Hello all! After feeling pretty good about my last story, I've decided to publish a semi-sequel. This story is not based on a specific Sherlock story, but I'm feeling pretty good about it so far. The Great Mouse Detective and its characters do not belong to me, but to Disney.

Well, without further ado, here is the first chapter to my new story, The Heart Diamond Mystery! Enjoy!

Chapter 1

BANG!

Mrs. Judson shrieked, dropping the cheese grater and block of cheddar she had been grating and rushed ou of the kitchen into the parlor. Her normally cozy, if not a bit cluttered, parlor had been covered in what looked like a sort of marshmallow substance. It was white, soft, and splattered everywhere…the bookshelves, the ceiling, wallpaper, carpet, even the comfy chairs had been coated in the fluffy stuff. The once comforting hearth had been snuffed out by a blanket of the white stuff, making the room look and feel more and more like an indoors winter wonderland.

Mrs. Judson looked around in horror, having no idea what to do about the situation except stare open-mouthed at the gargantuan mess. What had happened here?

"Ah, Mrs. Judson," a voice behind her spoke.

Mrs. Judson screamed and whirled around, searching for the source of the voice in what she had thought was an empty room. Noone seemed to be behind her, save the wall (which hadn't been spared a good, thick coating of the snow or whatever it was). Suddenly, however, the foam on the wall began to move, and Mrs. Judson realized that the two snow-covered spots on the wall that were blinking at her were somebody's eyes. A great big pair of familiar, emerald-green eyes.

"Mr. Basil!" Mrs. Judson screeched. "What in Heaven's name?"

Basil of Baker Street moved his arms and legs, unplastering himself from the wall. As wall and body separated, he made a nice Basil-shaped patch of clean wallpaper on the wall. Likewise, the back of him had been left clean, revealing his usual lounge jacket outfit, but the front had been so coated with the snow (what was that stuff anyway?) that he had blended almost seamlessly in with the rest of the now-white parlor.

"I do apologize for the mess, my dear Mrs. Judson," Basil said, wiping the foam off of his face with one hand, "I do believe I added too much baking soda."

"Mr. Basil! What is all of this? What have you done to my parlor?!" Mrs. Judson was quite beside herself.

"It was an experiment," Basil answered vaguely. In truth, it wasn't so much of an experiment as much as it was something to do. It had been a slow week for cases, and without something to concentrate on, Basil was forced to endure his most loathed enemy…boredom. In an effort to ward off his opponent, Basil had mixed together a concoction of chemicals to try and develop a new sort of fire extinguishing substance. Fortunately for him, it extinguished fires beautifully. Unfortunately, it also had a tendency to explode out of the beakers he had been using. Now, instead of the despicable scum called 'boredom,' he was facing a roomful of Aqueous Film-Forming Foam and a very displeased landlady.

Basil shook the foam off his clothes, causing it to splatter on the woman's skirt. She stared at the spot like it was the scum of the earth.

Basil flashed his most charming smile at the seething woman. "Eh-heh," he chuckled sheepishly, "Mrs. Judson, have I ever brought to your attention how lovely you always look?"

"Mr. Basil!" Mrs. Judson would have none of it. "I have had it up to here with your antics! This time-" she bustled briefly into the kitchen, and Basil took the opportunity to check his fingernails. "-you'll be cleaning this up!" Mrs. Judson finished, coming out of the kitchen with a broom and a dustpan. She shoved the cleaning supplies into Basil's arms, where he looked incredulously down at the materials.

"Me?!" He cried. "But-"

"No buts, Mr. Basil. Clean it up this instant!" And with that, Mrs. Judson stormed out of the room, muttering fiercely under her breath.

Basil huffed like a small child being told to clean up his room, briefly being surprised at Mrs. Judson's sudden assertiveness (usually the 'eyes' line worked on her; Basil guessed that this time the damage was too much to have any compliments change her attitude). He glanced about the room at his task and sighed dramatically. Stooping down, he began to start clearing the foam off the carpet.

The door opened, sending a blast of frigid air into the room. Dr. David Q. Dawson stepped in merrily, holding a bag of groceries. "The grocer had fresh fruit today! Imported from South America!" he said cheerfully. "They even had this strange new fruit that I've never heard of before. It was a bana-bonan-bana-"

"Banana?" Basil sighed, not looking up from the floor.

