Animated Lust (Rated PG!) - Fanfic - The Adventures of the Great Mouse Detective: Enter Marilyn

The Adventures of the Great Mouse Detective: Enter Marilyn
by Terra

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THE ADVENTURES OF
THE GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE
THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY
A Knock at the Door
In all the years of my acquaintance with the consulting detective, Basil of Baker Street, I had never witnessed a more bizarre series of events than those which followed from the fateful night that Ms. Marilyn Doyle appeared at our doorstep . . .
It was a cold, drizzly autumn evening in Baker Street. Basil was curled up in his high-backed red chair by the fire, lazily playing his violin with a glazed, dreamy look in his eyes. — I pleaded with him to stop using that opium in his pipe but he refused to take my advice claiming that it was one of his few amusements in a state boredom; little did I know that he would soon be permanently rid of his need for such amusement. -- I had just settled myself comfortably into my chair across from Basil's when he turned to me. "Doctor, would you be so good as to answer the door?" he asked sleepily.
"Oh, did someone knock?" I asked, a bit puzzled. Basil didn't reply, but instead he raised a hand, holding up three fingers which he ticked off like seconds and -- at the precise moment he lowered his third finger -- there came a knock at the door. I rushed from my seat to answer it.
A young woman in a stunningly elaborate scarlet dress -- which was made even more noticeable by her stark white fur and yellow-blonde hair — swaggered into our flat, a huge smile across her face. She appeared about twenty-five years of age and had a childish air about her, like she hadn't completely matured into womanhood. Yet, despite her juvenile demeanor, she was amazingly beautiful. Her dramatically arched, black eyebrows accentuated her large brown eyes that glimmered with mischievous mirth as she greeted us. "Hello, darlings! Dr. Dawson, is it?" she asked in her distinctly American accent as she shook my hand.
By her behavior one would have thought that I had known her forever, but I had never laid eyes on the woman before. She then whirled toward my companion. "Basil! Darling! Sweetheart! Lovey!" she cried, tossing her hat which landed on my unfortunate head.
The woman instantly leaped into my associate's lap. "I say!" Basil exclaimed. "Madame, would you kindly remove yourself from my person!"
"Well, well, you're everything they said you'd be! Oh I'm so pleased to meet you!" she cried excitedly. Then she spied the violin held in his hand, which was stretching in vain toward the ceiling.
"Oh! A violin player, eh?" she gasped, snatching it out of his hand.
"Madame! If I may be so bold --" Basil interjected again, but was totally ignored by his guest.
"My, my, your strings are all out of tune! Allow me," she said cheerfully, beginning to adjust the pegs.
"Don't touch that!" Basil gasped, ripping it from her hands while simultaneously standing up and knocking the unfortunate woman to the floor.
To mine and I daresay Basil's astonishment the young lady simply stood up and dusted herself off quite calmly. Gazing serenely at my friend, she said, "You needn't be so touchy, Mr. Basil!"
Basil -- his precious violin safely packed away — straightened his collar and smoothed back his hair. "Forgive me, Madam, for my rudeness," he said sweetly, hoping no doubt, that he hadn't offended her.
"Not at all, old chap!" she said, giving Basil a slap across cheek. "Call us even." The impertinence of the woman! I couldn't believe what I was seeing and simply stood there, aghast. My associate, however, treated it as a challenge. Although I could tell he was vexed, he — as always — retained his professional manor. "Madame, it is painfully obvious to me that you are not the usual breed of woman I often find upon my step." He said smiling. "You are a wealthy girl, unmarried, though you did not start out as such -- wealthy, I mean. You were orphaned, most likely. Then adopted or brought up by a relative -- a man-- a widower or a bachelor, I daresay, which would clearly explain your lack of polishing as you've had no prominent female figure to serve as an example. Am I correct?"
The woman beamed at him. "Ha! You've read me like a book, Mr. Basil. I'm most impressed. However, can you tell me why I have come here tonight?"
"Madame, I am a detective, not a mind reader. But I shall rise to your challenge." He said.
"Oh, I bet you will," she chuckled, elbowing him in the ribs.
Basil raised an eyebrow in mild confusion and then continued, taking up his pipe-- charging it and lighting it. "I must be quite frank Madam, you do present quite a mystery to me. You have not traveled far or you are a person of boundless energy -- of which I have no doubt -- for you have walked in the cold and the damp to visit me, which leads me to believe that you live within four miles, at the most, of Baker Street. If you are truly in need of my help, then whatever troubles you must be of no great importance as you show no signs of strain or stress." He paused momentarily, then added. "Which, Madam, leads me to believe that you have no case which needs solving, but much rather, you have come to me tonight -- of all things -- for employment!"
Basil's voice rang out so loudly at the last word that I myself winced. The lady, however, simply smiled more brightly than ever. "Ah! You prove yourself worthy, Mr. Basil! You undoubtedly noticed my bags sitting on your step, along with my cello -- which you knew I played when you saw the calluses on my finger tips when I was tuning your violin and the rosin streaked across my skirt," she said, brushing away the mark on her dress.
"Quite correct, quite. Dawson, would you be so good as to bring in the lady's bags?" he asked. I started toward the door, glancing over my shoulder and wondering what on earth Basil could be thinking. Luckily, even from the door I could hear what was going on.
"Ma--"
"It's Ms. Marilyn Doyle, Mr. Basil." She interrupted.
"Ms. Doyle, why would you seek to serve me? Not to be rude with you, but how could you possibly be of any use to me?" Basil asked.
A sly look flashed over the woman's bright brown eyes. "Oh, Mr. Basil, I thought you'd never ask." She chuckled.
At that moment a mouse -- huge in size, muscles bulging -- suddenly burst through the door. Vainly I struggled to get away, but the brute had grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and had tossed me — as effortlessly as though I were a pillow — across the room. Basil, at once, rushed the brute, and laid heavily into him with his fists. Basil possessed a great deal of skill, enough even to have been a champion boxer. I fear, however, that it was Basil's light weight that did him in. Though nimble as he was to dodge the brute's blows, when one finally did catch him he was laid flat on the floor in a heap.
I could only watch helplessly through my daze as the villain advanced upon my friend's limp form as he tried in vain to pull himself up from the floor. It was then that Marilyn once more made her presence known. She launched herself into the air and delivered quite a painful looking blow to the monster's face, which sent him staggering backwards, away from Basil. She then catapulted herself onto the giant's shoulders, grabbed him by the ears and yanked backwards as hard as possible. This sent him head over heels to the floor while she somersaulted and landed gracefully on his chest and delivered the final punch which left him cold.
Basil and I starred in astonishment as she bowed dramatically and grinned. "Marilyn Doyle- Martial Arts expert, dancer, musician, actress, adventuress, and -- at your service, Basil of Baker Street. . . . Now, does anyone care for a drink?" she asked sweetly.
Basil promptly fainted.
A New Challenge
Sometime later when Basil had recovered and composed himself, he, Ms. Marilyn, and I sat around the fire sipping tea and nibbling on crumpets. "Are you quite all right now, Mr. Basil?" Marilyn asked cautiously.
"I may look frail, Ms. Doyle, but let me assure you that I am quite resilient. But I would like to know how that ruffian got into my house, Ms. Doyle." Basil asked with a suspicious look and a fatherly, admonishing tone.
Marilyn's face went pink under her fur. "He's my . . . demonstration . . . of sorts, Mr. Basil. I knew you wouldn't realize my talents, unless you saw my abilities for yourself. Please, understand that I never would have let any real harm come to you or the doctor. I am simply eager to prove myself."
"I see. And just why are you so eager to prove yourself to me?" he inquired.
"Well, because my father-or rather, my step-father-said you would be in need of my services."
"And just who, pray tell, is your father to make such assumptions?" my associate asked.
"Professor Robert Morowe." The name was obviously very familiar to Basil, for he smiled and his eyes gleamed.
"Ah, I see. Your stepfather has long been a friend and teacher of mine, Ms. Doyle. He did not, however, reveal to me on any of our many adventures, that he had an adopted daughter."
"If you have traveled so much with him, Mr. Basil, you ought to know that he is a man of few words." Marilyn said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.
"Indeed he was, Ms. Doyle." Basil conceded.
"Please, call me Marilyn." She said brightly.
"In any case, Ms. Doyle, this leaves me with a very singular question. Why did the professor think that I would need your help?" I myself was puzzled by this and eagerly awaited the young lady's answer. However, she seemed to want to give it at her leisure. "I say, it's frightfully hot in here!" she gasped, fanning herself
She jumped up and bustled over to the window and threw it open. Unfortunately, the particular window she'd decided on was right behind a table on which many invaluable articles and news clippings had been placed by the detective.
"No!" Basil cried, leaping out of his chair as a huge gust of wind sent the papers flying in every direction. My companion darted after the papers while Marilyn nearly fell to the floor while trying to conceal her laughter. I stood helplessly by, fearing any help I might give my friend would only cause further chaos.
"Ms. Doyle!" he shouted.
"Marilyn!" she shouted back. "I will be addressed as Marilyn or not at all!"
Basil sucked in a frustrated breath as the papers in his hands were crumpled by his fists. "Marilyn, I would deeply appreciate it if you would not touch my things." He tried to say as calmly as possible.
"How about if I touch you then?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.
Basil's face went slightly pink under his fur. "Ms. Marilyn, might I inquire when you intend on telling me why your father sent you?" he demanded.
"What? Oh yes! Of course!" she said, pulling a small slip of paper from a pocket in her dress. Basil quickly snatched the message out of her hand.
"You could at least say please." She huffed. Basil, however, hadn't heard her. He was pacing about the room, absorbed in the letter.
"Well, what is it Basil?" I finally asked.
He glanced at Marilyn. "Did you perchance read this letter?" he asked.
"Why, no. The professor said it was to be delivered directly to you," she said, sounding as curious as I felt. Basil bit his lip, and looked at me. There was something in his green eyes that concerned me deeply. "I'd better read this to you, Dawson." He said slowly.
Dear Basil,
I bring you the direst of news, my friend.
It was not too long ago that I read in the London Mouse of your defeat of the nefarious Prof. Ratigan. I hate to deprive you of your well-deserved victory, but it seems that the game is not over yet. I cannot tell you much, detective, but I can tell you this from the rat's mouth:
"The crime of the century - of this century and all centuries to come - is in preparation. It will take place before your very eyes, and you will be powerless to prevent it. The world will gape at its immensity. And when they learn that it has come within an arms length of the unconquerable Basil of Baker Street, the world will sneer, the world will ridicule - the world will hound him into oblivion."
I can do naught but send you this and my Marilyn to assist you, detective. Please, be very careful.
Robert Morowe
"Good God, Basil! You don't mean to say that Ratigan survived that fall, do you?" I cried. Basil, however, had either not heard me or had avoided the question for he turned to Marilyn once more.
