Basil of Baker Street and the Rogue of Madame Mussauds
Chapter 2


Dawson-

Madame Tussaud's for the human world shone brightly in contrast to the dismal London fog and downpour. I briefly glanced up at the electric lights and bold lettering in the marquee. The clumsy giants splashed along the streets while several more waited to enter the museum. Such places as these were entertaining, but like my detective friend, I was curious to know who sent that thug to his door and urge him to come over to this tourist trap. Basil would not rest until he got solid answers. For that matter, nor would I.

Upon entering the foyer of Madame Mussauds, I closed my umbrella and shook it lightly. The spacious room had a buzz of chattering mice. A smile formed when I realized the amount of attention Basil would get once they created his wax figure. I had secretly hoped it would stand in a spot many visitors walked through the most. The mouse himself was too busy to notice my content expression and gave a low scoff.

"There's too much twaddle in this room," he dully said. "It's disrupting my frequencies." My grin slowly faded as I turned to watch him scan the open space. I could only see mice of every shape, size, and gender looking over the exhibits. No one seemed out of the ordinary. To Basil, however, his sharp brain was constantly working and gathering information. Moments later, I could hear someone quietly chanting next to us.

"Killing mice, killing mice, killing mice..."

"Is that what she said?"

"Yes, she was a devil woman! She really did try to kill some of us and she succeeded! I managed to escape."

"What was her name again?"

"Mary Pearcey," Basil said to the two lady mice, seeing them both stare blankly at him. "Pardon for the interruption, but that was her name. Rarely do I read crime reports on humans, but these particular acts of violence did indeed have some involvement with our species. She did have a reputation of trying to step on mice whenever possible and she did it in the most unladylike fashion."

"I heard Pearcey isn't even her real last name," one of the two ladies piped up.

"You heard correctly," Basil nodded. "She took the surname from a carpenter she loved, but due to her infidelity, he left her. She became involved with another suitor, one Frank Hogg by name, who was involved with another lover named Phoebe Styles. She bore him a child and this enraged Ms Pearcey, enough to kill them both."

"Oh, my," was all I could plainly utter.

"She was convicted for the murder of her lover's wife and infant daughter," Basil went on with a smug expression I knew far too well. He loved showing off his knowledge to anyone who cared to listen. "Blood stains were found splattered all over the walls and ceiling. When apprehended, Ms. Pearcey said she was trying to kill mice. It would not surprise me if she took us out one by one."

"They have her wax figure in Tussaud's," the chanting mouse replied. "I've seen it before in the Chamber of Horrors. It's a frightening sight!"

"You really should not venture where humans dwell; it's not safe," I told her in a worried tone of voice. The ladies looked young, around the same age as Basil, and they were dressed in middle class attire. The chanting female pursed her lips while the other crossed her arms.

"The tip is appreciative, but unnecessary since we're never going back there again," the companion replied, eyeing her friend. "Isn't that right, Jillian?" I looked to the girl and waited for her reply. I did not expect a male voice to answer instead.

"It is also unnecessary when we have our own exhibit of that murderous woman." All four of us noticed an official-looking mouse emerging from the crowds. "Good afternoon, everyone."

"Benjamin Loveur, I presume?" I asked merely as a confirmation, but judging by his attire, I knew it had to be him. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am-"

"Doctor David Dawson, yes of course! I remember reading about you being thanked by the queen. Welcome to my museum!" Loveur extended his hand. I calmly shook it twice, retracting first. I did not have a good feeling about this mouse, not even when he wore a friendly expression. Turning to the ladies, he continued with his conversation. "As I was saying, the display is only of Miss Pearcey's dress, legs, and shoes. We then placed figures of squished victims surrounding her feet. Causes a bit of the stir to the faint of heart, but that's how our business runs. You really should see it."

And see it we did. Loveur led us all into the Chamber of Horrors section of the museum. I felt a cold chill upon entering the room with the accompaniment of uneasiness. There were a number of ghastly displays of torture devices. We then arrived at a large pair of a woman's legs and feet. The scene was a dreadful one of Pearcey's lower form and scattered false corpses.