Dawson nodded merrily. "Yes, yes, that's it!" He opened his eyes and looked around the room for the first time since his arrival. "Good Heavens," Dr. Dawson murmured in awe. "What happened in here?"

"An experiment, of sorts," Basil explained, now facing the dilemma of the foam sticking to the bristles of the broom. "Darn this- I was bored," Basil said. "I needed something to do."

Dr. Dawson gave a nod. "I see," he murmured. In his time at 22 ½ Baker Street, Dawson had taken particular note of Basil's hatred of being bored ('The most despicable, offensive, absolute worst thing on Earth," Basil often called it). He had also taken note of how Basil was willing to go to ridiculous lengths to combat being bored, whether it be overanalyze everything and everyone in his vicinity or indulge in bizarre, made-up experiments like this one. Seeing as it was now Basil who had the task of cleaning up the remnants of the 'experiment' and not Mrs. Judson, Dr. Dawson guessed that Mrs. Judson had finally put her foot down about his outrageous antics.

Having heard a new voice in the parlor, Mrs. Judson poked her little head out the kitchen door. "Dr. Dawson!" She cried, cheering up instantly. "Be a dear and bring those groceries in 'ere, Doctor."

Dr. Dawson smiled, his mustache turning up in his signature little u-shape.

Gingerly stepping through the foam, Dr. Dawson passed the pouting detective and went into the kitchen, plopping the bags of groceries on the table.

Mrs. Judson shuffled over and sniffed the bag, closing her eyes in pleasure. "I've got me a weakness for that jasmine tea," she murmured, reaching in and pulling out a tin of dried tea leaves. "Imported direct from India, too? Goodness, isn't that fine?"

Dr. Dawson beamed. "I knew how much you liked it. Got a good bargain for it too," he said, smilng.

Mrs. Judson grinned back at him, clutching her tin of tea leaves like it was the most priceless thing in the world. Her eyes were wide and shining as she looked up at the doctor, who blushed slightly.

"Mrs. Judson!" Basil called from the parlor, breaking the mood in the kitchen. Mrs. Judson sighed, setting the tea leaves on the table and picking up her skirt to bustle through the kitchen door to the parlor.

Basil was struggling in what looked like a death match between broom and mouse, his inner symphony orchestra that usually played his theme tune staying decidedly quiet. "How do you work this infernal contraption?" He cried, trying desperately to maneuver the broom cross the floor.

"It might help if ye take your foot off it before trying ta move it," Mrs. Judson said.

Basil looked down and sheepishly removed his foot from the bristles, which had prevented him from being able to move the broom very much. "Aha, yes, I see."

After being carefully watched by Mrs. Judson for three hours as he cleaned up the parlor, Basil had successfully scrubbed the room clean. Mrs. Judson had politely taken her leave to go to bed.

"Well done, Basil," Dr. Dawson congratulated him from his seat in front of the newly made fire. He sipped the cup of jasmine tea Mrs. Judson had brewed him.

Basil made no response, simply collapsed in the fluffy armchair, exhausted. He'd gained a new appreciation for Mrs. Judson's housekeeping, that was for certain.

There was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," Dawson said cheerfully as Basil mumbled a quick thank-you from his seat on the armchair.

Dawson straightened his bow tie before opening the door. "Yes, may I-" he began, before being pushed roughly to the side by a rather skinny young man wearing ragged clothes. Dr. Dawson harrumphed at his rudeness.

"Where's Mr. Basil?" the young mouse asked in his thick Cockney accent, looking from side to side. "Oh, there you is!" He said, spotting the tired detective lying limply in the red armchair. The ragged mouse with tangled brown fur and freckles, looking to be in his early teens, squatted down to eye level with the detective. "Mr. Basil, I've got a bit of a problem," the mouse said. "Per'aps you can help me?"

Basil frowned and opened one eye, regarding the mouse with a quick, analytical glance. Apparently having found nothing of immediate interest, he closed his eye again. "I'm tied up at the moment," Basil muttered irritably. "I'm afraid I'm not available until later."

"But Mr. Basil, it's an emergency!" The mouse squeaked.