"When did your father give you this letter?" he asked.
"Why, before he left on his trip to Sussex." Marilyn said.
"And how was he?" Basil pressed on.
"Now that you mention it, he did seem rather unlike himself. Ill at best." Marilyn said, looking suspiciously at my friend and asked, "Why?"
"Because this message wasn't written by the jovial fellow I know your stepfather to be, Ms. Doyle. It was written by someone in the most extreme terror! Note the hasty scrawl - the hand shaking so that it can barely hold the pen! In fact, here, here, and here, the pen has actually dropped from his hand!" Basil cried dramatically, causing the woman to raise her hands to her mouth.
"Ms. Doyle I must know your father's whereabouts at once. His very life hangs in the balance!"
"But I don't know where he is staying, only that he is somewhere in Sussex!" she gasped.
Basil turned toward me, that fire in his eyes that I had often seen before. "Quickly, Dawson! We've not a moment to lose! We must head for Sussex this very night - engage passage immediately!" he cried, grabbing his inverse cape and deerstalker.
As I ran to grab my things, I saw Marilyn do the same. "I'm going with you." She said firmly.
"What?!" Basil's voice rang out. "Most certainly not! This is no business for women!"
Marilyn glared at him. "If my father sent me to protect you, then he had a very good reason for it! I will accompany you and Dr. Dawson and that is final!" she cried as masterfully as Basil himself. She then turned, her things in her hands, and waved down a cab.
"I say, Basil, it seems as though we'll have another for the trip." I said.
"Make that two, Dawson. I had forgotten that Mrs. Judson was on holiday in Sussex." He grumbled, grabbing his pipe.
Logic Versus Fancy
Upon our arrival in Sussex, we took a cab to where Mrs. Judson was staying. We had wired her that night and she, of course, urged us to come, but only if Basil promised not to make a mess of her sister's lodgings.
While we were in our cab, the three of us found ourselves in the most peculiar of conversations. The detective was in one of his deep brooding moods and spoke not a word, his chin resting in his hand. I was accustomed to this behavior and thought nothing of it, but Ms. Doyle seemed to dislike being ignored. "What are you thinking about, Basil?" she asked.
My companion looked up suddenly, his thin body started. It seemed at first that he would berate the woman, but whether he simply lacked the energy or had thought better of it because of her quick temper, he replied in a calm, thoughtful tone;
"Trying to string together two things that, by all sense of logic, cannot be connected what so ever." He said.
"What do you mean, Basil?" I asked.
"Why, my dear doctor, this note from Prof. Morowe and our own Ms. Doyle. How could he know of Ratigan's plot and how would he know that we would need Marilyn's help and why do we need it?"
"Do you suppose he might have been spying on Ratigan?" I asked.
"It wouldn't be of any surprise to me, doctor. My daddy is a man with many secrets and strange projects." She said.
"I fear I have a more negative point of view." Basil said. "I believe that Prof. Morowe is being held hostage and that the note was a desperate warning to me . . ." he said, his voice dying off.
"Basil?" Marilyn asked uncertainly.
"A singular phrase keeps ringing in my ears," Basil said slowly to no one in particular. " ‘The crime of the century -- the next century and all centuries to come -- is in preparation. It will take place before your very eyes…and you will be powerless to prevent it.'"
"So what do you mean to do about it then?" Marilyn asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"Until it chooses to reveal it's nature to me, there's nothing I can do." Basil replied.
Just then, the cab came to a stop. "Oh, I believe we're here." I said as we all hopped off onto the pavement with our bags.
We were greeted, at once by Mrs. Judson, who was stunned by the sight of the young lady accompanying us. "I say, Mr. Basil, who is this lovely young woman you have with you?" she asked in delight.
"Mrs. Judson, this is Ms. Marilyn Doyle. She will be staying with us for a time." Basil explained.
The change that suddenly came over Marilyn was so dramatic that it reminded me of Basil's own violent shifts in personality. She became, in that instant, as much a lady of society as any I had met and Mrs. Judson was absolutely taken with her. "How do you do, Mrs. Judson? Ever so pleased to make your acquaintance," she said sweetly.
"Oh what a charming young lady! Mr. Basil it's about time you forgot about all this bachelor business! Oh, do come in, do come in!" she said happily, leading Marilyn inside.
"Mrs. Judson, I do believe you have the wrong idea --" Basil began to protest.
"Whatever is the matter, darling?" Marilyn asked, wrapping her arms about the detective's arm and batting her eyes at him as we entered the house.
"Don't you ‘darling' me," Basil hissed.
"Tea and cheese crumpets all right my dear?" Mrs. Judson asked.
"Oh, that would be lovely, thank you!" Marilyn cooed.
The moment our landlady left the room, Ms. Doyle pulled a horrid face at Basil and skipped merrily over to a chair, flopped down, kicked off her shoes and propped her feet up while lighting a cigarette.
"You're incorrigible!" Basil growled, rubbing his temples.
"Aw, sit down and have a smoke, Basil. You really mustn't be so high-strung. You'll work yourself into an early grave." She said winking at him.
"I think I shall, and with a shot of Brandy, if you please, Dawson." Basil sighed, sinking down into another chair, still massaging his forehead.
I returned a few moments later with the bottle and a full shot glass and handed it to my friend. Basil finished it off the moment I handed it to him, then looked at me, then at Marilyn, then again at me and took the bottle from my hand and took a long pull of it. He handed the glass back to me. "I don't think I'll be needing that, Doctor," he said. Again, he looked at Marilyn and then tilted his head back as he took another drink. "It's going to be a long night."
***
I rose the next morning from a very sound sleep and exited my chambers to find the sitting room of the flat a disaster! The table had been broken, the armchairs turned over -- the cushions flung about — the couch had been ripped open by what I guessed was a sword or a knife. The walls were raked as well and the curtains were slashed.
My first thought was that an assassin had come in the night for either Basil or Marilyn. Horrified, I raced up the steps and flung open the door to my friend's bedroom, which was also raked with sword points. I had been ready to find almost anything in that room, anything, from an empty bed to a mangled corpse. I was not ready, however, for what I did find. Curled up in the center of the bed, arms wrapped around each other, barely a full set of clothing between them, were detective Basil of Baker Street and Ms. Marilyn Doyle. My shock got the best of me at that moment as I shouted, "Basil!"
The detective made no sign that he'd heard me, so I stood there, a silent observer as Basil and Marilyn struggled into consciousness. Both of them opened their eyes ever so slowly and stared at the other blankly. Then they sighed and closed them again as Marilyn nestling her head under Basil's chin. A moment later both of their eyes flew open in shock and horror. They both sat bolt upright, facing each other with their jaws unhinged.
"You!" Marilyn screamed, and pointed a finger at my colleague.
"You!" Basil rasped, pointing back. Just then, they noticed my presence. Marilyn screamed again and jerked the blankets up around her, knocking Basil head first to the floor where he landed with a loud curse, before getting up and staggering toward me.
"Doctor, please, allow me to explain . . ." he began shakily, holding his head painfully in one hand. But his doom was imminent. Mrs. Judson, no doubt awakened by all the noise, came thundering up the staircase. "What in heaven's name is going on up here?!" she shouted.
Basil's face took on a look of absolute horror as he ducked behind me. "Hide me, Dawson!" he gasped but it was too late. At the sight of Basil, and of Marilyn, -- in his bed -- covering herself with the blankets, our landlady automatically assumed the worst.
"Mr. Basil! What in God's name do you think you're doing?!?!" she screeched so loudly Basil clutched his head in pain.
"Mrs. Judson!" he shouted, as though the sound of his own voice made him ill. "You have the wrong idea, Good Woman, allow me to explain --" Perhaps it was because of some vain hope in Mrs. Judson's head that Basil would some day settle down and take a wife -- or perhaps it was simply that it was just too early -- but once again our landlady made a terrible assumption. Clapping her hands together with a smile spreading across her face, Mrs. Judson gasped, "Oh Mr. Basil! You wonderful man! I'm so happy for you both . . . but it is quite improper before the wedding night, my dear."
I felt that in that moment, were Basil not the strong man he was, he might have dropped dead right there. "Mrs. Judson, I believe you --" I began slowly, but she hadn't heard me.
Marilyn was climbing out of bed, sweeping out of the room and toward Basil with the bed sheets wrapped around her figure, she laid her head on the detective's shoulder and nuzzled him."It seems as though they've discovered our secret, Basil darling," she said in a sweet, seductive voice. Basil looked at her, aghast as she continued with the performance. "It's true! We've fallen madly and passionately in love with each other! We could not contain our desires! Basil proposed most beautifully to me, didn't you darling?"
She suddenly grabbed hold of Basil's shoulders and flung him toward her, pressing her body against his. "Oh kiss me my love!" she gasped dramatically.
Recovering from his shock, Basil pulled the woman's arms from him, and pushed her away disdainfully. "I should say not, madam!" he cried, rage quivering in his voice.
"Mr. Basil! That's no way to speak to your fiancé!" Mrs. Judson scolded.
"This-this-woman-is NOT my fiancé!" He shouted.
Marilyn, a mischievous gleam in her bright brown eyes, did her very best to look cross with the detective. "Oh, so you'll take the milk, but now the cow, eh?" she said.
"I --! But you --! We didn't!" Basil roared, throwing his hands into the air and running back into the room. He half threw his clothes on and struggled into his inverse cape. Cursing loudly, he stormed out of the house.
Laughing, Marilyn rushed down the stairs, calling out the open door after him, "I still love you, Sweetheart!"
***
Catching up with my companion, I found him cursing and muttering to himself as he dunked his head in a fountain. "Basil, I say, what happened in there?" I asked, quite confused.
My presence seemed to at once calm my friend for he smiled tiredly at me and — after a long pause — slowly began his tale:
"Well Dawson, after you had gone to bed, Marilyn and I had contented ourselves to an evening in front of the fire. She was watching me with great interest as I concentrated on the case when she leaned forward and laid a hand on my arm. ‘You're trying much too hard, Basil, old boy.' She said. ‘If you focus on the problem, you'll never see the solution.'
"I glared back at her and muttered. ‘What would a woman like you know about it?' at which, she went completely rigid, glaring at me, then abruptly got up and walked calmly but stiffly out of the room.
"She returned a few moments later, to my astonishment, dressed in my slacks and white shirt and with my hat perched upon her head as she smoked a cigarette.
"‘Hello,' she said, apparently trying to mimic my voice. ‘My name is Basil of Baker Street and I'm a pompous, arrogant, obsessive, chauvinistic, narcissistic pig!' she cried. ‘And I don't know how to accept help when I need it because I'm stupid!'
