Danger in the Shadows

Chapter 2: A New Threat?

The next day, Basil lounged in his favorite red armchair, and soft notes drifted from his violin throughout the house. As he scraped away at the instrument, his thoughts began to wander.

He practically had the house to himself. Mrs. Judson was away visiting relatives, and Dawson was still away checking up on one of his patients. Basil smiled to himself. Good old Dawson. Always concerned about the wellbeing of others. He grimaced as he thought of how harsh he'd been towards the doctor yesterday when he snapped at him for suggesting that he take a break. After all, Dawson was only concerned for the health of his friend. He had often told Basil that he was pushing himself too hard, which was probably true. Basil had been known to go days without food or rest when hot upon a fresh scent during a case. But because of his desire to help others, Basil had dedicated his life to detective work, and he always placed his clients needs above his own.

Thinking of the Flavershams returning to London, Basil smiled. He was happy that the little family was doing well. After all they had been through, they deserved it.

The Flaversham case had been the highlight of Basil's career. After years of trying to capture Ratigan and put an end to his criminal regime, Basil had finally defeated the Napoleon of Crime. As a result of spoiling the Professor's plans to eliminate the Queen and take over the kingdom, as well as freeing Flaversham and saving little Olivia's life, Basil's reputation had increased dramatically. In the beginning, people had looked to Basil often as a last resort, and because he could clear up almost any mystery even when the police had abandoned it as hopeless. Now, they often came to him even before going to the police, especially since Dawson had began publishing accounts of his cases. Scotland Yard itself often requested his assistance, and even Inspector Grayson, who at first had been rather skeptical of Basil's powers of deduction, often came to the great detective for his advice.

But to Basil, the best things that had come out of the Flaversham case were the lifelong friends he had made. He had always been a sort of social misfit. Certainly, throughout his short career, he had helped countless mice with whatever problems they brought to him, but he had never developed a close relationship with any of them; they were only clients. However, the same could not be said of Dawson, nor the Flavershams.

Ever since she had shown up on his doorstep, Basil had begun to develop a sense of protectiveness toward Olivia. And, he admitted, she had grown on him. Since he'd saved her life along with Flavershams, her father had felt very grateful to Basil, and they also became friends. Basil was still in awe at what Olivia had said the day before. Here she was, a young girl of only about twelve years old, and she had more sense than most of the force of Scotland Yard.

And Basil didn't know what he would do if it weren't for Dawson. He was a bit muddleheaded at times, and Basil had often grown annoyed with him; but he was always helpful, willing to do whatever Basil asked, even if it involved risking his own life. A large part of Basil's fame came from Dawson publishing accounts of his cases. Although Basil sometimes remarked that he embellished them too much and did not focus on the more important facts of the actual case, he greatly appreciated Dawson's support and friendship.

…...

As Basil reflected while continuing playing the violin, Dawson was strolling down Baker Street. The doctor had established his own medical practice just down the street, so the walk was not far. It had been a long day; Dawson had more appointments than usual, and it was almost dark when he had finally locked up. As he was walking, he pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Looking down, Dawson wasn't watching where he was going, and he accidentally bumped into a mouse standing by a streetlamp. But before Dawson could apologize himself, the mouse muttered, "Pardonez moi, monsieur." And, keeping his head bowed, he hastily walked across the street. Of course, the doctor didn't think much of the incident, and continued on his way.

However, as he drew closer to home, Dawson glanced across the street and noticed that same mouse walking in the same direction as he. He hadn't gotten a good look at him before; but now, with a start, Dawson noticed the large scar on the right side of the mouse's face. It extended from the base of his ear across his cheek and down to his chin, and had turned the corner of his mouth up, making it appear as if he was always snarling. Remembering what Basil had said yesterday, Dawson quickened his steps, not wanting to confront this unsavory character alone.

Minutes later, Dawson arrived at 221 ½ B Baker Street and took the keys out of his pocket. As he unlocked the door, he glanced behind him and saw the mouse loitering across the street, leaning against the side of the opposite house and looking down at the ground with his hands buried in his coat pockets. Dawson finally got the door open and let out the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and was thankful that he was finally home.

Still lounging in his chair by the fire, Basil's eyes were closed as he continued playing his violin.

"Basil?" Dawson asked as he removed his coat.

"Mm?" Basil replied, eyes still closed.

"That fellow you mentioned yesterday, the one you thought was following you…what did you say he look like?"

Basil opened his eyes and looked at Dawson questionably. "I didn't get a close at him, but he's thin, an inch or so taller than I, and has a large scar on the right side of his face."

"From his ear to his chin?"

Basil sat up and leaned forward eagerly. "Have you seen him?" he asked excitedly.

"I believe so," Dawson replied. "I bumped into him as I was walking, and now he's lurking about the house across the street."

Basil jumped up from his chair and looked out of the window cautiously. "I don't see him."

"What?" Dawson exclaimed. He joined Basil at the window. Sure enough, the street was empty. Dawson shook his head. "He was there a moment ago…"

"I don't doubt it," Basil assured him as he resumed his seat. "Did he speak to you?"

"When I bumped into him, he said, 'Pardonez moi, monsieur.' "

"Interesting," Basil said thoughtfully, taking his pipe from the mantle and lighting it.

"Then he's French?"

"That's very possible," Basil replied. "After all, I did first notice him during that forgery case in Paris."

"I suppose I shouldn't be influenced so much by outward appearances," Dawson said sheepishly. "After all, he hasn't caused any harm. Perhaps he's only a client working up the nerve to ask us for help; he may feel a bit reluctant because he's a foreigner in an unfamiliar place."

Basil smiled to himself. Dawson always looked for the best in people. "Who knows?" he replied with a shrug. "But we'll keep an eye out for him all the same."

Author's Note: So, added a little hint of danger. Should this mysterious Frenchmouse be considered a threat? Only time will tell.