"Oh, I'm sure." Basil mumbled sarcastically.

"It is! It's about a couple a' kids!" The mouse said. "I saw it wit me own eyes! A big man in black went and scooped 'em off the street! Kidnapped 'em, he did!"

Basil's eyes shot open, all previously sapped energy restored, and he leaned forward in his chair. "What did you say?" He demanded sharply.

The young one backed up, alarmed at the detective's sudden animation. "Kidnapped, sir! They've been a' kidnapped!"

Dr. Dawson, who'd been watching the scene from the sidelines, as he usually did during Basil's introductions with clients, gasped. That Dr. Dawson had always been a soft-hearted soul was undeniable, but his one true weakness was children. The mere thought that anyone would do something to harm a child lit a rarely seen flame of anger inside the good doctor's heart.

The young mouse dug into the pocket of his hole-infested pants and pulled out a crumpled and stained newspaper clipping that looked as though it had been fished out of a garbage can. He smoothed it out as best he could and held it up so that Basil could see. It was an article about one of last week's cases, in which Basil had solved the burglary of a valuable brooch for the Earl of Worcestershire. "I ain't able to read, Mr. Basil, but everyone on the streets knows who you is. I looked for the house in this picture," the mouse pointed at the photograph of 22 ½ Baker Street, "and I found you, cuz I thought you might be able to help."

Basil's eyes shone with a sudden interest. "What's your name, young man?" He asked.

"E-Edward, sir. Chrisen'd Edward Hawthorne, but everyone on the street calls me Sticky."

"Where are your parents?"

"Haven't got any." The young boy lifted his chin defiantly. "Ya wanta make somethin' of it?"

Basil regarded the scrawny young boy trying to be threatening. The clothes had not been patched in a while, supporting Edward (or Sticky, apparently)'s claim that he hadn't any mother to give him new clothes or at least patch up his old ones. His clothes were too short for him, his wrists and ankles showing from under the hems of the shirt sleeves and pant legs, but they also hung off of his emaciated frame. His face was grimy and thin, dirt and muck plastering his fur in stiff, patches. Obviously an orphan from the streets. However, the waver in his voice and slight tremor in his hands showed him to be not quite as tough as he tried to make himself look-not inherently threatening.

"No," Basil said, "I don't. Do, however, tell me about this kidnapping. What exactly did you see?"

"I was sittin' on the street corner down by the docks," Sticky explained, "Tryin' to scout out a fat wallet to pick, so maybe I could get lunch." Sticky paused, his face draining of color. "You-you won't go to the police about that, will ye, Mr. Basil?"

Basil's eyes softened and he shook his head. "Of course not. Just go on about the kidnapping. Don't leave one detail out. Go on," he said, flapping his hand impatiently.

Sticky breathed a sigh of relief and continued. "Well, there was this little girl, real small, walkin' home with her brother. They didn't have no pockets to pick, but they looked pretty well ta do. New clothes, fancy walk," Sticky demonstrated by copying the walk, standing up straight and talking leisurely steps across the floor. "Me an' the boys called out at them. Mockin' them, like. Askin' them what they was doin' out of their neighborhood, ya know." Sticky's ears went a bit pink in embarrassment. "I felt a bit bad about that, ya know, little girl stared at us, got a bit teared up. Boy look'd like he was going to come over an' yell at us, but decided we wasn't worth it or somethin'. Acted like we was nobody, just kept walking, like most people do." Sticky cleared his throat. "Anyways, the girl was wearin' this big brooch. All fancy, too heavy for 'er. I think that was wot that man was after."

"What man?" Asked Basil.

"There was this man, see, couldn't see his face cos his hat was pulled down so far. Wore this big black coat and gloves. Comes out of bloomin' nowhere and grabs the girl."

"And the young man accompanying her? What did he do?"

"He started yellin' at the man, tried to pull her away, but he was a big one, this man was. Didn' pay no attention, jus' scooped up the boy wit' his other hand and went off inter the night. Didn't see where they was going."

"Oh, good Heavens," Dr. Dawson interjected, worriedly wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.

If Basil was disturbed by the story, he didn't show it. His focus was on Sticky and the details.

