Summery:
It’s been a few years since Basil managed to defeat London’s Napolitano of crime; Professor Ratigan. Now there is a new terror stalking the streets of London and that has ever the famous baker street detective at a loss. Now Basil must discover what possible connection could exist connecting himself, his former nemesis, a pretentious diva, and the Phantom of London together before it is too late. Biased clearly on Disney’s ‘grate mouse detective’ and greatly influenced by the original works of Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle, as well as movies, and the ledged of Jack the ripper.
Warning : contains some violence, suggestive themes, and crude language.
A note from the Author:
First the official sounding stuff…Obviously I do not own any of the characters used within this story, and those characters that would be deemed ‘original’ I would like to credit to Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle, since they are based primarily on his works. Also, on a personal note, I would like to apologies in advance for any misspellings in the work. I am extremely dyslexic and though I try my best to spell-check, it really is quite hard. I’m also a little to embarrassed by my work to actually ask for help from anyone who knows me. So please be kind and if you can give me a bit of feedback, constructive or positive, I really want to know what you think and where you think it should go.
Thank you all
Basil of Baker Street and the London Phantom
Chapter 1
The chief inspector of Scotland Yard shook his head, overlooking the scene. This was a mess, no way around it. Removing his spectacles the mouse rubbed the bridge of his large brown nose with forefinger and thumb, letting out an irritated sigh. He checked his pocket watch in annoyance, clicking it shut and turning to the seven other officers on the scene. They had sent for the famous detective almost forty-five minuets ago and despite the early hour a handful of inquisitive passersby were leaning up against the police barricade in an attempt to get a better look at what all the fuss was about.
The somewhat portly mouse returned the spectacles to his nose and straightened his uniform. He snapped his fingers and immediately one of the officers was by his side offering a solute. “I need to get a few more officers on crowed control and if at all possible try to keep the press away from this one.” The officer gave another salute and began barking orders to the others in the company.
This was becoming a mess. This was the third body in the past four months, and there remained no leads, no solid evidence, nothing. To top it off the press had gone and made the entire event into a media free for all, a practical circus. Not a day went by where some paper or another wasn’t questioning the competence of Scotland yard, or stirring up public opinion by asking the ritorical ‘who will be next.’ It was just unbearable.
A sharp howl broke through the morning still of the London streets and the Chief turned to see a hound dog dashing towards them through the smog, approaching at a rapid pace. Ordering the officers to clear a path in the growing crowd of onlookers the inspector waited somewhat impatiently as the dog bolted through, coming to a skidding stop before him. “Woe, Toby old boy…” came the call from above. Panting and wagging his tail the familiar hound lowered it head and Detective Basil of Baker street slid down from his perch to the street. “Good morning, good morning” he began, straightening out his frockcoat adjusting his hat before looking around to get his bearings.
“Basil, what in bloody hell took you” the Chief of police demanded, approaching the somewhat eccentric mouse in a huff. “My utmost apologies” the other began, turning to face the inspector with the nonchalant air of a mouse who had just been asked the time of day. “but to expect a mouse to be awake and prepared at such an ungodly hour, why its positively criminal” the portly mouse opened his mouth in protest then closed it again, giving the tall detective a knowing yet irritated glance. If he knew Basil, and he had in fact worked with the mouse on several large cases in the past three years, he was up and ether out investigating or scouting the area before making his way to the crime scene.
“Well…” Basil began, a slightly sterner look overtaking his usual cheeky grin “shall we take a look at the most resent misfortune?” The Chief nodded and led him around a corner, behind the line of officers, to an area blocked of from the publics view.