"I glowered as she reached over, grabbed the brandy bottle and poured two shots. I had had quite enough of her antics, so I decided to end her games with one of my own. ‘Have a seat.' I said smoothly. ‘I propose a contest. Whichever one of us falls first, concedes defeat to the winner and vows to obey him or her for the remainder of the case.'
"I can drink you under the table," she replied.
"I'd like to see you try," I retorted. So the duel began.
I have never before seen a woman drink like that in all my life; shot after shot she downed without blinking. It wasn't until we had nearly drained the bottle that things began to get . . . interesting," he continued, adjusting his collar.
"Getting tired yet, Baker Street?" she asked, evidently trying to stare me down, but finding she couldn't with a straight face. I scoffed at her.
"Not by a long shot," I declared, as I tossed my ascot across the room and unbuttoned the first button of my shirt -- I regret telling you that my vest had been discarded long ago.
"I know Dawson, it wasn't very gentlemanly of me, but I was a bit intoxicated and she is so —" he paused, "impetuous."
"‘What is this, strip-shots?' Marilyn asked merrily with a little smirk. Just then, I noticed the sleeve of her dress sliding further down her arm. I was going to say something but decided against it since she would, no doubt, respond with something off-color.
"Just then, Marilyn grinned and leaned a bit closer across the table. "So . . . is it true what they say about men with big feet?" she asked. I felt my bloodshot eyes widen.
"‘I beg your pardon?' I ejaculated, reaching up and pushing her back into her seat.
"‘Oh! Pushing a lady!' she cried.
"‘What lady?' I asked, smirking.
"With that, she leapt from her seat. ‘Let's finish this!' she yelled, knocking her chair over.
"‘I quite agree!' I replied as I rushed to the far wall, pulled down two rapiers, and tossed one to Marilyn, who caught it easily.
"We advanced on each other, metal clanging as we crossed swords. ‘Just admit it!' she panted as we moved all about the room — I must say, she showed excellent skill — ‘You can't accept my help because I'm a woman!'
"I sent her staggering backwards with a powerful thrust. ‘You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?' I asked, smiling. Marilyn smiled back at me as she charged again.
"‘Oh, I see. Your ego's at stake!' she cried, bounding off a footstool and taking a leap that knocked me to the floor.
"‘Did it ever occur to you that I don't need your help?'I asked as I flung her from me once more and lashed out, slicing off her shirt sleeve.
"Marilyn's mouth dropped open in amazement, but she quickly recovered as she shouted, ‘Two can play at this game!' and slashed open my shirt.
"In turn, I leaped over the sofa and wrestled her to the ground as our swords crossed at each other's throats. Marilyn kicked her legs up into my stomach and heaved me over her head, where I landed on the table with a sickening crunch as it broke under my weight. The sound made Marilyn look up — by this time, her hair was hanging in loose tangles in her face — I simply laid motionless in the remains of the table with my sword dangling from my limp hand.
"‘Basil?' she called in a scared voice. I didn't respond.
"She gasped, and rushed over to my side and laying a hand on my neck, trying to find my pulse. At that moment, my eyes flew open and I pressed the point of my sword to her throat. "‘Foolish girl,' I hissed.
"‘Why you dirty, son of a --!'she began, but Marilyn's point was far better made when she used her sword to slice my trousers right down the thigh.
"‘You little--!' I shrieked as our swords clanging furiously.
"She swore at me as I sliced a large hole in her — or should I say my— shirt, near the midriff.
"I returned similar curses as she sliced the shoulder seam of my right sleeve, causing it to fall down over my hand and sword handle.
"I was forcing Marilyn backward up the steps, until, at the very top, I managed to pin her to the railing. ‘You're between a rock and hard place, my dear.' I told her, triumphantly.
"She glared back at me and —" he paused.
" Now, Dawson . . . my face happened to be very close to hers and . . . so . . . she did the only thing that she knew would disarm me. She . . . kissed me on the nose. I was completely surprise by this and she easily threw me back, sending me crawling backwards into my chambers as I struggled to defend myself.
"I leaped onto my bed but Marilyn still followed swiftly.
"Between the two of us, we had barely enough rags to cover one person.
"‘You dolt! You self-centered, self-righteous --' she began, but I swung forward as another swipe of my rapier left the girl in only her corset. I planted a little kiss on her cheek in revenge for the one she gave me earlier. She was so shocked and angry that she screamed and nearly fell off the bed. I laughed heartily and dared her to come at me again, which she gladly obliged. But I finally decided it was time for the final blow. We locked swords, I performed a disarming move and -- to my astonishment — she did the same and both of our swords flew out of our hands and landed with a clink on the floor. I stood transfixed for a moment and then slowly looked at her. Marilyn pulled back her arm, her hand balling into a fist and struck me right across the mouth, nearly sending me flying backwards off the bed.
" Holding the bruise that was blossoming over my cheek, I stared at the girl in anger and amazement. She grinned knowingly at me. "You wouldn't hit a lady," she sneered.
"Madame! You're no lady!' I replied, pouncing on her. I heard a loud squeal of protest from the bedsprings as we suddenly found ourselves in a rather awkward position. I had pinned the young woman to the bed and would have relented then if I was not so overcome with rage.
"‘Well, what now?'" she asked as she glared up into my face.
"‘I do believe I win,' I answered, gasping for breath.
"‘I hate you!' she screamed.
"‘I hate you too!' I retorted.
"Just then, she kicked me and I rolled off her and onto the other side of the bed in pain. She grabbed her sword once more and jumped on top of me, holding it under my chin. ‘How about we call it a draw, detective?' she asked, her hair hanging in ringlets around her face.
‘Fair enough.' I grumbled.
"‘Good.' She said, tossing the sword aside and rolling over.
"This is my bed, madam." I said, finding it hard to imagine that she actually meant to sleep in my chambers, let alone in my bed.
"She yawned and asked, ‘And you're point is . . . ?'
"It took me a while, but I finally decided that it wasn't worth the effort and simply warned her to just stay on her own bloody side.'
I stood utterly speechless at what my companion had just told me. Until that moment, I had always believed Basil to be in complete control of his emotions.
"Nothing of great importance, Doctor," he continued, waving it away. "In any case, I need a chance to think this case over without any . . . distractions," he said, his fur bristling slightly. He straightened his coat and gave a sigh.
"But Basil, we really don't even know where to start!" exclaimed I.
"Ah, on the contrary, we do, doctor." Basil said
Another Complication
We caught up with a cab as Basil explained that we would pay a visit to Professor Morowe's place of employment Oxford.
Upon inquiring on the head office, they informed my associate and me that Professor Morowe had been seen as early as a week ago and had taken holiday most abruptly without explaining the purpose. This was nothing my friend hadn't already deduced, but we still had unfinished business there. "Might I inquire the address of Professor Morowe?" asked Basil.
"1417 Adler Road, sir. But I'm certain you won't find him there."
"I must be certain of that myself." Basil said briskly as we bid our farewells and rushed from the university to that very address.
Basil was so caught up in the moment that I thought, had the doorman not promptly answered the door, he might have broken it down in his enthusiasm."Good afternoon, I must speak with your master at once," my friend said.
"Professor Morowe is not at home, sir. He is away on holiday," the doorman said in a very thick Yorkshire accent.
"Basil!" called a female voice from inside.
The sight that met us was one even Basil would never have predicted. Marilyn dashed to the door to greet us . . . she had been crying as of late. "It's all right Hudson, you can let them in," she said.
"Marilyn! What in the world are you doing here?" Basil gasped, his bad mood returning.
"Well, it is my house!" she snapped, flopping down on the steps, her face in her hands. "Forgive me, Basil, but I had to be sure . . . I had to be sure it was true. I thought perhaps it might have all been a joke on us. The professor's a crazy old coot and I wouldn't put it past him, but . . . when I returned here and . . . and . . . "
The girl looked as though she were about to swoon and Basil at once dropped to her side, taking her hands in his. "Marilyn, what has happened?" he asked urgently.
Slowly, stifling a sob, she pulled from the pocket of her dress a telegram. "I found this telegram in his room . . . " she said.
"Telegram! What telegram!" Basil cried, snatching it from her hands.
"Don't be so damn impatient!" she snapped.
"Forgive me, but when I'm involved in the matter, I wish not to neglect details." Basil muttered.
"That matter involves me too!" she shouted.
"Do nothing. Stop. Tell no one. Stop. Meet me at the docks at midnight. Stop. Come alone or else. Stop." he read. Marilyn collapsed with a wail of grief in Basil's arms. "Good heavens, Basil! The lady's at the end of her tether!" I cried, shocked at the state she was in.
"They have my daddy! They have him in their clutches!" she cried.
Basil's fingers curled around Marilyn's shoulders. "Marilyn . . . you must control yourself, we have no time . . . " he said gently but urgently.
She sat up, wiping her eyes on Basil's sleeve like a child as she tried to put on a brave smile. "Forgive me, I thought I was stronger . . . I need some booze," she said, getting up and fetching herself some. It struck me as strange that she could be so much like Basil; one moment in the throes of depression, the next joyful and jubilant.
"Well, Marilyn, you have presented us with a singular clew in our investigation. According to this telegram your stepfather received this message over three days ago, exactly one day before you came to us. This means he must have known that Ratigan would take him prisoner and knowing this he sent you to me." Basil said pacing about the room. "Was there anything else, Marilyn? Did he take anything with him?"
"No, nothing. All his things are still here," she said.
"This does not bode well, Dawson. Not in the least," my friend murmured, rubbing his chin. As I watched him in the midst of his pacing, Basil suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and stared out the window. His eyes were wide, his body went as stiff as a board. I only noticed a moment too late what was about to happen. A man in a checker suit had been standing across the street watching our every move since we'd arrived at the house. He had been watching Basil pace back and forth in front of the window and had taken aim with a pistol.
"Look out!" I shouted. As the bullet shattered the glass, Basil dropped to the floor, covering his head as Marilyn screamed. I took the initiative and darted out the door after the scoundrel, but my chase was in vain as he was much too quick for me. However, I did see the brute make his get away in a gypsy caravan. With this information, I raced back to the house, hopping Basil had been quick enough to react. Upon my return, I found Hudson the butler removing a note that had been pinned to the door by a dagger.
"Basil!" I gasped, stepping inside. I found the detective and Marilyn sitting on the floor together, Marilyn dabbing away at the blood that was trickling down Basil's arm as he took a shot of Brandy. "I'm quite alright, doctor, just a bit of a nick." Basil said, his voice shaking slightly,
"Sir," Hudson said, offering up the note for Basil and Marilyn to see.
"Bring it here, my good man," Basil said, holding out his good hand to take the note as I rushed to examine the wound. Basil looked pensively at the note and then said, looking up at Marilyn; "It reads;
The Life of Professor Morowe depends upon one thing alone, Mr. Basil of Baker Street, your refusal to cooperate with the police. You will give the authorities no reason for your refusal. Or the professor will die!