"So a large man wearing black scooped up the girl and the boy and disappeared, is that correct?" Basil asked.

"Yessir, just like I told ye, sir."

"Why didn't you or any of the other boys go to the police?"

"A couple of street kids talkin' bout someone getting' kidnapped?" Sticky crossed his arms and shook his head. "They'd think we was just makin' it up." He unfolded his arms and looked up at Basil, his eyes wide. "That's why I comes to you, sir. Thought you could help."

Basil's mouth tightened into a line. "I see." He narrowed his eyes a bit, thinking. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his pipe and a match. He struck the match against the edge of the mantel and held the small flame to his pipe, puffing. He smoked for a moment before plucking the pipe out of his mouth and looking down at Sticky. "These children…what did they look like?"

Sticky thought for a moment. "I don't know, sir…I guess the girl had blonde fur, blue eyes, green dress. Too many ruffles. The boy had black fur, fancy coat, smart pants." Basil noted a tinge of jealousy in Sticky's voice. Sticky thought for another moment, then added, "the pin on the girl's dress was blue."

Basil made a sound that sounded like an approving grunt. "Very good, very good. And was the pin a jewel of some sort?"

"I dunno, I think so." Sticky paused. "Yes, I'm sure it was."

"Excellent." Basil said, pacing. "You think the man that attacked them was after the jewel, then?"

"'Course 'e was. Wot else could he get from takin' some kids like 'e did?"

"Ransom, naturally," Basil said.

Sticky didn't understand. "What?"

Basil rolled his eyes, taking his pipe out of his mouth to explain. "Holding hostages in exchange for money, usually paid by the family of the hostage," he said impatiently.

"Oh."

"What I'm confused about, however, is what two well-to-do children were doing by the docks. Surely they, of all people know, that it isn't a very good environment down there, certainly not for children." Basil whirled on Sticky. "When you were calling out to them, asking them why they were out of their neighborhood, what did they say?"

Sticky backed up a few paces from Basil, whose face was inches from his. "They, they didn't say nuffink, Mr. Basil. They both looked pretty upset, though."

"Hm." Basil put the pipe back in his mouth, considering it all. While Basil was quiet, Dr. Dawson approached Sticky.

"Would you like to sit down, just for a moment?" He asked Sticky kindly. "Perhaps I can persuade Mrs. Judson to give you a couple of her famous cheese crumpets."

Sticky's ears perked up and his eyes brightened. "You have food?" He asked eagerly.

Dr. Dawson chuckled. "Of course," he said. "Let me fetch you something." Dr. Dawson waddled over to the kitchen. "Mrs. Judson?" he called. "Mrs. Judson?"

"Yes, yes, what is it?" Mrs. Judson entered the kitchen, yawning and wrapping her robe around her. Dr. Dawson flushed in embarrassment.

"So sorry, I was just wondering where you put the crumpets?" He asked.

Mrs. Judson tilted her head. "Why?"

"Well, you see, there's a little boy come to see Basil, he's a bit hungry. He's an orphan, you see, and-"

"An orphan? Oh, the poor dear!" Mrs. Judson whooshed past Dr. Dawson and opened a cabinet, pulling out a glass jar filled to the brim with stacked crumpets. She hurriedly took out a few crumpets and placed them on a plate, rushing out to the parlor to give them to Sticky.

Dr. Dawson poked his head out the kitchen door, looking on as Mrs. Judson fussed over Sticky, who looked surprised and a little frightened to be met with such smothering attention.

"Oh, you poor dear, I'll have you cleaned up in no time! And you're so thin, and your clothes are such a fright! I'll mend those for you as soon as we get you a bath, it's clear you'll be needing one of those," Mrs. Judson was gushing, poking and prodding at Sticky. Finally, Basil intervened, setting his pipe down on the table and peeling Mrs. Judson off his client.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Mrs. Judson, that will be all," Basil said, pushing her aside (not unkindly). Mrs. Judson ran out to get a bath prepared for the orphan, who immediately grabbed a crumpet and began stuffing it into his mouth.

"Did you notice anything unusual about the children's appearances or behaviors?" Basil asked.

"Nope," Sticky answered, his mouth full (he sprayed some crumbs when he spoke) and wiped his fingers on his filthy shirt. He paused. "Actually, the boy had some sort of thing on 'is ear," Sticky recalled. "Some sort of bite mark. Looked like a cat got at 'im."

