one of the restaurant's wall-displays, this one of various polished brass hardware arranged inside a Rococo frame.

"My good man. Give us a hand, if you will?" Henry ordered in his most officious manner. After only a moment's hesitation, looking the constable up and down with a calculating eye, the Matire d' signaled to the doorman, and both men helped get the constabulary's boxes into the restaurant and directed Henry to where the complainant was.

A knot of worried-looking waiters was collected in a corner, giving Henry dark looks as he passed them. He saw the proprietor's wife, Maria DiNapoli, fluttering a huge white napkin as some sort of fan around a lady's face, cooing soothingly in Italian to the woman who sat before her, wailing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry spied Ruth sailing forward, arms outstretched with her elbow-lace swinging gently. His jaw dropped in astonishment.

"Oh! Henny-penny! Thank goodness you are here!" Ruth gushed.

Henry embraced her before recalling himself to his duty. "Lovey-dove. Why are you here?"

"My dear, dear friend Hortensia Hendry was enjoying a civilized luncheon when the most dreadful thing occurred!"

"I know, Ru-ru. A woman theatre writer was impaled. I spoke with Miss Hendry myself about it, took her statement earlier today."

"No, no. Silly! Not that dreadful thing."

"No?" Henry frowned, wondering what other dreadful thing there could be. He saw no more gruesome corpses in evidence. "I assumed your friend, Miss Hendry, would have gone home by now. I was called back here because the restaurant reported a robbery." He smiled again, drawing his shoulders back. "I am the lead investigator."

Ruth's hand fluttered dismissively. "Yes, of course you are. I called you myself."

Henry was confused and alarmed. He took Ruth's hand. "My dear little pigeon. Were you robbed?"

"No! No! Pay attention, will you?" Ruth said sternly. "Hortensia called me to meet her here for support. She is the one who was robbed and did not know what to do. Before today she had, quite naturally, had no contacts with the constabulary. When I spoke with her she was beside herself, so I called you." Ruth smiled sweetly, petting the front of his tunic. "No one else could possibly be as gentle to her sensibilities as you, especially now that you are one of us…"

"I see." Henry did in fact. He was being trusted by his boss with a potentially high profile case and embraced by Ruth's prestigious peers.

Did life get any better than this?

"Well, my dear. Let me get to it." He checked his uniform, brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve and approached his quarry, ushering Mrs. DiNapoli aside to reveal a tall, thin woman with auburn hair wound under an au currant hat, adorned by a giant ostrich feather which bobbed hypnotically.

Henry cleared his throat. "Miss Hendry," he began.

The woman dabbed a handkerchief at her large brown eyes. "Of the Mimico Hendry's…"

"Yes…Miss Hendry, of the Mimico Hendry's." He coughed again. "We met briefly, earlier today. I am Constable Henry Higgins…of the, er… Cabbagetown Higgins… I understand you have been robbed. Did someone steal your purse? Can you please tell me what happened and what was taken?"

"Well…I called for my motor car, not the motorette of course but the Great Arrow because it was well past tea time…"

"Of course, of course…" Henry assured her he knew all about that sort of etiquette. Detective Murdoch's Gentleman's Almanac was most up to date and Ruth was a great fount of useful knowledge about Society.

"And I was nearly home when I discovered it was missing! You cannot imagine my distress. I retraced all my steps and I know I had it here at the luncheon, but it is gone! A brazen thief must have stolen it from me. I feel I might swoon at the awful thought of some strange individual's hand so close to my person!"

"Um…so you were not actually assaulted…." Henry saw the lady was offended at the idea he was not taking her complaint seriously enough, therefore he back-tracked. "…But I am sure it was frightening to think of someone with mal-intent riffling through your, er…personage. But Miss Hendry, what has been taken?"

"It was my birthday present from my Uncle, Frankie Fleer," she said, as if that explained everything.