"Sons of b-tch-s!" Marilyn ranted, punching the wall. "Look at what that monster made me do to Daddy's wall! D-mn it! And the door and the window" she began to sob. "My father practically built this entire house with his own two hands and —"
"Marilyn, calm yourself!" Basil said holding his shoulder and trying to stand up despite my protests for him to lie still.
"Well Godsbeans, Basil, what the hell do you want me to do? Faint!" she cried in exasperation.
"It would be more ladylike, I daresay," he said, pulling his coat back over his shoulders.
"Don't you even start with me, Baker Street!" she warned, brandishing a fist.
Basil ignored her and looked back out the shattered window. "The villains got clean away, I imagine." he sighed.
It was then that I remembered what I had seen outside. "Not clean away, Basil," I said. Both he and Ms. Doyle looked at me with great interest now.
"I saw him escape in a gypsy caravan."
"Ah-ha! That is something, Dawson! You have truly saved the day! Marilyn, are there any gypsies in this neighborhood?" Basil asked, turning toward her.
"Why yes, they live on the outskirts of town. My step father is well acquainted with them," she said.
"Is he?" Basil murmured, that familiar gleam in his eye. He grabbed his hat. "Quickly Dawson, Marilyn! To Baker Street!" he said, rushing out the door.
"Shall I call a cab, Basil?" I asked him. "You really should relax with that arm."
Basil waved a hand at me. "It's only a flesh wound, doctor. Besides, the walk would do me good."
We had walked about a quarter of a mile when Basil suddenly said darkly, " I am being manipulated."
"What do you mean?" Marilyn asked.
"I'm not entirely sure, Marilyn . . . and yet, if I was Ratigan, in my one unwavering determination for the destruction of Basil of Baker Street, I would expend every effort to seek out the single chink in his armor -- if it exists at all -- and it is there I should thrust with all my strength and fury." Basil said.
"Rubbish!" I cried. " ‘Chink in your armor'? There's no such thing as a chink in your armor!"
Basil cast a strange side ways glance at Marilyn and rubbed his wounded shoulder. "Isn't there, Dawson . . . isn't there?" he murmured in a voice barely audible.
The Crime of The Century
When we arrived back home, we saw, to our great curiosity, a cab sitting out front. Upon entering we found none other than Basil's old rival from Scotland Yard, Inspector Vole. Accompanying him, to our deepest surprise, was Basil's elder brother Merryincroft! "Vole! Merryincroft!" my friend cried, "What on earth do I owe the pleasure of this visit!"
Merryincroft stood up at once, his eyes concentrated on the sling around Basil's arm. "Good heavens, Basil, what happened?!" he gasped.
Merryincroft and Basil definitely shared a family resemblance; Merryincroft had the same shaped — two-toned — muzzle as his brother, but his was a shade lighter than Basil's. His eyes were a bright steel blue, and he was no where near as thin as his brother was. All together, Merryincroft had a very casual look about him, which went perfectly well with his mild-mannered demeanor. However, he now seemed excitable and very worried.
"Oh it's nothing, Merryincroft." Basil assured him. "Vole, how on earth did you find me?" he asked with a jovial smile to our other guest.
Vole was a quick-witted, shrewd man who was at the very top of his profession. However, he was somewhat dull, horribly stubborn, and totally unimaginable which would naturally pit him against Basil. "Never mind that," he snapped, in his high nasal voice. "May we borrow a moment of your time?"
"Since you are in my house, it seems as if I have very little alternative." Basil said as we took our seats.
Marilyn leaned over to him and whispered, "You certainly aren't the handsomest brood, are you, Baker Street?" she asked eyeing Merryincroft.
"Oh, do be quiet." Basil hissed at her.
"Basil, I'm afraid what brings us here is of very grave importance," Merryincroft began..
"It must indeed be, Merryincroft for you have worried about it so much that you have not slept in about a week -- judging by the bags beneath your eyes and your slumped posture." Basil observed.
"It involves the National Gold Exchange, Basil," Vole said stiffly.
Merryincroft made a weak chuckle. "I've forgotten . . . one cannot pretend in front of you, Basil."
Inspector Vole cleared his throat to bring us back to subject. "Gentlemen, if you please," he said, irritably. "Mr. Basil, deep beneath the floors of London's national bank, there are huge vaults of gold. Now, this gold is the basic means of trade throughout the civilized nations of Mousedom. Each vault in this room has the name of each country engraved above its doors," Vole said.
"I think I understand. Rather than shipping the gold from one country — say Great Britain, to another country, Russia — one simply transfers gold from one vault to the next." Basil concluded.
"Precisely," his brother said. "This reduces labor and the risk of theft."
"Ingenious." Basil said mildly. "I have only one question, gentlemen; why in the world are we being told this at this hour of night?" he asked, tiredly.
"Because the gold's been stolen, Basil!" Merryincroft cried, losing all composer and restraint.
I watched as Basil nearly fell out of his chair in shock, gripping the arms firmly to try and support himself. "All of it?!" he cried.
"Every last brick," Merryincroft groaned. "No one knew how to get in but myself and the other five employees of the exchange. But a hole had been blown into the back wall of the vaults. We have found two remaining gold bars but nothing more."
"And this extraordinary theft has been kept from the public?" my friend asked, regaining his composure.
"At least until two days from now when the exchange between France and Germany is to take place." Merryincroft answered. "And when it is discovered that the gold has been stolen . . . war. World war! cannot be ruled out as a result."
"And this is why I so desperately need your help, Basil." Merryincroft said, smiling at his brother. Basil had gone completely white under his fur. I knew exactly why: he was remembering that awful warning about the police . . . if Basil agreed to assist his brother . . . Morowe would die.
At that moment Marilyn who subtly drew my attention out the window, where the same man in the checkered suit was watching from across the road. I had a feeling Basil knew he was there as well. Slowly, the mouse detective cleared his throat, easing himself out of his chair."Merryincroft . . . Inspector . . . I am . . . very sorry. I cannot assist you in this matter."
For a moment it seemed as though Merryincroft and Vole had not heard him. "You what?!" Vole cried in disbelief.
"Forgive me, but I can be of no service to you what so ever. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've grown quite tired," Basil said as though every word were a physical blow to himself.
"Basil — what's come over you?!" Merryincroft cried in horror. "What do you mean you can't!?"
"I have nothing more to say on the matter!" Basil snapped, gripping the railing of the steps.
"Well, I have something to say to you, Mr. Basil!" cried Vole angrily, "When the theft is discovered by the public and it leads to a world war and it is found out that Basil of Baker Street knew about it and didn't lift a finger to help the police . . . what will the world think of the great Basil of Baker Street then!?" The nerve of that man! If only he could have known.
Merryincroft took Vole's shoulder, "Inspector, if my brother says he cannot help us, then he cannot," he sighed, looking hopelessly up at Basil, who could not even bare to meet his gaze. The two left the house in a state of dismal silence that was broken when Basil, with a gurgled cry of anguish, collapsed unconscious to the floor.
Our Saving Grace
Some hours later, having carried my friend to his chambers and reviving him from his swoon, he, myself, and Marilyn sat, discussing the matters at hand. Basil had sunk into the very depths of depression and the wound he had received was not helping to cheer him up. He laid in bed, a sullen look on his drawn features. "Oh, Dawson," he moaned pitifully. "Now do you see what I meant when I said I was being manipulated? Now do you appreciate the ingenious of this - Napoleon of crime?!"
"Basil, what the devil are you talking about?" I asked, trying to clean his wound in spite of his resistence.
"Godsbeans, Dawson! He knew! He knew I would investigate the house so that he could deliver that telegram to me! He knew that Vole would come to seek my help in search of the gold and that because of the professor I would be helpless!" he wailed, thrashing about the bed like a man in delirium. "And, once the theft is discovered, he will reveal himself and all the financial nations of the world will be at his mercy! Ratigan! Ruler of the World!" he wailed, so distraught with grief and fury that he covered his face with his hands.
"Basil, please! You must calm yourself! You're not thinking clearly! What good is a world war to Ratigan?" I cried.
Basil glared back at me as if I had gone stark raving mad. "The prevention of it!" he cried. "With the civilized nations of Mousedom quivering on the edge of poverty, Ratigan will take complete control!"
He leapt from his bed, despite my efforts to hold him down, pulling the telegram from his trouser pocket. He stared at it a moment, then crumpled it and flung it into the fire. "I am helpless to circumvent!" he moaned in despair, sinking heavily into a chair.
I daresay Marilyn and I had been shocked in silence for neither of us spoke until we heard the sad, melancholy tones of Basil's violin piercing the quiet that had fallen over the room.
I had not the heart to stop him, the tune was so deeply remorseful. Marilyn, however, had no such stipulation as she stormed over to him and thrust her hand down on the violin, forcing Basil to stop. "Basil!"she exclaimed, her face hard. "If you're willing to sit there and fiddle while the world goes up in smoke, then your precious Professor Ratigan deserves to sit on his mountain of gold!"
She stared hard at him for a moment then stomped over to the fire place and gazed into the flames, crossing her arms over here chest. Basil simply watched her for a time and then lifted himself from his chair and walked slowly over to her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Well, I -- " she began.
"No, dear Lady, don't apologize," he said.
They gazed at each other for a moment, and then Basil suddenly became distracted by something outside the window. He pulled back the curtain and looked out, dubiously. "Our friend in the checkered suit is back," he said cheerily.
"Oh really? Cheeky b-st-rd, I wonder what he's up to?" Marilyn said, peering over his shoulder.
"He is wondering what we are up to!" Basil whispered. "Dawson, Marilyn--why are we being watched?" he asked, a smile spreading across his features which had only a moment before been sullen. "Ask me that! If Ratigan's plan is to be so perfect, if I am to be so helpless -- so utterly destroyed -- then why does he need to watch us?"
"That is the answer, Basil, not a question." Marilyn said, beginning to smile too.
"Yes, Ms. Doyle! It is because Ratigan's plan is not perfect -- it had one fatal flaw -- and that man has to be down there so that he will know the moment that I have discovered it!" he cried then added slyly, "But he will not discover it."
"I say, Basil, you two are talking in riddles! Do you have a plan?" I asked.
"Dawson, Ratigan's scheme hangs upon the simple fact that he holds Professor Morowe prisoner. It is because of this that I am helpless to aid the police -- Morowe's life hangs upon my inactivity. But if he was snatched from Ratigan's clutches then the manacles fall from my wrists and I am free to turn my full attention to the theft of the gold."
"But, Basil, we don't even know where he's keeping Morowe."
"I do." Marilyn said suddenly. "The gypsies must have him. What better place to keep my father quiet and inconspicious?"