Basil almost dropped his pipe. "A bite mark out of his ear?"

"Yessir, a little bite right out of the top."

Basil scurried out of the room, leaving Dr. Dawson and Sticky to sit in bewildered silence, broken only by the sound of Sticky's chewing. Suddenly, Basil returned, holding a clean newspaper. He shoved it in Sticky's face.

"The boy, the girl, they looked like this?"

Sticky leaned back to see the picture better. On the newspaper was a photograph of a rather wealthy-looking family…a tall, rather big-boned mouse with his whiskers neatly curled in a handlebar-mustache type fashion, a slender lady mouse with her fur wrapped up in a bun, a tiny mouseling with blonde ringlets and an older boy mouse with neatly combed fur and one ear with a notch taken out of it, indeed looking like a cat had tried eating him and had missed, merely nicking his ear instead of biting his head off.

Sticky blinked, recognition crossing his face. "That's them! That's them! That's them, right there on the newspaper!"

Basil laughed triumphantly. "Aha! Brilliant!"

Dawson blinked in confusion. "Basil, what's going on? Do you know these children?"

Basil nodded fervently. "Oh, yes, I do, Dawson. Those poor kidnapped children are none other than the children of Harold Colby Muenster!"

Dawson gasped. "The millionaire?"

"Precisely!" Basil waved the paper in the air. "These children were not just ordinary children. These were Clara and Michael Muenster, heirs to perhaps the biggest fortune in London, second only to the royal family themselves! And that," Basil said, pointing to the photo again, to the mother's chest, which sported a large brooch, "is the Heart Diamond!"

The Heart Diamond was well-known for its beauty and its unusual color. Famous for its blue coloring said to be as rich in its cobalt color as the Caribbean Sea, where it was discovered, it had a rich history of being stolen repeatedly throughout the years. Two murders and countless robberies had taken place over this diamond, so much some called it "the Bloody Heart Diamond" in tribute to its violent history. According to this article, it had resurfaced from years of unknown whereabouts in a marketplace in Morocco, where the famous millionaire Harold Colby Muenster had found it and bought it for a considerable sum as a gift for his wife, Agatha.

Dawson's eyes flickered over the page. "My God," he whispered. "Those children were kidnapped because of that jewel!"

"Exactly so. And we are going to pay the Muenster household a visit to find out a little more about this kidnapping."

Dawson cast a nervous glance at the clock. "It's a bit late, Basil…"

"Nonsense," said Basil, who already had his coat on and was buttoning it rapidly. There was a manic gleam in his eyes and he was grinning broadly. "The longer we wait, the greater the chance of that diamond being lost forever, and," Basil added, a frown flickering across his face, "the greater the chance of those children getting hurt."

That made Dr. Dawson reach for his coat. "Of course," he muttered. "The children…can't waste a moment."

Basil flung open the door and barged into the night, Dr. Dawson following as quickly as he could, pulling his jacket on. Sticky watched from the armchair, reaching for another crumpet. This was getting interesting. The talk of a millionaire's children and kidnapping and diamonds excited his imagination as much as it would any other thirteen-year-old boy (although the kids seemed like rich little snots, he still didn't want them to get hurt, neither). But he was rather comfortable in this cozy little parlor, and didn't want to leave quite yet. The fire was so nice and warm, and the crumpets tasted so good, he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. He decided that it would be such a waste to not finish the crumpets that the nice, if not a bit smothering, lady gave him, and decided he would wait until he finished the plate before back out into the cold night.

Mrs. Judson appeared, holding a towel and a brush. "Alright, young man, let's get you a bath," she said brightly.

Sticky dropped his crumpet in horror.

The misty streets of London were cold and wet, and Dawson rubbed his hands together in an effort to warm them a bit. Basil was practically racing down the streets in excitement over the new case, having to stop every bit or so to wait for the wheezing doctor to catch up.

"Doctor, I'm terribly sorry, old chap, but could you please hurry up at least a little?" Basil called, tapping his foot impatiently.

Dr. Dawson sighed and jogged to the end of the block, where the antsy detective was waiting. Dawson bent over, panting. "S-sorry, Basil," he apologized.