The scene was a gruesome one to say the least, and the chief managed to even catch a glimpse of the detective wincing at the sight, wrinkling his long nose. “My god” he managed, folding his arms and trying to get over the initial shock. “the victim has yet to be identified, though were beginning to suspect that there is no rhyme or reason to the culprits selection” Basil shook his head, his eyes still fixed on what was left of the young mouse before him. “on the contrary” he began, as if speaking to himself “the mind is such that ever in chaos we always manage to create order and justification…its only random because we cant see the connection.” Approaching the body and removing a small handkerchief, holding it to his nose as he bent down to examine what remained of the small female who’s eyes were frozen wide in death with a look of shock and terror. “Has anyone else touched or inspected the body”
“No, I made sure you were the first, as requested”
“Good, good, and what about the press”
The other mouse shrugged and shook his head in disgust. “We have done what we could for crowd control, but I don’t know how some of the papers are getting there information.” The detective merely shrugged. “More then likely they have a connection inside the force or there could be a possible leak.” He looked back over at the Chief solemnly “that’s why I insist those involved with the case be kept to an absolute minimum. Now, any witnesses, suspicious figures, anything of that sort” Basil asked, his eyes fixed on the victim with that intense stare of his. “Unfortunately, no, once again there was nothing. The body was discovered by the night watchmen just before dawn.” He paused, watching the detective take a small knife like instrument from his pocket and begin to poke and prod various cuts in the woman’s’ neck and chest. He cringed noticeably at the detectives morbid inquiry but said nothing about to. Not for the first time he marveled at Basils ability to approach all subjects from a completely detached standpoint. “There are rumors going about that this may be the work of some feline in the area, at any rate it would fit parts of the profile and…”
“I don’t believe so” the detective cut him off, standing and moving to the other side of the body. “The instrument used, though obviously far to blunt to be a proper knife, can be wielded with a precision and accuracy too clean to be done with a claw. Furthermore the positions of the cuts remain at vital areas that are consistent with many medical dissections I have overseen.” Basil crouched down again and examined the poor creatures left ear. “Our culprit is escalating, becoming more comfortable with his skill and abilities.” He looked down at the gaping hole in the woman’s chest once more. “He’s taunting us…” he paused, leaning in and replacing the handkerchief to his nose, pulling a section of the woman’s stomach aside in order to get a better view. Basil raised an eyebrow before leaning back once more “and he’s taking more personal souvenirs”
Basil stood up, walking over to the chief, wrapping the knife like instrument in the handkerchief and put them both back into his pocket. “I am going to want the full report from the medical autopsy, but judging by the placement and what little I can see…the woman is missing her liver and possibly part of her lung”
There was a long silence as the portly mouse tried to wrap his mind around that concept. “my god Basil, what kind of a monster are we dealing with.” The detective merely shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, I can’t say. What I can tell you is the culprit is undoubtedly unbalanced, however I’m sure that comes as no surprise.” He looked up at some of the other officers that were within earshot. The chief lowered his own voice, looking at Basil over his spectacles. “That’s not all is it?” the detective shook his head “it never is.” Basil replied, looking slightly weary “however that’s all I am willing to discus out here in the public eye”
With that the famous detective turned and made his way out towards the street and his anxiously waiting canine that was beginning to wine in confusion. “Remember inspector, I want that autopsy report and anything else you might find, no matter how seemingly insignificant” the squat mouse followed after him, a little concerned as his abrupt departure. “Wait a moment, Basil, don’t you want to see…”
“I’ve seen all I need to inspector,” he called back over his shoulder, walking through the crowed of onlookers, the throng parting as he approached allowing him through unhindered. “Now if you don’t mind I have a few other issues to attend to.” Placing his fingers to his lips he whistled a quick high-pitched chirp and his faithful hound came tromping to his side, lowering his head in order that Basil could climb aboard.
And that was that, he had come, he had seen and now he was gone, off no doubt on some manner of lead that no one in his unit could possibly comprehend. The chief sighed as the dog and its master disappeared down the cobblestone street. Turing back to the growing mass of onlookers he shook his head, whipping hi brow with his own handkerchief the he pulled from his pocket. This was going to be an unbearably long day, and he didn’t need Basil of Baker Street’s master detective skills to deduce it..
Cool story. But, could you write another GMD fanfic about Basil who has major depression that can lead to heart disease right now? Okay? (heart disease is the leading cause of death you know.)