"Excellent, Marilyn!" Basil cried happily, throwing his arms around her for a moment.
"But how will we free him? We can't just waltz our way into their camp!" I added.
"Ah, but you've forgotten, Doctor . . . " Basil added, plucking his violin from the chair and playing a few very high vibrant notes that sounded very much like the music heard from gypsy camps. "I speak the universal language, music!"
The Coup de Grass
Long before dawn the next day, Basil roused us from our beds. "Quickly my friends, we must dress and prepare for our adventure." He said, while leading us down stairs and flinging open a huge black trunk which had just recently been delivered. Getting down on his knees he began rummaging through its contents, throwing articles of clothing over his shoulder.
"Ah-ha!" he cried suddenly, holding up something. He turned then, looked at Marilyn and presented her with the clothes. "Marilyn, I think this should suit our needs. Kindly try it on, please. It should fit you fairly well," he said. I noticed there was a slight tinge of red in his cheeks. Marilyn examined the clothing, glanced up at Basil and then disappeared up the stairs. Basil turned once more, rummaging through the trunk and pulled out two more sets of clothing, one which he handed to me. "Here's your disguise, Doctor," said he.
The garb he had handed me was a bunch of shoddy old rags -- trousers that had an abundance of stains on them, the legs ragged and frayed and an old shirt that was much the same. On top of this he handed me a pair of black, scuffed boots, and a blindfold. The clothing Basil had chosen for himself consisted of a very loose white shirt-much like they wore in the 17th century a pair of plain black trousers, and a brightly decorated bandana.
"Basil, what are you --" I began. But my question was abruptly cut off by a voice above us which said, "I'd certainly like to know why you chose this particular ensemble . . . ! "
We turned and found Marilyn standing on the steps looking down, accusingly at us. She was indeed — I must say, though I try to be a reserved man — a sight to behold. She was wearing a black corset laced with white, a blouse with puffed sleeves hanging just off the shoulder, and a flowing red skirt, which had a long slit up to the thigh. As I turned to question my friend, I saw that his mouth was slightly unhinged -- If I didn't know better, I would have said that he was totally mesmerized by the sight of our female companion. I cleared my throat, which quickly revitalized him as she descended toward us.
"All right, is it just me, or does this simply scream ‘hooker'?" she asked, eyeing Basil admonishingly.
"I take it's a good fit?" Basil asked, his voice slightly higher than usual.
"Can't you tell?" Marilyn said slyly as she posed provocatively. Basil quickly averted his gaze.
"Yes, quite --" he muttered, turning back to the trunk. He pulled out several gold bracelets, an anklet, and two large gold earrings.
"This should complete the guise." He said, regaining his professional manor as he looked her over. He reached out and touched one of Marilyn's blonde tresses. "Now, to do something about that hair of yours" he murmured, diving once more into the trunk.
He emerged with a large, black, curly wig. "This should do it." He said, thrusting it onto her head.
"Dear Lord, it's hideous!" Marilyn cried.
"It's authentic, and you'll wear it." He said and then looked at her a bit closer.
"What?" she asked, leaning away from his gaze.
"You look . . . surprising natural as a brunette."
Marilyn grinned nervously, glanced down at the clothes in his arms and quickly changed the subject, "Well, let's see your wonderful costume."
Basil scowled. "Very well," he said stiffly, disappearing up stairs. I too went to my quarters to change. When I emerged, dressed in those dismal rags, holding that blindfold over my eyes, I found Basil had dressed quicker than I. In my professional opinion, he did strike quite a dashing figure in his costume, and Marilyn thought so too, I daresay.
"Ooh! Basil! Dawson! Aren't we the swashbucklers?!" she giggled.
"I always get the worst disguises," I muttered to myself.
"Nonsense! You look perfectly ravishing darling!" Marilyn laughed, hugging me. I couldn't help but chuckle a little.
"Now, my friends, let the show begin!" Basil said deviously, snatching up his violin.
***
It was a half an hour past dawn when we arrived at our destination, on the barren moors of Sussex, where Marilyn had informed us a gypsy band had been hiding. Basil had insisted that we walk so that our boots would look travel-worn and he had splattered dirt and mud on himself and me to make it even more convincing. The three of us crouched behind some bushes and heather, peering over at the caravan that was just beginning its morning rituals. I was only thankful that the blindfold I had been assigned was made of very thin material so that I could see through the cloth.
"Dawson, Marilyn," Basil whispered, "Stay close and follow my lead."
"Are you sure you can do this, Basil?" Marilyn asked with a smirk.
"Madame," Basil said in a low voice, leaning close to her, "I am a superb actor."
We emerged from our hiding place, Basil lifting his violin and striking a high, piercingly clear note. The gypsies looked up, startled. Many of them had scattered-others drew a wide assortment of weapons. Basil continued playing, his eyes closed, completely absorbed in his nomadic melody that was fiery and seductive. Marilyn, taking the initiative, sprang forward and landed in a flawless pirouette, spinning so fast that it made one dizzy to watch her. I recalled that she had introduced herself as a dancer, but I never expected such a breathtaking performance. She matched Basil's rhythm as perfectly as if she had danced to it hundreds of times before. She flew into the throng like a bird and struck a dramatic pose as Basil played the final chord. "Bonjour! Y a-t-il quelqu'un qui parle anglais?" she called in a flawless French accent.
A tall, burly Italian looking mouse with bushy black eyebrows and a thick black moustache, followed by a dainty young woman dressed in a plain black dress approached us. "Je parle anglais," said the girl.
"Wonderful! Wonderful! I am Layla and this is my husband Auguste, and my father Jean." She said motioning to Basil and me. Basil bowed low and graciously, grinning as Marilyn took his arm.
"Bonjour mes aimis! Enchante de fair votre conaissance!"
"Bonjour." I said with a grunt, as my accent wasn't as convincing as my friends.
"Forgive the intrusion, but we've been wandering for days and weew wondering if we might rest ourselves among friends." Marilyn said sweetly. The Italian man spoke to the girl in hushed, gruff tones and then turned and stalked away.
The young lady turned to us. "You'll have to forgive my husband, friends. He is a man of few words. Please, join us for breakfast and afterwards you may pay for your meal with another of your rousing songs." She said brightly. We followed her, our eyes scanning the camp for any sign of Professor Morowe, but with no luck.
Our "breakfast" was stew and hard rolls. And I was surprised to find that Marilyn chattered freely throughout the meal, telling fabulous lies about our origins in the broken English typical of Gypsies. Basil and I, however, ate in silence, pretending we spoke no English -- broken or otherwise.
"Doctor," my friend whispered to me suddenly out of the side of his mouth.
"Do you see that back door on the wagon to right?"
I peered over at the brightly decorated cart on the back of the caravan. "Yes," I whispered back.
"While Marilyn and I are performing, I want you to sneak inside. I have no doubt that is where Morowe is being kept."
The moment I nodded in confirmation. Basil leapt to his feet, throwing his arms wide. "Musique, mes aimis! Laisser nous danser!" he cried, striking up another fiery melody on his violin. Pausing for only a moment, he grabbed Marilyn's hand and drew her up close to him. Until hey were within a breath of each other.
"Ma chere," Basil whispered and kissed her cheek. Marilyn blushed with surprise and quickly spun away from him, pulling a brightly colored silk scarf from inside her dress, and began to dance to his feverish melody. Marilyn went into the most elaborate — undoubtedly, the most alluring — dance I had ever seen. Her moves were flawless as she danced and twirled, waving her scarf about as though it were an extension of her body. She twisted and twirled as her entire being flowed with a rhythm that seemed almost primal. Her movements were so natural and ethereal that they cast a spell upon the entire crowd, drawing them near her.
As I crept away from the throng, I noted Marilyn twisting herself around Basil as she wrapped her scarf around his neck. She turned his head for an instant to hold it in her hands and kiss him teasingly on the lips before prancing away. I knew by the fact that Basil's fingers nearly slipped from the bow that this hadn't been rehearsed. Yet, I had more important duties than pondering my associates' potential love affair and immediately turned away.
I stole up to the cart -- which was, thankfully, unguarded and tried the knob.To my surprise, it was unlocked. I stepped inside and was at once confronted with the young French girl who was sitting next to a bed where a man lay sleeping. She gasped at the sight of me and looked as though she were about to scream, so I grabbed her and covered her mouth with my hand. "My name is Doctor Dawson and if you value your life and freedom you will remain silent," I growled.
"How did you know?" she asked.
"Never mind that. Is that Professor Morowe?" I asked pointing to the man on the bed.
"Yes."
"Then wake him."
"I cannot."
"Why?"
"He is unconscious!" she gasped. I glared at her. "Oh please sir, I assure you he's all right. I would not harm the kindly old man," she said compassionately.
"You have most assuredly harmed his daughter." I said. "What on earth, Madame, would possess you to kidnap this man?"
"A few days ago -- a man named Charles Nickers came. He told me that unless I agreed to help him, he would murder my mother in Paris," she sobbed.
"I see. And what did he instruct you to do?" I pressed.
"He said I was to take the Professor and hide him here, with my clan. Each day at eleven and again at seven, he comes to the edge of the Moore and waits for our signal. If all is well we shall raise a blue scarf. If not we will raise a red."
I glanced at my watch. "Good heavens, it's nearly time for him to be there now." I gasped. I looked at her sternly. "Madame, you will continued to give this man the signal that every thing is well and you will continue to do so until I or my friends tell you otherwise. If you do this you'll emerge form this dismal business in tact. Fail me in any respect and you will be held personally accountable for the death of Professor Morowe!"
The lady nearly fainted in my arms. "Yes, I would feel the same way." I sighed as I helped her into a chair and heaved the man out the door, unnoticed by all except Basil and Marilyn.
Upon seeing the task done, Marilyn flipped into a split and dashed four little smoke capsules to the ground with a loud explosion, enveloping the entire crowd in the thick red smoke. Under this cover, we dashed into the woods and back across the Moore with Prof. Morowe safely secured.
A Reunion
We arrived sometime later back at our flat where we quickly put Professor Morowe to bed.
"Oh, is he alright, doctor?" Marilyn asked, sitting beside her step-father's bed.
"He's fine my dear, just feeling the effects of a sleeping draft." I assured her.
Basil turned to me, laying his thin, long hands on my shoulders. "You were positively brilliant, doctor! My sincerest thanks. Without you Professor Morowe wouldn't be here.".
I blushed and chuckled. "Oh, don't mention it, Basil. I couldn't have accomplished it without yours and Marilyn's fine performance."
Basil then turned to her, taking her hand. "And to you, my dear, I owe a profound debt of gratitude."
"Whatever for?" she asked.
"If you hadn't stopped me last night I would be guilty of doing exactly what you accused me off doing — ‘fiddling' while the world went up in flames, and Ratigan truly would have won the day. But, you broke the spell my friend." he said.