Basil waved off the apology. "Never mind, never mind," he said, pointing at the very large house in the upscale neighborhoods of London. By far the most elegant place of residence in that part of London, it was the biggest house Dawson had ever seen, excepting Buckingham Palace.

"Come on, Dawson!" Basil said excitedly, dashing to the home. Exasperated at the prospect of more running, Dawson jogged as quickly as he could behind the younger, more energetic detective.

Next to the gargantuan human sized door, there was the smaller door where the Muenster family lived. That door was a large mahogany masterpiece with a beautiful stained glass window in it. Basil reached up and pulled the thread that was the doorbell. Bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for the door to be answered, Basil cast a glance back at Dawson and smiled broadly. Dawson grinned back, uncertainly.

Finally, the door was answered by a young blonde mouse wearing a maid's uniform. She looked Basil and Dawson over and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at them.

"Who are you?" She asked in a French accent.

"Basil of Baker Street, at your service," Basil said, giving her a dramatic bow. When he straightened, he gestured to Dawson, who gave an acknowledging nod to the maid. "And this is my associate, Dr. Dawson."

"How do you do," Dr. Dawson said.

The maid's eyes widened. "The detective?" She murmured, surprised.

"Who is it, Angelique?" A woman's voice called. Another woman appeared, one that Dr. Dawson recognized from the picture. "Who are you?" The woman said.

"It is Mr. Basil of Baker Street, Mrs. Muenster," Angelique the Maid said. Basil smiled charmingly at Mrs. Muenster and bowed.

"Agatha Muenster, I am honored to meet you," he said, taking Mrs. Muenster's hand in his and brushing it briefly with his lips.

Mrs. Muenster blinked. "The pleasure's all mine," she said. She looked from Basil to Dawson and cleared her throat. "I didn't call for you."

"No, but I believe we've come across some information about your missing children," Basil said.

Mrs. Muenster paled. "Clara and Michael?" She whispered. "You know where they are?"

"We're working on it," Basil said. "May we come in?"

Mrs. Muenster stepped aside, allowing Basil and Dr. Dawson to enter. She looked nervously at the street before closing the door behind them.

Angelique the Maid led them by candlelight to the sitting room. She turned the gaslights on, washing the room in light. It was an exquisite room, rivaling the concert hall in Covent Garden that Basil and he had visited the month before. The room had been wallpapered in light blue and white stripes, accented with gold trim. A large, fancy fireplace took up a good part of the wall. Two large, comfy-looking blue armchairs and a sofa sat in the middle of the room. The windows were covered by pale gold drapes.

"Please, sit." Mrs. Muenster said, gesturing to the armchairs. Dawson obliged immediately, taking the opportunity to wipe off his forehead with his handkerchief and tucking it back in his pocket. Basil sat down on the edge of the sofa, and Mrs. Muenster sat across from them, in an armchair a little apart from them both. She leaned in. "You said you know what happened to my children?"

"We believe they were kidnapped for the Heart Diamond," Basil explained. "According to an eyewitness account, your daughter was wearing the brooch when they walked down by the docks today. A man came and snatched her up first, then followed suit with the boy and disappeared."

Mrs. Muenster gasped. "They were kidnapped?"

"Unfortunately. We were wondering if you could answer some questions about them."

Mrs. Muenster leaned in. "Do you know who took my husband too?"

Basil, who had been about to say something, closed his mouth in surprise, registering what she just said. Dr. Dawson gasped, "Mrs. Muenster, your husband has gone missing too?"

Mrs. Muenster nodded.

Basil grunted in annoyance with himself. "That's why there was no hat or shoes by the door and he didn't come downstairs," he muttered. "I noticed that, I should have known he was gone. Of course he's gone missing. Of course!"

"Basil!" Dr. Dawson scolded. "We should listen to Mrs. Muenster's explanation."

Mrs. Muenster swallowed and reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out an envelope. "Two days ago I received this in the mail," she explained, her voice wavering. "My husband was in America, New York City, for business. He never came home."

Basil took the envelope and opened it. His eyes flickered over the page.

"What does it say, Basil?" Dawson asked.