Chapter II
Dr. David Q. Dawson made his way up the handful of steps to a small door tucked neatly away off the side of the street. Over the little entrance was engraved the numbers 221 B, a landmark that was, as it had always been, both a welcome and a reminiscent sight. Taking out a key from his breast pocket he made to open the door and was surprised to find that it was already unlocked. Carefully the good doctor let himself in and hesitantly looked about, surprised to find that for a Saturday the room was remarkably…quiet. There was no hissing and bubbling of an overactive chemistry set, no pacing footsteps or ecstatic jabbering, not even the sound of the famous detectives almost equally famous violin. It was simply and inexplicably…quiet.
Doctor Dawson stood for a long moment, not sure whether or not to enter, wondering if his friend had stepped out in a rush, or been called away on some hereto unmentioned case and in his haste neglected to properly lock his abode. However both prospects were highly unlike Basil, and if Basil was anything, he was consistent…well to a point. “Hello?” Dawson called into the thick quiet of the room, closing the door slowly behind him as he made his way into the house.
“Good morning Dawson” came the almost weary response from the armchair by the fire. Dawson blinked; somewhat bewildered that he had completely overlooked his old friend as he sat. Stepping up to the chair facing his old friend Dawson looked the detective over silently, at his bent posture and thin fingers laced together. The good doctor knew that look, and it hit him with a heavy heart. “There was another attack last night” Dawson commented, a slight fatigue of his own pulling at his voice. “And I can only assume there was little or no new evidence to be had.” Basil looked up once more and nodded “Very astute Doctor” he said with a soft smile, gesturing for him to sit and join him. “There was indeed another attack, sometime between three and four this very morning. The body was discovered by the night watchman fortunately for us, giving Scotland Yard a chance to secure the area before it could be tampered with once more.” Basil added this last part with a touch of distaste to his voice. It would not be the first time the media had interfered or otherwise disrupted a crime scene, and after the sly remarks the press had made questioning Basil’s competency in regards to the case, Dawson really could not blame him for his distaste.
Dawson sat with a sigh of his own. The case of the ‘London Phantom’ as the news papers had come to call it, had become a topic of uncomfortable discussion. In all his time with Basil, the countless cases, the endless hours spent both on the street and in the lab, never had he seen his friend so distort and desperate for an answer. “Confound it all, it just makes no sense…” Dawson mumbled, more to himself then his companion who had resumed his pensive glare into the unlit fire place. Basil nodded slowly, as if in agreement before responding. “It must Dawson, at least on some level; we just can’t see it yet.”
There was a long pause before Basil seemed to shake himself out of his pensive trance. Glancing over at his friend he smiled “I almost forgot…” removing a slender object wrapped in a handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it over to the other mouse. “I would like to thank you for the scalpel you lent; it proved to be quite a useful tool indeed.” Dawson took the scalpel, examining the tool in its cloth rapping as if it in itself my hold some vital clue. “You know Basil, it is just as likely that these cases are unrelated. I mean the extent of the violence and the regions in which they were committed could suggest some kind of group activity.”
Basil smiled at his friends deduction but shook his head “This is the same man doctor; there’s no doubt in my mind about that.” Basil sat back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “All three victims, though they were killed in various locals and manners all exhibit the same factors. One, they were all disassembled in a manner that was both organized and highly skilled. Our attacker is therefore very familiar with anatomy. Furthermore the basic structure of the kills were planed much in the same way. They were all taken to an obscure location, presumably by there own accord since there has been no report of any struggles or conflicts between these poor creatures and any other person at the time. Finally, all three were attacked from behind and were most likely alive when their attacker began the gruesome deed.” Basil paused for a moment, tipping his head inquisitively to one side. “What do you make of it Doctor?” he asked softly, eyes closed in concentration. There was a long silence as the other mulled this information over in his head.
Dawson snorted gently “very little I’m afraid, only that we must be missing some key component” the other nodded slowly. “I’m afraid that’s as far as I got as well” admitted the detective. “What perplexes me most about the case is the subtle nuances that are beginning to change in the attackers behavior, particularly in this most recent victim.”
