Basil and The Lost Colony Pt 2

Basil and The Lost Colony
A Basil of Baker Street Mystery
by Eve Titus

Transcribed by Skye and edited by E. Grimes

{Ms. Titus's Dedication}
For Mr. Vincent Starrett
Dean of Sherlockian Scholars

Cast of Characters

BASIL an English mouse detective
DR. DAWSON his friend and associate
MRS. JUDSON their mousekeeper
EDVARD HAGERUP a museum mouse
THE FAVERSHAM SISTERS the finders of the clue
CYRIL a stoolpigeon
RELDA a mouse opera star
PROFESSOR RATIGAN arch villain
BIG TUPPY AND RUSSMER the villain's helpers
ELMO THE GREAT a kindhearted St. Bernard
THE ADORABLE SNOWMOUSE a shaggy mouse

Mouse Mountaineers (alphabetically):
LORD ADRIAN
MAHARAJAH OF BENGISTAN
ANTOINE CHERBOU
TILLARY QUINN
YOUNG RICHARD
VINCENZO STARRETTI*

VILLAGERS
GANGSTERS
TELLMICE

(*Named after Mr. Starrett, in Ms. Titus' dedication above. ~Editors' Note )

Part II

Chapter 4:
Basil Goes to Prison

None of the humans aboard the Channel steamer bound for France noticed two tiny stowaways. We disembarked at Calais, and headed southward on borrowed bicycles.

Near the Swiss border we met another cyclist, Inspector Antoine Cherbou of the Paris policemice, whose sleuthing skill was second only to Basil's. He was a fellow member of the International Society of Mouse Mountaineers (henceforth referred to as the ISMM).

We lunched at noon on a grassy slope. Cherbou gave us some creamy Brie, the queen of French cheeses. It was so delicious that I fear we stuffed ourselves.

Afterward, I lay back and admired the sky-blue sky. The Inspector worked on his weekly newspaper column, Of Mice and Music, and Basil unclasped his knife.

"I studied the flute in my youth," he remarked, "and shall whittle a flute from this willow wand."

"Capital!" said I. "It will be a welcome change from your vile violin-playing!"

He had finished the flute by the time we reached Käsedorf, a small mouse village cut into a cliffside.

We registered at a quaint inn, the Englischer Hof, and rested in our rooms. Then we stood on the terrace, awed by the mountains, all purple and gold in the dusk.

The Mayor himself interrupted our reverie.

"Welcome to Käsedorf! I bring a message from our Police Chief Brunner, who has jailed two British mice. He suspects they belong to Ratigan's gang, but they insist their names are Dickson and Carr."

Basil frowned. "Hmm. They must be Big Tuppy and Russmer, the only two I didn't capture. Mayor, may I spend the night in their cell, in disguise? If they let slip any information about the Professor, I might be able to snare him now, before he can cause trouble for my Lost Colony Expedition. I'll postpone the Faversham interview until tomorrow."

The Mayor agreed, and Basil went into the next room.

We scarcely recognized the plump gypsy peddler who emerged, so perfect was his disguise.

At the jail, Chief Brunner hustled Basil down a corridor. He unlocked a cell and gave my friend a push that sent him sprawling to the stone floor.

"Pig of a smuggler!" screamed Brunner, and left.

Basil told me later that he recognized his cellmates at once as Big Tuppy and Russmer. He began to brag about his smuggling gang. Impressed, they boasted of the Professor's new gang, and invited him to join. Basil felt he was making headway.

Then a stone sailed through the bars, with a note wrapped around it. The robbers read it and grinned.

"The masquerade's over, Basil of Baker Street!" said Big Tuppy. "Ratigan's on to you!"

"He outsmarted you," said Young Russmer. "He's at the Faversham's now, asking questions."

Tuppy clouted Russmer on the jaw. "Fool! Why did you tell him where the Professor went?"

Alarmed, Basil summoned the guard and was released.

Together we left the police station, running rapidly toward the Faversham house. My friend had not even stopped to get out of his disguise.

Would we be in time? Would the two gentle sisters tell the Professor just where they had met the Snowmouse? And what if the sisters should refuse to talk? Would the rascally Ratigan harm them?

All these questions rushed through my mind as Basil and I went hurry-scurrying down one cobblestoned street after another.

Chapter 5:
Missing-Flora and Fauna!

The lights were lit in the Faversham house, but no one answered our knock, and the door was ajar.

We entered upon a scene of wildest disorder! Overturned chairs and tables showed that a struggle had taken place.

"Methinks I smell a rat," said Basil, "-a rat named Ratigan! Where are Flora and Fauna Faversham?"

He wasted no time, but whipped out his magnifying lens and began examining the room, sometimes stooping, sometimes lying flat on the floor. He reminded me of a foxhound looking for a lost scent.