Basil cleared his throat and read aloud, "If you ever want to see your beloved husband again, take the Heart Diamond to the docks of London two days from now and collect him. If you tell any cops I will find out and take your children too.

"Rather crudely made," Basil remarked about the letter, inspecting the writing. "From the slanting of the writing, the author seems to have tried to disguise his writing by writing with his left hand instead of his right. The man who wrote this letter, as I am quite sure it was a man, was not too old, perhaps in his early thirties, and unmarried, as there are no marks where his wedding ring would have rubbed the paper when he wrote the letter. He hails from the East side of London," Basil continued, sniffing the paper and grimacing slightly, "and drinks to the point of addiction. In essence," he concluded, handing the paper back to Mrs. Muenster, "your average, everyday thug."

Mrs. Muenster took the paper, not once taking her eyes off Basil's face. "I told my children to stay out of it, that I would take care of it, but Michael was such a wayward young man, I suppose he decided to take matters into his own hands and take his sister down to… it was my fault. Ever since he was little and almost got swallowed by that cat I promised to keep a special eye on them both. Now they're gone…" she faltered, looking up at Basil. "Do…do you…" she stuttered. "Do you think the man who wrote this letter took my children?"

Basil studied her face a moment, before answering, "No."

Mrs. Muenster stared at the ground, her eyes filling with tears. She brought a hand to her mouth. "Michael said they were going to their grandmother's house, so I gave the nanny the night off. I thought they were spending the night there, but if someone saw them get kidnapped…" Mrs. Muenster started to sob.

Basil rocked back in his seat, staring at Mrs. Muenster, then giving Dawson a panicked look. If there was one thing Basil was bad at, it was comforting emotional clients. Dr. Dawson understood and offered his services, handing Mrs. Muenster a handkerchief and patting her gently on the back.

"There, there," he said gently.

When Mrs. Muenster's sobs quieted, Basil said, "The man who wrote this note was small, about 6 inches tall but only weighing about 3 ounces or so. The man who kidnapped your children was described as a big fellow, one who could lift both children effortlessly. There isn't any way that they are the same man."

Mrs. Muenster looked up, her fur streaked wet from the tears, her mouth open in awe. "How did you know all that from the letter?" She asked.

"The pencil moved easily across the paper, his fingers not getting in the way, which they would have if the man was of a normal weight and wasn't as thin as he is. Also, some of the writing is shifted from where the man's knee would have bumped the table, only able to do that if the man was exceptionally tall and could not fit the chair he was sitting in."

Mrs. Muenster stared at him.

Basil grinned slightly. "Elementary, really."

Mrs. Muenster seemed to decide something. She straightened and wiped her tears away. "I want you to find my family," she said.

Dawson looked at Basil, who nodded. "I'll do what I can. In the meantime, I need you to answer a few questions."

Mrs. Muenster was calm and dry-eyed throughout the rest of the interview. Dawson reached into his pocket and located his notepad and a pencil, and took notes as Basil asked Mrs. Muenster many questions.

"Has your husband fallen into bad company lately?" Asked Basil.

"I don't get involved in the business much," Mrs. Muenster replied. "But he's been acting differently lately. Just before he left for the business trip, he was acting nervous, jumpy. He didn't even take me out for evening walks like we used to," Mrs. Muenster said sadly.

Basil narrowed his eyes, longing for his pipe, which helped him think. "I see. Did he say anything about why he has been so nervous?"

"Well…" she paused for a moment, probably running through the events of the past week or so in her head. "Actually," she seemed to remember something, "I remember the day before he left, he, he told me that if anything seemed a little strange while he was gone, I should go to Old Swampy's Tavern and ask for someone…Higgins, he said to ask for Higgins. And I asked why, and he said, 'just in case.' I guess I forgot about that after that."

Basil thought that over. "Thank you, Mrs. Muenster. So sorry to have disturbed you at such a late hour." He flashed a charming smile at her and got up from his seat, adjusting his detective hat.

Dawson looked up from his notepad in surprise. "Basil, already?" He asked, bewildered. "That's all?"

Basil smiled thinly. "That's all. Come on, old chap."

Basil marched out of the room. Dawson smiled apologetically at Mrs. Muenster and quickly followed Basil down the hall and out the door.