“Subtle nuances s?” Dawson repeated, not entirely sure he followed. “Yes, there are a handful of new behavioral patterns that just don’t seem to follow any of the previous models. Most notably I suppose it his preoccupation with, of all things, the victims’ vital organs.” Dawson shudders at this last reminder. True, they had been both been over the previous cases quite thoroughly, and the gruesome details of missing and dismembered body parts were quite difficult for even a doctor of his standing to stomach. “And there has been some change in his…obsession” Dawson pressed, not entirely sure he wished to know the answer. Basil simply nodded, “not so much a change as an addition I believe…the attacker took the poor girls earring as well as her liver and possibly part of her lung.”
“An earring you say?” Repeated the good Doctor, just as dumbstruck as before. “Quite right, though why this would be of any importance to him now is far beyond me.” Dawson simply shook his head. “But couldn’t it have just fallen of, or been lost or something to that effect…” it was Basil turn to shake his head. “Only one earring was found at the sight, still in the victims’ ear. The metal I observed was made a false gold I believe, and is known to leave a soft black residue around the place where it is put on. The opposing ear did show marks that the earring had in face been warn quite recently and, judging by the size of the remaining, it was not the kind of peace a young mouse would easily forget she was wearing.”
“I...see” Dawson managed, not quite sure saw anything. The other frowned and tipped his head back, staring back at the ceiling. “Oh what a twisted world these times of ours have come to show…” Basil mumbled, almost with a touch of the dramatic. Dawson could only role his eyes at his friends’ half hearted attempt at a philosophical commentary. Basil had never been one for philosophy, but rather for facts, and they both knew it. Again the two fell into silence, Basil with his head tipped back and Dawson returning his attention to the small surgical device he still held in one hand.
Basil face broke out into a weary grin as he looked back at Dawson, finally breaking the silence “On to a more pleasant note, how is your dear Rose as of late.” Dawson could not help but return his old friends smile. “Quite fine” he answered, sitting back himself. Rose was the pet name the doctor had created for the woman who had recently accepted his hand in marriage, becoming Rosemary Janet Dawson. The two had been happily married for six months now and, though Dawson had moved out of the detectives humble abode, he still made a habit to stop by 221 B baker street at least five times a week, if not more.
“I’m very glad to hear it Dawson, very glad indeed” the detective beamed at his friend, and was just in the process of opening his mouth once more when there came a soft nock at the front door. Both mice turned, surprised that there should be a caller this early in the day, but then again this was the residence of the worlds most famous detective and Dawson had known him to be called upon at the most ungodly hours and almost always with little or no warning.
Basil excuse himself, a slight irritation hanging about his voice once again as he shuffled past piles of books, maps, papers, vials, and other random paraphernalia that seemed to perpetually clutter the little apartment. As Basil left Dawson turned his attention back to the scalpel, absentmindedly turning it over and over again as he contemplated this new information Basil had disclosed to him. Distantly he could hear Basil thank whoever it was at the door and, closing it, return to his seat across from the good doctor. “Who was that Basil” He inquired, looking up from his contemplation of the surgical instrument. In his hand Basil held a small white letter, sealed with a wax imprint and the detective name printed elegantly upon the other side. “A courier boy with a summons no doubt, based on the urgency the boy handed it too me…” Breaking the seal Basil began to reading over the message with a keen eye.
“Well…” Basil announced after a long moment, holding the letter back as if trying to get a better look at it. “That is something now isn’t it” Dawson raised an eyebrow of his own, staring in quite a bit of confusion at the other who’s voice now carried a slight edge of excitement. “Well, dash it all Basil, what does it say” he added, not at all liking to be left in the dark. Basil handed the note over, quite amused with himself. “Apparently Dawson, we are being summoned by a Mr. Edward Laurence, the manager of the Royal Opera house, on behalf of a very illustrious figure”
“You don’t say” quickly Dawson pulled out his spectacles from his breast pocket and proceeded to read the letter with a bit more urgency.