"Dawson! The stolen Turkish arrow!"

It was transfixed on the wall about a tall cabinet.

"Help me move this heavy cabinet," said Basil.

Together we pushed and tugged. When the wall was exposed, we saw several rows of neat printing.

Basil took out a tape measure, and applied it to the wall from floor to the top row of letters.

He nodded in satisfaction. "Mr. Holmes once said that when a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads him to write above the level of his own eyes. The mouse who wrote this began a little above his eye level, so he is about five inches tall. Ratigan fits this description, being rather tall for a mouse."

In utter bewilderment, I was staring at the message, of which I could make neither head nor tail.

I reproduce it below for the reader:

ANUA
FDNAAR
OLFD
NIFD
LUOC
SEMLO
HKCO
LRE
HSNE
VETON

"It resembles an eye chart," I remarked.

"It's no eye chart, but a cipher, or code, as it is often erroneously termed. The Professor is a mathematical wizard, so no doubt this one will be devilishly difficult to decipher."

"Looks impossible to me," said I.

"Rubbish! Nothing is impossible, if one but uses one's brain properly."

He copied the message in his notebook, and then sprawled in a chair, long legs crossed before him.

I knew better than to talk at a time like this. His brow furrowed again and again in concentration.

Then he leaped to his feet. "How stupid of me! I reacted just as the Professor expected. He knew I'd waste precious time seeking the key to a complicated cipher. Here, Dawson-read it. It's as easy as ABC!"

"Seems more like XYZ," I confessed. "You'll think me dense, but I am still in the dark."

"Why, it's elementary! This is commonly called a transposition code. Writing itself is about six thousand years old. This position code dates back to 500 B.C., when it was used by generals of the Spartan army."

"Spartan to you, but Greek to me. Basil, I give up!"

"Bah! Read it backward from the bottom."

I obeyed, but the words, as before, made no sense.

"NOTEV ENSH ERL OCKH OLMES--"

"Stop right there!" ordered the detective. "The last word was OLMES, which reminds you of--"

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

"Precisely. The H that belongs with OLMES may be found in the preceding word. Now I shall write it down backward, breaking up the words properly."

Quickly he copied the letters, and then drew several slanting lines. The message was now clear:

NOT/EV EN/SH ERL OCK/H OLMES/ COUL D/FIN D/FLO RA/AND/F AUNA

"Then he has spirited them away," I said.

"Beast! Brute! Bully!" cried Basil angrily.

"Cur! Coward! Cad!" cried I, just as angrily.

"Rogue! Rascal! Ruffian!" cried Basil, dashing outside. "Name-calling will get us nowhere--I must find their trail at once!"

He got down on all fours and studied muddied footprints in the moonlight, then raced into the woods.

I followed. His methods were remarkable. Broken boughs, tangled bushes, twigs--all held meaning.

He pointed to a thread on a tree trunk, and smiled.

"Pink! Favored by the female of the species!"

The trees grew fewer, and the forest ended. We stood on a cliff, high above a lake.

Voices came thinly to us over the water.

"HELP! SAVE US! We cannot swim!"

Ten feet from shore was a raft, rocked by rising waves. On it sat the frightened Favershams!

Half-running, half-creeping, we plunged down the face of the cliff. Wading up to our waists in the water, we reached the raft and pushed it to shore.

Basil, still disguised as a Gypsy, introduced himself.

Tearfully the sisters told how Ratigan and his gang had set them adrift, after they had refused to talk.

"But we'll talk to you, Basil." Said Miss Flora. "We saw the Snowmouse high on Mount Emmentaler."

"He must live near the summit," added Miss Fauna.

"Mount Emmentaler!" cried Basil. "The mountain no mouse has yet conquered! The Lost Colony Expedition may be the first to reach the summit!"

"The Professor's expedition has taken practice climbs on the lower slopes," said Miss Flora. "They have even seen the Adorable Snowmouse!"

Miss Fauna nodded. "The gangsters said they set a trap for the creature, but one of their own mice was trapped instead, and the Snowmouse got away."

Basil sighed. "I haven't even had time to form my own expedition. However, it shouldn't prove difficult. The ISMM is meeting at the Englischer Hof tonight. I shall ask for volunteers."

In excellent spirits, we left the Favershams at their door, and made our way back to the inn.

Chapter 6:
Events at the Englischer Hof

Basil entered our rooms as a Gypsy, but emerged as a detective, in deerstalker cap and Inverness cape.

The ISMM members had just elected a new president, Maestro Vincenzo Starretti, a musical conductor of note.

Seeing us enter, he said, "We are honored by the presence of a past president. ISMM members, I give you the Sherlock Holmes of the Mouse World!"

Everyone sat erect, awaiting Basil's words.