Ruth had been listening in, seeing Henry's confusion. "You know him, dearest. Mr. Fleer's company makes that cola-flavoured chewing gum I gave you that you like so much," she interjected. "He and daddy were in business for a little bit." Ruth gazed upwards, fixing her eyes in the middle distance. "It is nicely sweet but the only problem is that the gum is so brown…."

Henry looked at his fiancée, trying desperately to stay on topic. "Nothing is as sweet as you are, Fairy-face, but…"

This time Miss Hendry erupted, drawing herself back into being the center of attention. "All that is well and good, but what about me? I have been robbed of my most favourite possession!"

Henry's pencil was poised over his notebook, hoping finally to get his answer. "Which was…?"

Miss Hendry's face fell into a rather annoyed display. "Why, my chewing gum case, with the chewing gum in it!" she huffed. "What else do you think I have been talking about?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Henry took seven pages of notes from Miss Hendry and four from her driver, detailing her movements and information about her missing item, then began interrogating the restaurant staff. The chewing gum case itself was roughly three and a half inches long, by one inch by three-quarters of an inch; easily concealing in a pocket or even a man's hand. Even Henry knew that it did not bode well for recovering such a small and valuable object; a bauble to Miss Hendry but worth a half a year's wages to even a middle class man. On the other hand, it was likely to end up in a pawn shop or more likely fenced, since it too unique to be displayed by the thief and too valuable not to turn into cash.

He sighed. There was not much to go on—no witnesses, no suspicious people, and Miss Hendry absolutely refused to believe any of her friends from the luncheon would have taken it either deliberately or accidently. Hortensia Hendry did cast a wary eye at the restaurant staff.

They were foreigners, after all, she pointed out.

Henry did his due diligence and asked follow up questions of the entire staff. All the while Miss Hendry refused to budge, despite Henry's suggestion that she ride home and Ruth's offer to accompany her. After he ran into a metaphorical brick wall at the restaurant, he decided it was best to check in with Inspector Brackenreid.

It did not go well.

"A pack of chewing gum! You must be joking!" The inspector barked.

Henry could almost see the red face on his boss. "No sir. It's…" he tried to explain while nervously poking at the various gewgaws stuck on the wall for decoration; the variety of brass furnishings and fittings was mind-boggling.

Brackenreid rolled right over him, voice booming through the telephone ear piece. "You spent two hours on interviews? Are you off your rocker? For a penny pack of gum? Get back here and do some real work."

"But sir, you don't understand…"

"No! I do not. Some flighty society lady drops a few mints out of her reticule and she calls in the constabulary like we are her personal servants. I've a mind to order you to bring her in…"

"Sir!" Henry protested back. "We are talking about Hortensia Hendry, of the Mimico Hendrys, and it is not just any missing gum. It is in a 24 karat, jewel-encrusted Tiffany & Company chewing gum case. Seven diamonds, sir. It was custom made for her and is worth almost two hundred dollars." The other end of the line was silent for about six breaths. For a moment Henry wondered if the telephone line was dead.

Then Brackenreid burst into laughter. "Christ...of all things! The rich really are different than us. She is sure it was stolen?"

"She insists it was."

The inspector grunted. "I cannot give you more than to the end of the day to be a hero. Wrap it up, Higgins and get back here by six. Crabtree's got the negatives processed and printed and Murdoch is back from that woman's hotel and off to hear autopsy results. We need you back here. Chop, Chop!"

Henry set the telephone down, feeling a cold pit establish itself in his stomach. His sweetheart, Ruth was in his line of sight, promising her friend that he, Henry Higgins, was going to save the day, while the poor victim, Miss Hendry, merely pouted and glowered in his direction.

My dearest Ruth! Henry sighed to himself. His heart fell, desperate not to disappoint her. Ever since meeting Ruth Newsome, Henry knew he was becoming a better man by caring more about another person than he ever did about himself. George Crabtree might be skeptical, but as far as Henry was concerned, this was true love.