Mr. S.J Basil
The Royal Opera house of London would wish to solicit your services on the behalf of Madam Renee Bernard. With this morning’s most unfortunate event some strange happenings at the opera house now take on a far more sinister nature and it is now imperative that a solution is reached for the safety off both our staff and patrons. We request your presence here at the Royal Opera House at the noon hour where the case may be discussed more openly. Madam Bernard and I currently look forward to your presence here.
Mr. Edward Laurence
Manager and Proprietor R.O.H
Dawson blinked in amazement, reading over the short note once more “Madam Renee Bernard…‘the’ Renee Bernard.” He managed, looking up at Basil. “I know of no other, though I must confess that opera is hardly one of my expertises.” His eyes were ablaze where moment before they had been somber and distort. It always surprised the doctor how fast the others moods seemed to swing from one extreme to another and back again. “This is exactly what we have been waiting for Dawson, the very thing” he was saying, snatching the note back and reading it over once more as he dashed to find his infamous brown frock. “Come Dawson, the games afoot, we have much to do…very much to do indeed”
Chapter III
It was quite a rear event indeed for the two of them to travel by stagecoach, for Basil always preferred Toby’s speed and vigor. However, with the nature of the case being what it was Dawson had actually convinced his old friend that a touch of subtlety might be more inline, and grudgingly Basil agreed, much to the doctors’ delight. At twelve noon precisely Basil and Dawson leapt off the foot of the stagecoach as it passed by the corner of Floral and Bow Street, and made there way towards the main entrance of the Royal Opera House. There waiting for them was a tall thin mouse with a tuft of unkempt hair and a set of small spectacles perched atop his crooked nose. The poor creature seemed quite a mess of nerves, ringing his hands together and looking about in quick small gestures as if expecting the world at large to come crashing down around him at any moment. “Mr. Edward Laurence I presume” called out Basil as they approached the nerves figure. The other mouse jumped slightly and turned to face them “w-why yes, that’s me, but how did you…”
“Detective Basil of Baker street at your service,” Basil cut off the other with a smile and a quick firm shake of the hand. “And my associate of coarse, Dr. Dawson. We have reason to believe you were in need of our expertise” at the pure mention of Basils’ name Mr. Laurence’s face lit up as a weary smile replaced the anxious scowl. “Detective, I can not thank you enough for your timely response.” He said, turning to shake Dawson by the hand in turn. “I am grateful, ever so grateful that you have come. I’m at my wits end and you must understand with the news this morning I felt it imperative that something be done.” As he spoke the nervous opera manager began to usher them in quickly, looking about as if he expected the shadows to have eyes. “Well, we are quite glade to be of some assistance” assured Dawson as they entered the Main hall of the opera house, marveling at the managers nerves manor.
The entrance hall was quite lavish, with baroque engravings of gold and marble running all up and across the large columns and stunning archways. One large set of carpeted stares lay directly ahead of them with four large doors to the lower audience chamber spaced evenly around it. The stares themselves split half way up leading to two separate landings and another set of door that one would assume led the balcony of the house. Dawson himself could not help but stop and marvel at the architectural grandeur of the hall. Basil didn’t seem to notice a thing. “Now, as your post was quite indefinite I was quite hoping that you would be able to enlighten us as to a handful of particulars.”
“But of coarse” said the opera manager, removing his spectacles and cleaning them with a small handkerchief he had removed from his pocket in his quick and uneasy fashion. Replacing them on his nose he seemed to straiten before he began. “The events I speak of began almost nine weeks ago, before the arrival of Madam Bernard. At first it was nothing more then the appearance of a handful of newspaper clippings and the like, with information pertaining to the Phantom case. A few of them even had statements underlined and other blacked out. Each one would appear tacked to the backstage door each morning and was usually found by one of my performers or stage hands. It was strange to say the least, but I thought nothing more of it. I figured that it was nothing more then some kid prankster with too much time on his young hands.”
