An Even Grimmer Plot
Ratigan and I formed a long history of destroying each other's plans. At times, he would prove more clever, knowing where and when to strike. Other times, I would interfere with his plans, occasionally preventing crimes it had taken him several weeks to plot, or else finding enough evidence against him that it was nearly a month before he dared attempt so much as a misdemeanor. Then there would be times when he succeeded in some parts of his felony, yet I managed to interrupt his scheme before it was complete.
His international crimes generally caused me severe migraines. I shall never forget the trouble he caused in France and Spain, let alone his misadventures in India. Thankfully, he rarely ventured so far from London, preferring to limit his personal empire of crime to Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. An ordinary mouse who had visited these countries as frequently as I, or even half as often, would most likely intermittently dream in an accent different than his or her own, but I, Basil of Baker Street, am never troubled by unusual dreams.
That isn't to say that his plots that occurred in London, as most did, were any more simplistic to foil. I clearly recall the time of the Lambeth Larceny.
At first it was nothing more than an increase in petty theft, such as removing items from the pockets of others without their consent. A few trinkets began disappearing from small shops, but this was hardly the ingenious scheme of a demented mastermind. The most novice delinquents in Mousedom could do as much.
However, it wasn't long before shops were robbed. In my experience as an investigator, theft from small businesses typically involves the removal of the contents of the cash register and any items of significant financial value. Robbers seldom desire anything else.
During the time of the Lambeth Larceny, shopkeepers opened their doors in the morning only to find completely bare cupboards. Even inexpensive items or those that would be of no service whatsoever to thieves or other felons had been stolen.
While I was still investigating this case, many of the finest banks in London, no longer limited to the Lambeth district, were robbed. I was certain this was Ratigan's work. He no doubt intended to instill fear throughout the entire city, thus adding to his notoriety. He would see to it that he remained superfluously wealthy while the economy of Mousedom was utterly damaged.
As if in answer to my suspicions, banks throughout England were soon plundered, as were a few in Scotland and Wales. Reports of piracy also increased, and although I never found the slightest inkling of evidence to indicate that Ratigan had been hiring sailors to steal from seafaring mice, I am firmly convinced that he was responsible for this violation of the law, for he loved power above all else. No doubt he relished the idea that not a corner of London, or anywhere else in Mousedom, for that matter, was safe while he was at large, for there was no evil scheme he wouldn't concoct, nor was there any depravity he wouldn't commit. To be sure, there were other criminal masterminds in London, yet the vast majority of cases I have investigated were the dastardly schemes of either Ratigan himself, one of his colleagues, or someone wishing to gain his favor.
I was taught from a young age that pessimism is never the proper solution to any problem, for the moment one believes that life cannot possibly exacerbate, one finds oneself very much in error. Every situation can easily become worse, and it shall certainly do so if one dwells on such thoughts. I know not in a philosophical sense whether or not I believe as much, but I do know that criminals often attempt to surpass even their own ingenuity.
Just when the police were entirely convinced that there was no manner in which the Lambeth Larceny could worsen, the felons responsible began stealing the most precious items of all: living beings. Infants began disappearing from orphanages, and as Ratigan's criminal ring had no use for adoption, I shudder to think what nefarious fate came to pass for those unfortunate children. Comely young ladies, both rats and mice, began leaving London at an alarming rate. (To this day, I remain uncertain if Ratigan and his men ever plotted anything directly against women or if these ladies merely fled due to the prevalent fear of these ruffians. Perhaps the young women simply wished to raise their respective families in a more benign environment.)
After a few months, the felons were satisfied. There was still the occasional bank robbery to remind us all that there were those who had more power over Mousedom than Queen Moustoria herself, but I suspect that even being the horror of the empire's every waking moment grew monotonous after several weeks. There were other felonies to commit, not to mention that continuing the same manner of delinquency for an extended period of time greatly increases the chances that one will err in such a way that leads to one's apprehension, quite possibly one's execution as well.
I suppose a lesser mouse would begin to grow frustrated after years of attempting to capture a certain felon, all to no avail, but Detective Basil of Baker Street is never exasperated. Never in my life have I given up, admitted defeat, or believed I strove in vain and should never see Ratigan placed behind bars, and I most certainly have never fallen into a state of melancholy to the extent where I did not rise from my bed for three days; I merely played the violin or stared at the ceiling. Rarely do I feel any manner of emotion at all, and when I do, I can hardly consider such to be bouts of depression.