"Godsbeans, Basil . . . it's hardly what I owe you . . . after all . . . you did save my life." she said.
Basil cleared his throat and straightened his collar. "Yes, well...all in the line of duty." he said nonchalantly. He gazed at her and added at length, "That's a very nice color on you."
" Are you implying that I don't look good in other colors?"she asked intimidatingly. "Are you trying to say I'm fat?"
Basil blinked. "I said nothing of the sort!"
"Well I'm not here as your little show girl! I suppose you don't think my hair is really blonde either!"
"Now see here--!" Basil began to protest but suddenly Marilyn spun forward and grabbed the detective's sides and began tickling him.
Basil twitched. "I say! Stop that at once! Kindly act your age! Madam!" he cried, trying to stifle a giggle, but Marilyn persisted and Basil, for all his efforts, couldn't contain his laughter.
"Aw, the widdwe detective's ticklish!" she teased.
"I— I am not!" Basil struggled, but he soon fell to the floor with his peels of laughter.
"Say Uncle!"
"Never!" Basil cried defiantly. He then reached up, grabbed Marilyn around her waist and flipped her over his head where she landed with a thud flat on her back, their heads touching slightly.
"B-st-rd."
"Witch."
I chuckled heartily at my friend's antics until I heard a noise coming from the bed.
"Daddy!" Marilyn cried, jumping to her feet, practically treading on Basil as she ran to her stepfather's side.
The professor was a portly little man with a thick moustache and a jolly little round face. "Vh- vhat iz going ohn hiehr?" he gasped as he sat up. He had a very thick German accent.
"Daddy!" Marilyn cried throwing her arms around his chubby little neck.
"Sveetie!" He cried hugging her back. "Oh my leettle sveetie! I ‘ave missed yoh! Oh, I ‘ope I didn't vorry yoh toh much!"
"Oh daddy, I'm just glad you're all right!" Marilyn said tearfully.
It was then that the Professor noticed Basil. "Bazil, my boy! Yoh kept my leettle Fraulein zafe! I kiss yoh!" he cried jumping up and wrapping Basil in an embrace so fierce that Basil squeaked as he was lifted off the ground and given a big kiss on the cheek.
"It was nothing, Professor." Basil rasped, then added, "I see where your daughter gets her enthusiasm."
Professor Morowe laughed heartily. "Ah, Bazil, my best stuedent at Oksfort -- toh seh vas you've done vit yourzelf . . . it does my hahrt gut!"
His light-hearted nature was absolutely contagious. Basil couldn't help but smile back at him. "It is good to see you too, Professor. However, I must take this moment to remind us all that matters still remain very grave. Professor, neither you nor your daughter may leave this house until I say otherwise." Basil said.
"Oh, Bazil, yoh moost be cahrful my boy! Zis man . . . he iz intsane! Mat! He vill kill yoh! Das ist nicht so gut, sveetie!"
"I know, professor. We will take every precaution. That is why Doctor Dawson and I must return to Baker Street." he said.
"What?!" Marilyn gasped.
"We have urgent business to attend, concerning the theft of the gold. We leave shall at once! Come along, Dawson," he said, grabbing his hat and cape and heading toward the door.
Marilyn ran after him, catching up with him at the door, where she grabbed his shoulder and flung him around to face her. "You can't just abandon us like this! What if Ratigan finds out!?"
"He won't find out. He doesn't know that you father is gone and I have reason to believe that he doesn't even know you exist! And that is why I must leave. If I continue to stay here, he will suspect and now I must turn my attention to the theft of the gold."
"You cold-blooded snake!" Marilyn hissed.
"Impudent whelp!"
"Ass!"
"Harlot!"
"Tyrant!"
"Slut!"
"Obsessive, self-righteous maniac!"
"Compulsive, flamboyant whore!"
"You dress in the manor of a male prostitute!"
"Conceited b-tch!"
"Highbrow, snotty b-st-rd!" Marilyn suddenly seized Basil by the collar and kissed him hard for a moment and then thrust him backwards and slapped him hard across the face.
"Good luck," she said, cheerily before dashing back up the stairs, leaving Basil to stand in stunned silence at the door.
A New Scent
We arrived in London at half past noon where we met Inspector Vole and Merryincroft waiting for us outside. We proceeded to the elevator shaft of the bank as my friend began to ask the vital questions to our mystery.
"I am very grateful for your help, Basil." Merryincroft said.
"Not at all, brother. Now, tell me, how many employees did you say know the combination?"
"Five and myself." Merryincroft replied, then added, "The head architect also knows the combination"
Basil shot me a knowing glace then continued, "And this elevator, it will take us down to the vaults?"
"Yes."
"And how far down are the vaults?"
"Approximately 150 feet."
"At what rate of speed?"
"Approximately 3.5 feet per second."
Basil was quiet for a moment and then suddenly the shaft jolted, and came to a halt.
Basil gave me a strange smile. "We appear to have arrived."
We stepped out of the shaft and onto a platform where Merryincroft was busy working the combination of a huge vault."This lock's combination is changed once every three months and only I and the other five employees are the only ones who know it," he said, as the vault opened."And now, gentlemen, I must show you what can only be described as the most dismal sight the world has ever seen."
We stepped into a very plain room filled with iron gates behind which were two empty shelves. On the back wall was a huge gapping hole. Basil and I crouched down in front of it.
"You say there was two pieces left behind? Where?" he asked.
"One there, at the entrance and the other about four feet from it to the left," said Vole.
"Mm-hmm." Basil muttered, standing up.
"Well that's it then, Basil. The scoundrels made off in that direction with their bundle." I said.
"One would immediately accept that conclusion, Dawson, I quite agree with you." Basil said as he walked away from the hole and into the vaults.
I noticed a very peculiar look come over my friend's face. It looked much like disbelief.
"How many gold bars were in these vaults?" he asked Merryincroft.
"Exactly 360,000 blocks, Basil," he said.
Basil's head shot up in surprise. "360,000 blocks of gold were moved from here and no one noticed?!" he gasped.
"Well, they are putting in a new underground, Basil. With all that racket going on you could set off dynamite and no one would notice," Vole said.
"Basil, if I were not seeing it for myself, I would say it was impossible." Merryincroft added.
"Yes, I should say so too, I should like to return to the lift." Basil said striding back in the lift.
As we all filed inside Basil glanced up at the top of the lift at the trap door that was present there. "Can one see the cables through there?" he asked.
"Yes," his brother answered, curiously.
"Right then. Dawson, give me a leg up, would you?"
I stooped and cupped my hands together as Basil stepped into them and pushed open the trap door, peering above us. A moment later he dropped back down, a smug smile on his face, "Thank you, Dawson," he said.
"Of course." I replied.
He turned then to Inspector Vole. "Well, I think I've seen all I need to see. Allow me to make some inquiries and then I believe I shall be able to put all the pieces together and come up with a proper solution," he said confidently.
"In time fro the exchange tomorrow morning?" Merryincroft asked.
"It is my fondest wish, Dear Brother," he said, a gleam in his eyes, then paused. "This head architect you mentioned, did he, by any chance, work at Oxford?"
"Why yes," Merryincroft answered with wonder. "I did find it odd that one of the Professors from Oxford was working on the project. He's a German fellow with a thick moustache. I believe his name was —"
"Morowe?" Basil asked, finishing his brother's sentence.
"Yes, but how did you —?"
"Elementary, Merryincroft. Elementary."
Analyzing the Problem
As we rode back to Baker Street, I put my own questions to the detective. "Well, Basil, have you found out anything?" I asked.
"I've found out everything, Dawson," he said mildly, a smile on his face.
"You've what? You mean you know where the gold is?" I asked, astonished.
"Why my dear Dawson, I knew that the moment we descended from the lift."
"Then where is it?"
Basil fixed me with a strange look. "We were standing on it."
"We -- Basil!" I gasped.
"Well don't you see what the clever devil has done?"
"No, I don't, but I'm sure I'd be delighted if you told me!"
Basil gave a bit of an irritated sigh. "Very well, Dawson, consider this: 360,000 blocks of gold were in those vaults. Now, give Ratigan say a hundred, maybe two-hundred mice, each having to carrying 1800 blocks of gold from the vault. It would take over 300 hours to complete the task. That is over twelve days, Dawson! And yet the gold was still there seven days ago."
I was astonished by my friend's simple logic. It was — as he himself had so often said — simplicity itself.
Grinning at my shock as we went into our flat, Basil tossed his deerstalker and cape onto a suit of armor standing in the doorway and continued, "Merryincroft's instincts were quite correct. The task appears impossible despite the evidence of those empty vaults."
"But Basil, they were empty," I pointed out as I hung up my own coat and bowler.
"Those vaults were," he said.
"‘Those vaults' What the devil do you mean?" I cried,
"When I asked Merryincroft how far the lift descended, I was told 150 feet. Well it just so happens that the underground excavation was also 150 feet. Now, when I examined the cables when the lift was presumably at the bottom of the shaft, there remained ten feet wrapped around the drum," he said, grabbing his pipe and sinking down in his chair.
"At our speed, we should have reached the bottom of the shaft in 45 seconds when it actually took only 42," he added. "Oh, and I'm sure you noticed that the lift slanted a bit downwards."
"Did it?" I asked.
Basil sighed and puffed his pipe. "It will be discovered -- I am confident -- that when the floor of the lift is removed, iron bars will have been inserted to stop the shaft from descending the remaining ten feet, which is where all the gold safely resides."
I stared at him. "But Basil, the vaults, the shaft -- how --?" I began.
"An exact replica, Dawson, built directly above the real vaults, duplicated down to the last detail -- except the shelves. Ratigan's men forgot that the real shelves should have been warped and dented and scuffed. These were flawless," he said.
"But Basil, the combination lock, what about that?" I asked.
"Simple enough, Dawson. Ratigan, most likely, forced the combination and all other necessary information out of Professor Morowe. And, with all the commotion of the underground, who would notice a couple of Ratigan's cohorts tunneling for purposes of their own."
For a moment we sat in silence as Mrs. Judson -- who had also returned home -- brought us tea and crumpets. "Basil," I began, rubbing my chin as I sipped my tea. "You were certain of all this when were still with Inspector Vole. Why didn't you say something then?" I asked.
Basil looked at me with a bit of concern on his face, "Why Dawson . . . I still fear for Marilyn and her stepfather," he said softly.
"But they're safe at home," I pointed.
"Only as long as Ratigan believes that Morowe is captive," he declared. " Tomorrow morning's newspapers hold the key. If there is news of the theft, Ratigan will think that I have obeyed him. But, if they state the transaction, he will know I have deceived him and his rage will be so towering . . . that he will not rest until he has taken revenge on me . . . through Morowe and . . . possibly even Marilyn, I fear." It was obvious that he was deeply concerned for the girls safety — I was as well. After all, she had become like part of the family.