"But, wait, there's more! Watch this, folks..." Loveur walked around to the back of the display and pushed a button none of us could see. Before we could speak, one of the shoes suddenly came to life and rose off the ground! I let out a gasp at the sight of this wax object moving on its own. The shoe immediately returned to the floor and stomped upon one of the bodies of the wax mice.

"You've added mechanical wax figures, Loveur?" Basil said, raising an eyebrow. "How extraordinary..."

"Impressive, no?" Loveur said, looking pleased with himself. "This is the next step in our museum, a giant leap to a more successful show!" I quietly listened to the curator ramble on about how he contacted an anonymous yet talented inventor, soon realizing Basil had left my side to stand by the entrance of the room. My eyes did not deceive me; he climbed over the rope off the aisle and was looking around the floor as if he lost something. As Loveur began showing the two ladies how Pearcey's robot foot worked, I carefully stepped away to see what the detective was up to.

"Basil?" I paused at the sudden thrust of his hand stopping me. "What is it?"

"Look here, Dawson," he said, pointing to the floor. "There are a few scruff marks from something that was dragged from this spot. Also... whatever was standing here has left a faint trail of...blood." As he said that last word, I felt a sting of fright. Blood? I did not understand what was going on, but I knew we were getting ourselves involved into something rather strange. Basil caught sight of Mr. Loveur ending his conversation with the ladies and swiftly stepped back over the rope into the aisle, acting as normal as he could. Loveur walked over to us, fortunately never taking note of the detective's brief investigation.

"There you are, Mr. Basil. Enjoying my animated museum so far? Rather a lively one, is it not?" Loveur laughed pompously at his own puns.

Basil released an equal bit of fake laughter. "You have an abundance of interesting displays here, Loveur. Horrific or not, the show must go on, eh?"

"How very true," the curator nodded, extending a hand to pat his shoulder. "This is a rather unexpected visit. I have not seen you since the Dark Ages. What brings you out in the cold and into my humble museum?"

"Why, your letter, of course," Basil slyly replied while reaching into his coat pocket. He paused briefly to acknowledge the two lady mice watching us before moving closer to Mr. Loveur. Although they turned and walked away from us, they were still in ear shot range. Loveur lowered his gaze at the sight of the letter handed to him. Basil, meanwhile, was watching his every whim of a reaction.

"I sent no such thing! Who delivered this to you? Clearly no one from my staff."

"We believe it came from someone from the...underground," I said in a quieter voice while my peripheral vision remained on the two ladies. The one named Jillian could not stop staring in our direction; even Basil caught on of this and made a low clearing of his throat. My attention turned back to him. "What?"

"Nothing, Dawson," he muttered, adding more loudly to Loveur, "Perhaps it would be best if we could discuss this matter elsewhere?"

"Of course. Come with me, please." Bowing slightly, Loveur added to the ladies, "Thank you for your time; please enjoy the rest of your visit." As we started to walk away, I lightly tapped Basil's arm and lowered my voice.

"Those two seemed awfully suspicious. Did you not see the way that one named Jillian kept her eye on us?"

"I see everything, Dawson, but you already knew that," he replied in the same hushed volume.

"If I wasn't mistaken, I'd think that young miss had taken a fancy to me," I could not help myself as the words came out with a soft chuckle.

"She might have, Dawson, if her hand was not already taken," Basil said with a wink. "It is painfully obvious that you failed to notice the wedding band wrapped around her finger." I gulped and felt my face flush. "Now kindly remove your head from the clouds and bring it back down here. I need you to focus!"

Mr. Loveur motioned us over to the same door he first came through and urged us to enter it. We walked into an area the public never sees, more specifically for employees to create the forms and costumes for the wax figures. Several mice were back there either working on their creations or sitting at tables on a smoke break. For some reason, that same uneasiness struck me once more. The further we moved away from public eyes, the less safer we felt.