Henry sighed again, blowing air out through his lips. He could now overhear Miss Hendry asking if Ruth's personal psychic, Madame Zuzaska, would break the case if the constabulary could not. Unfair! Henry shook his head; he'd started out so full of energy which now seemed to be drained away.

Yet, he could not fail her! Henry Higgins could not fail his lady-love!

He turned away from Ruth's imploring gaze to steel his resolve and think on what his next move might be. He had enough fingermarks. There were no photographs to take. He hadn't used anything from those boxes he hauled here from the station house. There was a general list of pawn shops and fences the constabulary targeted, so perhaps it was time to move on to that.

His eyes rested again on the chaotic decorations on the wall. He did not envy the restaurant staff who had to dust and polish all the overstuffed décor. The polished brass fittings, furniture pulls, and nautical trims sent Henry's thoughts to how boring and time consuming brass-polishing actually was, as he well knew since his own belt and buttons always needed a good buffing. He smiled. Since meeting Ruth he had not needed to do any polishing, personally; one of her servants took care of that now for him…

One of the items up on the wall caught his eye. It was rectangular while its companions were rounded. Henry felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He craned his head, reached up on his toes and plucked it right off the wall, his hand trembling so hard he nearly dropped it.

Oh my Goodness! Could it be that there in his hand was Miss Hendry's chewing gum container? Yes! The Tiffany & Co, mark on the bottom of the case. Quickly, he flipped it open, just to make sure it was hers. He slid the cushions of gum out into his hand to look at the engraving: To Tenzi from Uncle F.

Eureka! Impulsively, he stuck the gum in his mouth and bit down on the sweet chicle, excitedly grasping the case. Henry ran his other hand through his hair to neaten it and with a huge grin, he marched over to Ruth and her friend. On the way, he started thinking again about the boost to his career, not to mention having Hortensia Hendry, (of the Mimico Hendry's), beholden to him. Visions of Miss Hendry as Ruth's maid of honour at their upcoming nuptials, danced in his head.

He coughed to get their attention. "Miss Hendry," he bowed. "I believe this is your missing item?" Henry opened his hand and ostentatiously reveal what he and found. Perhaps that female photographer, Genevieve Latcher, could be called to memorialize the moment.

Miss Hendry jumped up. "Oh my gracious. You found it!"

"I told you, Hortensia. Henry is one of the top men in the constabulary. I just knew he'd come through!" Ruth embraced her friend in jubilation then hugged Henry for good measure. "Oh, Henny-penny. You saved the day! Hortensia was so very worried. I thought she'd succumb to the vapors." Ruth's appreciativeness was overflowing. "How did you do it so quickly?"

Henry absolutely beamed. To be a hero in his sweetheart's eyes was better than any praise from the Inspector. "Ru-Ru. I…" How to tell her that it was never really lost; probably fell out of Hortensia's purse and was taken up by the restaurant staff as part of the overblown decorations? "I…just…I just…"

"Yes?" Ruth was all ears.

"I just used my powers of observation and deduction." Henry said with as much conviction as he could muster. "That chewing gum case is worth a small fortune, and I was able to follow the leads and clues…"

"It's gone! Oh Dear!" Miss Hendry wailed from behind them.

"What?" Henry was bewildered. "Your Tiffany case is right there…"

Ruth waved off his objection. "Oh the case. That's a trifle," she said dismissively. "The valuable thing was the gum inside! A special formula for chewing gum that will not stick, that her uncle sent to Toronto for analysis. That's the problem with chewing gum you know, it is too sticky…!"

Henry's smile stuck on his face. Oh…oh…

For the second time today he swallowed a wad of gum….

-END-

Thank you to the gracious Lachlan Murdoch. Hope you like the story!

Thanx also to Dutch for taking me, IBD & R, Lovemondays & J, and everyone else from the luncheon for inspiration. -rg