"No, Dawson," he continued, "Ratigan must be apprehended or I will not be able to disclose the location of the gold. No other corse of action is permissible."
"But Basil, it took you nearly half a year before we met to find Ratigan's last hideout. And, now that it has been discovered, surely he won't return there."
"True, but old habits die hard. It is likely that he has kept many of the same connections. I only need to make a few inquiries . . ." he sat pensively in his seat for a long moment before leaping out of his chair and heading for the door.
"Basil! Where are you going?" I asked.
"Quickly, Dawson! We must fetch —!" But, before my friend ever reached the door, it was flung open by none other than Ms. Doyle herself.
"Marilyn!" Basil gasped.
"I thought you boys might need my help," she beamed.
"Marilyn, you're a saint!" he cried, throwing his arms around her.
"Oh, Basil!" she cried, becoming earnest, " Daddy told me that —"
"I know!" he interrupted, while jubilantly racing out of the room.
"I can't say that it surprises me," Marilyn sighed as she sunk down onto the sofa.
"My friends!" Basil called as he rushed back into the room, "it's time again for a little play acting!"
"Alright, but will you wear the dress this time," Marilyn winked.
A Dangerous Dance
After an hour and a half of following Basil all over London, we arrived at a very secluded club on the far side of the city where Ratigan -- Basil explained -- was a regular. His plan was for Marilyn to pose as one of the entertainers while I kept watch in the guise of a waiter. Somehow, she was expected to extract information from the villain without arousing his suspicion —I objected to putting her in such extreme danger but both Basil and Marilyn assured me that everything would be fine. Meanwhile, Basil would be tracking Charles Nickers, whom he believed to be nearby.
After reviewing the plan of action, Marilyn and I left Basil and crept around to the back entrance of the club. Thankfully, the back door and we were able to enter without any trouble.
Once inside, we spotted a young dancer and a waiter talking together. "Pardon, our intrusion," I said, catching their attention. "We were wondering if you might do us a bit of a favor . . ."
***
Within a matter of minutes, we had switched costumes and our all-too-happy-to-help friends had run off for the evening. Marilyn peered out into the audience from behind the thick, red velvet stage curtain. "He's here!" she whispered urgently, motioning me over.
"Looking past her, I could see Ratigan sitting idly at a table very close to the stage. Though he looked as arrogant and evil as ever, I could tell he had suffered a great deal since his defeat at Big Ben: his long, bald rat tail was kinked in many places as though it had been broken and never healed properly, and his left leg . . . was a peg leg.
We sank back behind the curtain with chills. "Now remember, Doctor, stay close to him and eavesdrop as much as you can." She smiled mischievously and added, "while I seduce that boorish brute."
"I hope you and Basil know what you are doing," I sighed as I disappeared into the crowd to begin my task.
Slowly, I worked over to his table, glad that he hadn't yet noticed me. If Ratigan had posed a formidable figure before, it was nothing like now. There was something truly evil about the way he sat there, smiling so smugly, smoking his cigar and drumming his fingers on the table.
Abruptly, the house lights dimmed and I looked up to see the curtains pulling back as the orchestra struck up an exotic Indian melody. Seven girls — including Marilyn — sprang out onto the stage dressed as harem girls. Their "routine" was shameful and was obviously not choreographed to display their dancing abilities. Marilyn obviously sensed this as she knit her brow in distaste while following the movements of the other girls. After a short while, she apparently had had enough as she suddenly flipped over one of the dancers in front of her twirled to center stage and spun gracefully to the ground. The orchestra stopped cold.
"My God! What is she doing?" I thought as my heart leapt into my throat. Marilyn, however, was undaunted as she drew her self elegantly from the ground, her hand trailing serpent-like toward the ceiling. She held her dramatic pose for only a moment before arching one of her jet-black eyebrows and turning her head disdainfully toward the conductor, as if hehad made the mistake.
I nearly collapsed with relief as the orchestra crescendoed into a new melody and Marilyn continued with her dance, the other dancers leaving the stage in confusion. Again, she managed to draw the attention of everyone around her; I noted that every eye was upon her and that not a single word was spoken during her performance. I also noticed that Marilyn took special care to make eye contact with Ratigan several times.
At the end of the dance, Marilyn took several leaps and flips, climbed onto Ratigan's table, crawled over to the vile vermin, plopped herself onto his lap and began toying with his cravat. "Well hello, Tall, Dark, and Sinister," she purred.
Ratigan seemed speechless for a moment and then chuckled. "Why, that all depends, my dear . . ." he said, wrapping one of her golden tresses around his finger.
Marilyn giggled. "So, what is a sophisticated man of your style and taste doing with all these wannabes?" she cooed.
"Ah, I see that you're a woman of excellent taste and judge of character," he said. I felt my stomach turning.
She giggled again and pressed herself against him, "Well . . . you seem to be a man of . . . expensive tastes if you know what I mean."
Ratigan at once understood and took the bait. "Ah! Great minds truly do think alike," he chuckled. He cast a quick glance around him and, seeing nobody save for myself, leaned a bit closer to Marilyn. "What do you wish to know my dear?"
"Well, I was hoping for a position . . . possibly involving blackmail . . . I can be quite persuasive," she said, running one of her fingers down his jaw line and under his chin.
"My dear, if you prove to be a valuable asset, you will go far in this line of work," he said slyly, his hand resting on her thigh
I saw Marilyn turn her grimace into a smile rather quickly as she glanced around and pressed, yet, even closer to the rat. Their noses were touching as she pulled the cigar from his mouth and began smoking it herself. "Well, we shouldn't talk here . . . perhaps we might discuss details in more . . . shall we say . . . private settings?" her voice was low and seductive.
Ratigan laughed a deeply wicked laugh and I saw Marilyn really grimace. "Meet me outside in a half hour," he instructed her in a whisper.
Marilyn smiled, placing his cigar back into his mouth, flipped backwards off of him, and swaggered away like the cat who ate the canary.
"Waiter!" she called, beckoning me with one ling finger. I rushed forward, holding my tray of drinks. "Tell the ass that I'll be leaving shortly and to follow me," she sid softly through an elegant smile.
"But —'
"Just go," she grunted, turning and wondering backstage.
I raced through the backroom and out into the ally, wondering how I would ever find my companion. I turned the corner -- looking in every direction but in front of me — and collided with a tall man; we both fell to the ground.
The Lair
I looked up to find that I had just knocked over the very person I was looking for; the poor detective was lying on the ground. "Where have you been? I've been waiting!" he gasped, snatching me by the collar and dragging me out of sight. "I found Nickers. Scotland Yard has him. It turns out that he has never even seen Ratigan — I might have known — he was hired through some chain of command; his only instructions were to meddle in my investigation. That means that I still need Ratigan. Did you find anything?"
"Marilyn . . . she's going with Ratigan . . . to his lair . . . she wants us to follow her!" I managed to choke out. We darted around the building to see a myriad of cabs leaving the club."
"My God, Basil how will we ever find her?" I gasped
"Simplicity itself, Dawson . . . that one!" my companioned answered, pointing to a cab which had a long, feathery boa trailing from it. He quickly hailed a cab and instructed the driver to follow after Marilyn's.
It felt as if we drove forever by the time we had reached the docks; we descended a block away from the other cab and followed the rest of the way on foot. Crouching behind trash barrels and crates, we watched the two exit the cab and disappear through a side door. I at once made a move toward the door, but Basil held out a hand which held me back. "Patience Doctor," he said.
"Basil, you aren't going to let her go in there alone with that . . . mad madman, are you?" I gasped in shock.
"Calm yourself, Dawson! The lady can handle herself," he assured me. "Besides, I must alert Scotland Yard to this location before attempting to capture the villain."
"Basil! Don't you realize what this monster could do to her? What he's capable of!?"
"I understand perfectly the risks, Doctor. Now if you please, stand guard here while I telegraph our location. We will make our move when the time is right and no sooner," he snapped while turning on his heel and quickly departing.
I could tell it was a mistake to question my friend's methods. I knew he cared very much for Marilyn; — much more, I think, than he let on — I could imagine what torture he must have felt in his soul, seeing her there at the mercy of that depraved monster.
***
It seemed like ages before he returned. Immediately, he began pacing about; this continued for a few moments, during which I simply stood by and watched him in silence. Suddenly, he leaped from his spot like a tiger, ran to the door, and began trying to force his way in. I was of course shocked at my friend's frantic behavior — especially after he had so recently succeeded in calming me down. "Basil! What the devil are you doing?!" I gasped.
My friend was literally throwing himself into the door, trying to force it open. "She's in danger, Dawson! She has been in there for an hour! Scotland Yard should have been here!"
"Good Lord!" I cried. At that moment, Basil had finally forced the door open and raced into the building.
It was as lavishly decorated as Ratigan's last hideout — actually, it was identical — but Ratigan himself was nowhere to be found. "Where are they?" he muttered.
Strong hands flew around from behind and dragged us to the ground. Horrified, I watched as my friend was kicked and beaten savagely. "What is going on here?" Ratigan's voice suddenly boomed.
His henchmen pulled us to our feet and thrust us forward, our hands firmly bound behind our backs by the thugs. Ratigan stepped into the room; his clothing was hanging untidily on his person. I at once thought the worst. "That poor girl," I whispered.
Ratigan's eyes widened a bit in disbelief at the sight of his old arch enemy; but a cold, wicked smile quickly spread over his features. "Ah, Basil! What a pleasant surprise!" he cackled darkly, sweeping toward the detective. Taking Basil's chin in his hand, Ratigan wiped away the trickle of blood that was running down his lip.
"You're finished Ratigan! I've discovered the location of the gold and Scotland Yard will be arriving at any moment to arrest you!" Basil snarled.
Ratigan chuckled maliciously, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh, yes?" he laughed.
Then the smile fled from his face and, with a look of pure rage, he struck out viciously at my comrade, causing him to gasp in pain. "You've been a thorn in my side for too long!" he roared. "This incident has finally made you intolerable to me!"
Basil was lying on the floor, trying to push himself up with his hands. "Really?" he coughed. "You've been intolerable to me for much longer."
Ratigan thrust his pegleg into Basil's stomach. "Damn you for the meddler that you are! Do you see what you've done to me!? Do you see!?" he screamed, grabbing the mouse detective by the throat. "You've destroyed my life Basil of Baker Street!" Ratigan spat out the name as though it were venom. A truly evil look flashed through his beady eyes. "And now . . ." he said, his voice quivering as he pulled a pistol from his waist coat and pressed it to Basil's heart. "I destroy yours!"