"This here is our work station. As you can see, we've got many figures in the process of completion and ready for the galleries. Now, if you'll follow me-"

"Mr. Loveur!" a worker mouse called out from behind two wax figures dressed from the Renaissance era. "Might I have a moment, please?"

"Excuse me, gents," Loveur left our side to handle whatever crisis had befallen upon his employee. From what I could tell, he was having difficulty with the assorted accessories to either apply or remove. As we waited, I found myself eyeing around the entire area, attempting not to stare at a pair of mice who kept looming their gaze toward us. One of the two workers rose to his feet, flicked his cigarette aside and walked over to a large figure with a white sheet covering it. Curiosity got the better of me and I started to follow him.

"What're ye starin' at, chump?" the worker mouse suddenly sneered at me.

"I do beg your pardon, er- sir-"

"Drop the 'sir' rubbish, the name's Charles Brunswick."

"My apologies, Mr. Brunswick-"

"Just Charles will do, chump!"

"Er...right...Charles..." I swallowed and cleared my throat. "I was just looking at that figure you've got there. Is that some sort of warrior?"

"Not a warrior, chump, though, he was considered pretty large for a mouse," Charles said, tapping the sheet. "He's going to be one of our new figures with mechanical parts. Tried 'im out this morning before the museum opened, but we had to bring 'im back here. Keeps breakin' down on us..." My heart started to thump harder as I stared at the size of this figure. He was several inches taller in height, more than the rest of us in the entire room. Feeling a presence beside me, I turned to see Basil standing there, also gawking at the sheet. "D'wanna a little peek at 'im, chump?"

I looked at the figure, then to Charles. "Um, well, only if we're allowed to-"

"Yes, we would," Basil suddenly snapped, giving a demanding expression to Charles.

The worker shrugged listlessly and lifted the sheet up partway, just enough to see who exactly was hiding under there. The second mouse, who had been watching us, rose up from his seat, and started over to us. That was no large mouse under there. It was a rat, and not just any rat, it was the Napoleon of crime himself! I felt myself taking several steps back to get a full view of Professor Ratigan as a head to toe wax figure. Charles and the second mouse let out a small laugh.

"Ha ha, did you see them flinch Leonard? We were successful!"

I was not sure how long I stared up and down at the figure, nor how many seconds Basil's mandible remained dropped. It was easy to say that we were both in a considerable amount of surprise. I managed to utter: "Um...well..uh... that's a...that's a very convincing replica of the criminal mastermind, boys!"

"Yes, a little too convincing," Basil said quietly, unable to take his eyes off of it. "Dare I ask how you both achieved such an accomplishment as this?"

"It wasn't easy mate, let me tell ya-" Leonard began, getting elbowed in the ribs by Charles.

"We are not permitted to revealing our secrets," he flatly told the detective. "All's we could tell you is we took a trip to the underworld t' seek answers to those who would provide it. Ya know, the ones who knew the professor real well. We only asked for what clothes were usually worn, fur colors, height, weight, everything we needed to make his figure for our museum."

"You mean my museum." Loveur did it again by speaking at a distance. The speed of his walk indicated he was not pleased with his workers showing off one of their finest creations. In a swift move, he covered Ratigan's figure back up with the sheet. Basil continued to stare at the figure long after it was concealed while Loveur rounded on his employees. "I thought I told you two never to show any outsiders your work! Not until the final curtain is drawn back, remember?"

"Sorry boss," Charles muttered, yet judging by his tone, he did not sound like he was.

"Mr. Basil, Dr. Dawson, what you saw was something that was not meant to be shown until months later," Loveur said with a sigh. "These buffoons are not too bright, nor do they know how to follow orders very well."

"Not very educated, would you say?" Basil asked.

"I'm afraid not, detective, no." At those words, Basil inhaled deeply and gave one last look. Loveur looked to the sheet as well, then back at him. "Seeing his figure must have been very unsettling for you, Mr. Basil. I do apologize for any discomfort my workers may have caused you."

"Think nothing of it, Loveur," Basil waved a dismissive hand. "I am more concerned about that letter I received."