“And did you keep any of these news clippings?” Interrupted Basil, brow furrowed as he listened intently. The opera manager shook his head. “Not a one, as I stated before, I thought nothing of them a simply discarded the lot of them” Basil nodded; looking a bit disappointed, but determined none the less, gestured for the other to continue.
“Well, Mr. Basil, as I mentioned I thought very little of it, but a handful of my girls, upon seeing the notes became quite unsettled by them. Actors, you see are a suspicious and fickle lot and word reached me that there were those in the cast prepared to quit if something was not done to settle these bazaar happenings. I agreed to look into the matter, and that night I had my stage manager and a handful of men watch the back door from obscure locations. The night passed, and my men reported not a peep from the back ally where the door in question was located. I thanked them for their troubles as I dismissed them for the day, made my way to my office, and unlocked my door. Imagine my surprise when I found tacked to the inside of my own office door yet another of the infamous newspaper clippings. This unsettled me greatly you see, for I make it a habit to lock my office whenever I am not about, and the only other soul to have a key is my stage manager, a mouse of outstanding character who I would trust with my own life if the case should arise. He and I discussed the problem at length and decided not to draw attention to it with a police investigation or any further inquires to the matter. My cast was now at ease, the production coming along smoothly, and since nothing seemed to be taken or out of place we saw no reason to attract any more attention to the case.
“After that night and the strange events of my office the news clippings ceased to appear all together. Not a one was found ether in my office or on the backstage door. I breathed a sigh of relief, believing that our young mystery news man had ether been caught or had decided that the game was not worth pursuing if his quarry refused to play by his rules. Then six weeks ago, when Madam Bernard arrived for rehearsals the second and more ominous omen presented itself. Rehearsal had just ended and I was on my way back to the office to complete the write ups of some financial statement I had been working on when Miss Bernard stopped me herself. She seemed quite distressed and wished to know who had been in her privet quarters. I informed her that no one had; her room was strictly off limits to all members of the opera house, as was her right.
“Madam Bernard was not convinced however and she led me to her dressing room and pointed to her vanity. On the large makeup mirror, written in what appeared to be in chalk or grime of some kind were the letters ‘R,i,P’ arranged so that the two outside letters were written as capitals, and the middle in a lower fount. Below this was the word ‘Ausretsev’, and below that the initials ‘P.L’. On the vanity itself, all of the Madams jewelry and makeup were thrown about, laving one clear space in which rested a single red flower. The whole affair was quite strange indeed, and poor Madam Bernard seemed quite shaken up about the affair. Despite my insistence however she refused to notify Scotland Yard. ‘After all the last thing this performance needs is the negative publicity’ she had remarked, and all things being equal, I had to agree with her deduction.
“The incident was hushed up and nothing more was said of the matter. Miss Bernard continued to rehearse as if nothing was amiss, and soon the incident became nothing more then a simple joke amongst some of the backstage hands. I however could not shake this feeling of impending doom you see, and was constantly on edge. For the last six weeks my fears seemed to be unfounded, but last night Mr. Basil, it all changed and now I have been place in quite a state.” The mouse paused in his narrative, looking as if he was on the verge of a breakdown simply through the retelling of the strange events. It took him a good minuet or two to compose himself and complete his strange story.
“The opera opened last night to a full house as expected, and the show was going just swimmingly up until the third act. The scene opens on a duel and halfway though the song a shot is to be fired, killing the antagonist. The curtain was brought up and all was going well until the false starter gun intended to replicate the needed sound was fired almost two minuets before the script called for it.
“Fortunately the actors on stage covered for the event quite nicely, and the orchestra soon followed. I however, infuriated with the incompetence of my stage hands, rushed from my box seat and stormed backstage in a fit. ‘What in gods name is going on back here!’ I had bellowed, tearing through the dressing room in order to find the boob reasonable for the blunder. ‘We don’t know sir’ cut in one of the stage hands quickly, rushing to my side. ‘We were never given the cue, the false gun was not fired, it’s still loaded and ready to go…’ I turned on the boy and, snatching the false weapon from his hands I examined it closely, till I was quite sure that it had not, in fact been fired.