"Fellow summit-seekers! I am about to attempt the impossible-the discovery of the Lost Colony. I believe that today's Tellmice dwell in some hidden valley, and that the Adorable Snowmouse will lead us to them!

"In 1852 a man, the Chief Indian Computer, estimated Mount Everest's height. Last year I surveyed our own Emmentaler, by the same method, observing the summit from six different places, miles away. I measured the angles with theodolites, which are like telescopes, and averaged my figures. Roughly, Emmentaler stands 9,000 feet to Everest's 29,000. As Everest is to man, so Emmentaler is to mice-the eternal challenge! What brave mountaineers will join my expedition?"

Every mouse present raised his paw! After interviewing the best climbers, Basil signaled for silence.

"Tomorrow I'll post the names of those chosen. I wired ahead for supplies and equipment, which are already stored in the innkeeper's barn. I need a day to supervise the packing. We depart at dawn on the day following. My thanks to all of you."

After the applause, Starretti announced a surprise.

"I have conducted many operas starring the famous mouse soprano, Relda. Here on holiday, she has kindly consented to sing for us. Introducing--Relda!"

She was a little beauty--her fur was flecked with gold, as were her eyes. Her throat was golden, too.

At the piano the Maestro accompanied her admirably, never overshadowing that creamy, exquisite voice.

She gave us Brahms and Schubert, and then began the Bell Song, from the opera Lakmé.

As though in a trance, Basil ascended the platform, and joined in with his flute, playing flawlessly.

In the beautiful passage where voice and flute harmonize, he blended his trills so perfectly with hers that I could not tell one from the other.

As one mouse we rose, shouting, "Bravo! Bravo! BRAVISSIMO!"

She encored with the Laughing Song, from Die Fledermaus, and the Well-Tempered Yodeler, by Cherbou.

But no sooner did the last pearly echo die away than there were cries of "FIRE! FIRE!"

Calm prevailed. Visitors and villagers passed pails from paw to paw until the flames were extinguished.

Ten minutes later the innkeeper came seeking Basil.

He was greatly agitated. "Good sir! I bring bad news. While we were all fighting the fire, thieves entered my barn. Your equipment has been stolen!"

Basil sprang to his feet. "Fool that I was! I should have had the barn guarded. It takes no genius to know who masterminded this theft--Professor Ratigan!"

Outside the barn he scanned the ground. "Alas, a certain set of tracks is all too familiar."

I did not answer. My nose was directing me elsewhere, toward an enchanting aroma.

My legs led me on, and soon I saw what I had been sniffing--a hill of cheese as high as my knees!

Blissfully I bent over the great golden mound, my mouth watering in anticipation.

"STOP! IT'S A TRAP!"

Basil came running up. Slowly and cautiously he poked at the cheese with a long stick.

I heard the click of two steel jaws, and the stick snapped in two! Concealed beneath the cheese was the deadly mechanism so dreaded by mice! We shuddered to our tailtips. One false move and--!!!

Basil said grimly, "The Professor knew we'd come. To think that a mouse would use a mousetrap against his own kind! How low can one sink?"

Back in our rooms I remarked, "He has supplies and a head start. Will there be much delay?"

"Heaven knows! Our huge order emptied the local shops. New supplies may not arrive for several days. When they do, I must see to the sorting and packing. Now I shall have to stay up all night deciding upon a basic plan of operation for the entire expedition."

And he did just that, as his tired eyes testified the next day. He posted the list of picked expeditioneers, and we went gloomily in to breakfast. I noticed the Mayor and a group approaching our table.

The Mayor's words turned our sadness to gladness!

The good mice of Käsedorf had gone from house to house, collecting every single item we needed!

"More than enough for an expedition," said the Mayor. "After all, climbing is our national sport. And many of our climbers must save their strength for the heights, where every step is a mighty effort."

Basil rose. "Dear Mice of Käsedorf! You are all leagued together in kindness, and I hereby name you the Kindhearted League. I'll bring the Tellmice back, and make your little town world-famous!"

The supplies were piled in the public square-tents, boots, sleeping bags, rope ladders, stoves, clothes, medicines, and food-fresh and in tins, from cheese to chocolate bars. There was even a metal sectional ladder Basil had designed some years back.

He said we would depart at dawn, and told the expeditioneers to relax at the inn. Basil and I stayed to supervise the bearers as they packed the loads.

The ravishing Relda appeared. She said she had scaled many peaks, and that Emmentaler fascinated her.

"Basil, may I join your expedition? I won't be any trouble, and I'll do all the mending and darning."

He patted her paw. "My dear, I regret to refuse one so fair. But my mice would pay more heed to your charms than to their mission. And what if you should catch cold? For the sake of your public--stay home!"

The singer stalked off in tears.

"Mending and darning indeed!" muttered Basil. "Does she think we are off on a Sunday school picnic? This expedition is for males only!"

End Part II

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