"Indeed. I am deeply disappointed in whomever is responsible for this despicable infringement," Mr. Loveur began, lifting up and reading over the fake letter. "I told so few that I had planned to make your figure. I did not intend for it to leak to the daily newspaper. We have not even started on it. There is nothing to show for."

Basil briefly looked around at the workers before asking, "Which few were given this information?"

"Only Charles and Leonard, two of my best sculptures," Mr. Loveur replied, adding, "they may not be smart, but they are highly gifted in their skills. They were the only ones I told of this project. Someone must have overheard our conversation."

"Obviously." I did not have to look; Basil had rolled his eyes a little. "So, where do you think that letter-"

"You mean this monstrosity! It never would have left my desk!" Mr. Loveur waved it in the air, now with a voice of disgust. "Not only is my secretary, Josephine Black, the handler of our mail and newsletters, she is also the only one who has access to my office."

"Mm-hm. Is Ms Black available for questioning?" Basil asked next.

Mr. Loveur shook his head. "No, she left at three. She usually stays till five, but she was feeling a little under the weather and left earlier than usual."

"I see," Basil nodded, looking my way.

"I understand your frustrations, Mr. Basil, what with receiving an unusual letter from someone pretending it came from me." Mr. Loveur hung his shoulders and looked around at his workers. Each of them continued to keep their heads down. One of them was sitting on a crate with some stencil writing that I could not read unless I wore my glasses. Basil surely read it just fine yet chose to keep the information to himself.

"Might I have a look around your office?"

"My...private office?" Mr. Loveur appeared agitated at those words. Basil only lifted an eyebrow for getting another question to his question. "Certainly. This way, please..."

The more we moved on, the more I kept thinking we would never see the light of day again. This next section we entered was even darker than the previous with a single gas lamp lit beside a large, oak door. The door had the word, "Private" scratched within its center. Mr. Loveur entered first to pull on a chain attached to a hanging light bulb.

"This is my office," he lamely stated. Scattered papers, books, folders and pencils all covered the top surface of the curator's desk. Had I not viewed the contents attentively I would have missed a typewriter hidden beneath the clutter! Did a tornado come through here? This mess reminded me very much like Basil's chemistry desk in his laboratory. My friend took no time in sweeping his eyes all over the desk, the room, or anywhere that would provide clues for him. I could tell he was searching for something, but what? Mr. Loveur also noticed his prying eyes and asked, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Can you leave me with my assistant?" Basil snapped. If Mr. Loveur could ask a question to a question, so could my friend, and in the most impolite tone I might add.

"Er, of course, but, I don't know-"

"Very good, very good...thank you..." Basil shoved him out the door and closed it tight. I was appalled at what I had just witnessed. Basil threw Mr. Loveur out of his own office! Before I could say a word, I was greeted with an expression that told me to button my lip. "There was a break-in, doctor."

"What do you-"

"Sh-shh! This is clearly a disrupted environment. Look over here." Basil gestured to the door and pointed out pieces of the wood chipped away. "A crow bar was used here to get inside this room." The next thing he did was fish through the wastebasket and smooth out any balled up pieces of paper he came across. With narrowed eyes, he exclaimed, "Ah-ha! Here is a draft letter made for me filled with more grammar errors. The thug was undoubtedly sitting in this chair and typing on this typewriter." A large accounting book almost the size of the desk caught Basil's attention. In the corner of my eye I noticed him open the heavy cover, reading through the notes to himself. Shifting a stack of papers aside, I heard him gasp. "What the..."

"Have you found something?"

"I most certainly have...look at the name of this inventor..." I came around the desk to find my friend staring down what appeared to be a model sheet on making mechanical robots. The featured robot looked like something created by the hands of an old acquaintance of ours. It only took me a few seconds to realize why Basil had gasped the way he did. "Well, now, this certainly explains the creation of his movable figures..."

"Flaversham," we both uttered. An attached letter with the model sheets clearly stated that Flaversham was contacted by Louver to aid him and his workers in making robot wax figures and other body parts. I added, "But, I don't understand! This is a wax museum, why would they need to make mechanical ones too?"