“It was there that my stage manager found me. He was in quite a state, looking for all the world as if death itself had graced his presence. ‘Edward, we have a problem.’ He blurted out hastily, grabbing me firmly by the arm and ushering me aside as to have a somewhat privet conversation. ‘What is it?’ I asked ‘you look as if you have scene a cat.’ He shook his head. ‘Alice, one of our choirs girls happened to be looking up into the balcony when the shot was fired and clamed to have seen some kind of ashen smoke coming from one of the privet booths. I sent two of my boys up there to investigate and they brought me back this.’
“It was then he produced a small yellow parchment from his pocket and handed it to me. I have that very same devilish parchment with me now if you care to see it.”
“Most certainly” Basil replied holding out his hand as the other handed it over. Basil glanced over the small paper, brow furrowed before handing it over to Dawson. Taking his spectacles from his own pocket Dawson too read over the small note with the same inquisitive eye.
You had your chance, and now its mine. Rest assured that my task is clear and my constitution resolved. Catch me if you can.
Yours evermore
The London Phantom
“Most peculiar” remarked Dawson as he handed the bit of parchment back to Basil. “But what exactly does it all mean.” The opera manager let out a nervous sigh. “I am afraid that my opera company has placed Madam Bernard in extreme danger.” “How do you figure” interrupted basil, one eyebrow raised. “After the show I had my men search the entire house for where a built might have been fired. It was found on stage, only inches away from where Madam Bernard had been standing at the time. It’s a wonder she did not break character, though she was quite rattled by the event none the less. Still, despite my protest and arguments she refuses to leave, insisting that the show must continue and it is her sworn duty, once a role has been accepted to see it done through till the last performance.”
“A brave soul indeed” remarked Dawson, clearly impressed with the divas dedication. Basil however merely scowled “…or foolish” he added, his ears flat against his head in thought. Mr. Laurence nodded, though to which perspective he was agreeing to, it was hard to say. “Late last night she approached me once more and again beseeched me to keep the authorities out of such matter, worried that the publicity would devastate the shows run, and once again I grudgingly agreed. But with the events of this morning, I knew that something had to be done.” There was a long silence before the famous detective of Baker Street offered the manager a reassuring smile. “At any rate, I believe you have done the right thing. Your case interreges me Mr. Laurence, and you may rest assured that Dr. Dawson and myself well do all in our power to assure that the safety and integrity both of your precious diva and opera house are well attended to.
Mr. Laurence seemed to simply beam in his own nervous fashion, taking the detective by the hand and shaking it once more quite vigorously. “Oh, thank you Mr. Basil, thank you both. You have no idea what a relief it is on my mind knowing that the case has been taken up by your ever so capable hands.” Basil continued to smile at the others enthusiasm. “not at all sir, now if you would be so kind as to show us the opera house itself, as well as the stage and box seats in question I would be most grateful.”
“Of course, of course” the Manager said leading them both through one of the side doors to the right of the grand staircase that led to the main floor of the hall. “But please, I beg you we must be quiet for Madam Bernard is currently rehearsing and prefers not to be interrupted.” Basil nodded his understanding and continued in his cool calculating manor, following directly behind the opera house manager.
But Dawson could detect a hint of something else behind though inquisitive eyes of his. He knew his friend too well, knew that the manor of the writing and the fashion of the case was just such that to Basil it was no longer a simple case of deduction. This mysterious messenger had offered Basil a direct challenge both of cunning and resolve, and Basil was never one to turn down such a tantalizing offer.
…o0O0o…
Note from the author:
I do apologies to those who find my first few chapters a bit dry and long winded. The truth of the matter is I am having fare to much fun attempting to honor the complexity and intricacy of Doyle himself that I’m sure I’m boring many of my readers to death, that is if they care to read this far. At any rate the case should be picking up soon now that the groundwork is set and I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do in writing it. Ta-ta for now then, and keep an eye out for chapter four which should be up shortly in which Basil faces off with what could be the most admirable and the most irritating challenge to date.