The Final Battle
A shot rang out and Ratigan's gun went spinning out of his hand and landed with a clink on the floor. We all turned to see none other than Ms. Marilyn Doyle standing in a door way with a smoking pistol in her hand. Her hair was undone and was hanging in waves about her shoulders. She was dressed in a long silken dressing gown and, it was apparent by the way she clasped it around her, one leg exposed, that she wore nothing else. "I do so hate to be left out," she cooed, "What's going on, Daddy?"
The look on Basil's face was a mixture of incredulity and horror. "Ah, my precious! Don't disturb yourself, my sweet; I was just dealing with a few . . . meddlers," Ratigan purred. I felt as though I would be ill.
"Oh, really? Allow me," she said tossing the pistol aside and drawing a dagger from her garter.
Ratigan arched one of his eyebrows in intrigue, "But you see, my pet —"
"Oh please, Daddy," she urged, excitement burning in her cheeks and hunger gleaming in her eyes, "I'll be such a good girl!"
"How so, my dear?" he asked, his voice suddenly deeper.
A wicked grin appeared on Marilyn's face as she grasped the detective by his cravat and ran the knife lightly under his throat, twisting the tip of it just hard enough to draw a tiny drop of blood. She and Basil locked gazes. "If I were to kill you, it would not be quick . . . oh, no . . . nor would it be painless," she said in a low, sensual voice as her hand left Basil's throat to encircle his head and rake her fingers through his hair. Marilyn ran the blunt end of the knife slowly across Basil's chin, jaw and cheeks, pricking his lips with the tip as she explained her dastardly deed in gruesome detail.
"First . . . I would slice off your nose because you seem to have been poking it around where it doesn't belong. Then . . . I would slice off you ears for hearing things that they shouldn't . . . then, your eyes . . . for seeing to much. After reveling in you mutilation for a time, I would make a small incision just above your supra sternal notch, puncturing the pharynx and making sure to slice a few blood vessels."
"My God!"I cried, "he'd choke on his own blood."
A horrible grin split Marilyn's terribly beautiful face. "Precisely," she purred, her eyes never leaving Basil's. "But! . . ." she thrust herself hard against him, wrapping her bare leg around his as she ran the knife blade up and down his chest, "he would not die from drowning in his blood . . . oh, no . . . just before you slipped away, I would carve out your heart and make it a gift to my lover!"
Ratigan let out the cruelest, most evil laugh that was ever emitted by a living soul. Marilyn and Basil's eyes never left each other as they stared on the threshold of life or death.
Much to everyone's surprise, Basil clutched the knife in his hand and leaned his forehead against Marilyn's. "Then, pray, kill me now, Sweet Lady," he whispered.
Ratigan's gang — not to mention Ratigan himself — became quite confused; but it proved to be the delay we had so desperately needed. At that moment, we heard shouts from outside the building and Inspector Vole and a horde oh other police men charged into the room. At the sight of them , Marilyn twirled and chucked the dagger right into Ratigan's pegleg. "Arrest this fiend!" she cried.
Ratigan, stunned and enraged, roared and threw himself into the throng. He seized up the discarded pistol and snatched Marilyn around the waste, holding the gun to her head. "Stay where you are or she dies!" he shouted at the police while fleeing from the room.
"Marilyn!" Basil cried, racing after her. Inspector Vole and I followed as best we could.
We found that Ratigan had fled down a secret passage where his own, private ferry awaited him. Basil reached just as it was pulling away from the dock. With a brave and valiant effort, my friend flung himself from the dock and tumbled into the boat. Vole and I watched in horror as Ratigan held tightly to Marilyn and pointed his gun at my friend. With a burst of energy, Marilyn wrenched herself from his grasp, her fist flying backwards into the scoundrel's face. She tumbled to the ground and, before she could stand, Ratigan retaliated by sending the butt of his pistol into her head. The poor woman immediately slumped into a graceful heap. For a moment, both Ratigan and Basil stood stunned. But Basil soon saw red.
Basil rushed at Ratigan who tried to shoot while his gun hand was thrust upwards. The two were wrestling against the helm when I heard a shot. "Good God," I gasped in horror, "who fired that shot?"
Both were on the floor wrestling and clawing like savages when, to our horror, Vole and I saw that the ferry was about to smash into another dock. "Basil!" Vole cried. "For God's sake, get out of there!"
Ratigan, being the rat that he was, launched himself over the side of the boat and disappeared from sight. Basil scooped Marilyn up in his arms and leapt from the side of the ferry mere moments before it crashed into the dock and sunk.
Basil, Marilyn never leaving his grasp, was safely pulled ashore. He stretched the girl upon the ground and began trying to revive her while I examined the large bruise on her head. "Marilyn! Marilyn! Please speak to me!" he cried, gently shaking her.
She moaned a bit and then her eyelids began to flutter. "Basil . . . ?" She asked weakly. Basil never looked more happy or more relieved than he did that moment. He kissed her forehead and wrapped her tightly in a blanket. He swept Marilyn off the ground and looked at me with something like tired satisfaction. "Dawson, lets go home," he sighed, and, without another word, I followed him as he carried Marilyn all the way back to Baker Street.
The Resolve
The next morning found me gazing admirably at the London Mouse who's front page had been splattered with the heroic feats of my companion, Ms. Doyle, and I. As I read over the news, I gazed at Basil and Marilyn — Marilyn, fast asleep in bed, Basil, asleep in a chair next to her, his head resting on the bed while his hand gripped hers.
Ratigan had once again escaped the detective, but it seemed as though things were finally getting back to normal. I don't believe that I had been standing there long when Basil stirred and sat up, rubbing a kink in his neck. "Dawson?" he murmured, looking at me. "Oh . . . I must have drifted off."
"You deserve the rest, Old Bean," I chuckled.
Basil smiled modestly. "All in a days work, Doctor," he yawned. "What do the papers say?"
"Why, they talk of nothing except your heroic efforts to foil Ratigan and saving the gold and Professor Morowe and his daughter."
"Lovely," he sighed, "I still allowed that villain to escape me again."
"But you did it to save me," a voice chirped from the bed. We both turned to see Marilyn climbing out of bed and unraveling the bandage from her head.
"Marilyn —" Basil began.
"Relax, Detective, I'm feeling much better now. Thank you, Doctor Dawson," she said, smiling at me.
"Not at all dear lady," I said modestly.
"Oh my badness," she exclaimed, "I need a bath!"
I laughed and said, "Not to worry, my dear, Mrs. Judson has drawn you a bath." I fact, the woman had taken a strong liking to Marilyn and had been fussing ever since our return home. Her fondness for the girl was surpassed only by her fondness for the father; she and Professor Morowe had become very close.
"Dawson," Basil said softly, drawing me to the side, "might I ask you to leave for a bit? I'd like a moment alone with the lady."
"Of course, Basil," I nodded and stepped out of the room. I lingered just outside the door, listening and watching.
"Well, my dear, you've had . . . much more than an adventure . . . much, much more," Basil said. "You've aided in the defeat of one of the world's most dangerous criminals and have singlehandedly prevented a devastating world war."
Marilyn smiled at him. "You give me far too much credit, Basil," she said. Marilyn caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and quickly placed a hand over the large bruise that blossomed on her forehead. "Forgive me, I must look quite a sight," she said.
Basil stepped slightly closer to her. "I notice nothing."
She smiled coyly at him. "Basil of Baker Street notice nothing?" she asked in mock astonishment.
"Am I so different then?" Basil asked.
"No, not at all," she replied then paused for a moment. "Basil, what will you do now?"
"He took his chin in his hand. "I and the good doctor will continue our ongoing crusade against crime and injustice and my private war with Ratigan, as always. I suppose you and your father will be returning to Sussex."
Yes, I suppose," Marilyn murmured.
Marilyn suddenly flung her arms around his waist and held him tightly. Basil froze for a moment and then slowly melted into the embrace.
***
that evening, Basil and I sat in our chairs near the fire. I was absorbed in my paper but glanced up with worry at my friend who was sitting in solemn silence, starring into the fire. Our flat was strangely quite, now that Marilyn and her father had returned to Sussex. It was much like being in an old house where all the children had grown up and left.
"Basil?" I asked at length when I noticed my friend reaching for his violin but then simply letting his arm dangle over the side of the chair and heaving a great sigh.
"Yes, Doctor?" he asked me wearily.
"Do you think we'll ever see the lass again?"
Basil pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it, and, by the merest of chances, I saw that Marilyn's picture had been tucked inside like a locket. "Perhaps not, Dawson, perhaps not," he sighed.
There was only a split moment of silence between us before the door of our flat burst open and in stepped none other than Ms. Marilyn Doyle. "Honey, I'm home!" she cried, flinging her arms wide.
Basil leapt from his seat and stood starring at the girl as she began hauling bag after trunk after suitcase into our cluttered flat. "What the devil are you doing here, Marilyn?" he cried.
She smiled pleasantly at him and approached us, leaving the door to stand open. " oh, didn't you know? Daddy and Mrs. Judson are going abroad for a year and, since you took suchgood care of me, Daddy said I should stay with you!" she cried and then leaned and whispered to me, "Actually, Mrs. Judson didn't want to leave Basil unattended."
"Basil's jaw unhinged. Marilyn giggled as she closed it for him and called me over to help her with her things; I happily obliged.
"You what!?" Basil cried, finally finding his voice.
"Staying with you, of course," she answered simply.
"You most certainly are not!" the detective shouted.
"And why not?" Marilyn asked, her hand on her lips.
"This is no place for a woman!" Basil explained, throwing his arms about.
"Oh, nonsense, all it needs is a woman's touch."
"I won't have it!" Basil shouted.
Marilyn walked up to him, took him by the collar and stared him in the eyes. "But I haven't anywhere else to go!" she cried dramatically. "And if you won't have me . . . oh Basil . . .wherever shall I go!? Whatever shall I do!?"
Basil stared blankly at her, "Frankly, my dear —." But before he could finish his statement, Marilyn closed his mouth with hers which effectively hushed the detective for the next few moments. "Now, see here, Madam! Stop that!" he cried, a bit flustered by their last kiss.
"Oh, you know you like it!" she teased, laying her head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck. "You think I'm pretty and you want to kiss me!"
Basil flushed furiously under his fur as he forced his face to remain straight.
"Oh, and by the way," she continued, "I'll be moving into the room across from yours and I must warn you that I have been known to practice my cello at all hours of the night and I tend to sleepwalk."
"Well, that's not really a problem," I put in."
"I sleep in the nude," she added"
"Oh!" I gasped, shocked and embarrassed.
She suddenly pushed herself away form Basil and, flinging her scarf dramatically over her shoulder, she said, pointing directly at Basil, "Now woman! Make me a sandwich!"
With that, she sauntered out of the room, my raving companion following after. And so was our first misadventure with our dear friend an companion, Ms. Marilyn Doyle.
THE END