"Why, to make more money, of course!" Basil exclaimed. "That's all what these businesses are interested in." His brow knitted tightly together as he stepped away to quietly search the room some more. As I followed suit, my eyes did a quick view along the contents of the desk, pausing on a few sparkling pieces of blue circles.

"What are these?" Basil took out his magnifying glass and squinted at the little circles.

"It's sequins, Dawson. They are usually sewn into a performer's costume, usually a dancer. It's naturally not from the clothing of Loveur, but from the clothing of...someone else that has been in here...?" A knock to the door pulled him from his concentration. Basil shook his head and proceeded to return everything to its normal state except clutching the small cluster of sequins. In a whisper of a voice, he hissed to me, "Oh, confound it...hurry, Dawson, close that book!" In a flash, I reached over and carefully closed the accounting book just as a second knock alerted our ears.

"Mr. Basil? Dr. Dawson? Are you done yet?" Basil opened the door to reveal Mr. Loveur standing very close to the frame. Too close for his own comfort. Was he eavesdropping on our conversation? "Goodness, chap, I was starting to worry about you two! Is everything all right?"

"So far. Tell me, who else besides you and your secretary have access to this room?"

Mr. Loveur frowned a little before answering. "I already told you, no one!"

"Really? Finding these sequins on your desk seems to tell me otherwise," Basil said, opening his palm to expose the sparkling circles of evidence. Mr. Loveur, turning as flushed as I did when I heard that Jillian mouse was married, swallowed a little and lowered his eyes to the ground.

"Fine, detective, I'll confess. Someone else used to access this room besides myself and my secretary." Due to the hesitation in his voice, Basil remained quiet, expecting to hear more. "My brother, Henry, used to come in here often, had his own key, but I've lost a little trust in him." Basil continued to wait to hear the rest. "He was my bookkeeper, but he always kept making mistakes. His math education was poor, yet he knew the difference between adding and subtracting when it came to money. When the figures were not adding up correctly and large sums of banknotes had gone missing, I had to tell him he was no longer welcome here."

"What about these?" I gestured to the sequins in Basil's hand.

"He'd invite a lady caller into my office, one from the costume department. She must of had one of our costumes in her possession as she was in here with him. I have often found this door locked one too many times, and I knew he was fooling around while on the job. I just could not have that nonsense going on here."

"What was her name?" Basil asked, watching Loveur twitch further.

"Who?"

"The lady caller? From the costume department?" The tone in Basil's voice sounded puzzled. Even I was starting to smell a rat, and it wasn't from the wax figure of Ratigan, either!

"I don't remember, exactly," he replied, having Basil squint his eyes further. "All I knew is I had to fire them both."

My eyes widened. "You fired your own brother?"

"Well, he was never on my staff to begin with," Loveur said to the floor. "I had him turn in his key and I told him to keep out of my museum. We got into a quick fight before he left. The devil scratched at my face, one that required stitches." He briefly showed us the faint scar near his left eye. "After that, he disappeared. I have not seen him in weeks."

"Is there a security guard I can speak to, specifically the one who's here after closing?" Basil asked.

"We don't have a security guard," Mr. Loveur said, making us stare in confusion. "Each time we hire someone to watch over the museum at night, they've mysteriously disappeared!" Basil cupped his chin and thought for a moment. "The strange thing is, nothing gets stolen. The books and money count have remained the same. Whoever is doing this only seems to want to cause trouble for us, or extra work at the disaster they've made. I thought it was former workers that I've had to let go due to being drunk and lazy, but if they had some sort of vendetta against us, they would be doing far worse than this."

Basil tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Why have you not alerted the police of these incidents?"

"Why?" Mr. Loveur's eyes widened. "Why do you think, detective? I did not want to cause a commotion! Such news reaching the papers would ruin my business!"

Basil nodded once. He allowed those words to settle within while I was growing angry with this curator. Loveur did not want to cause a commotion? For a mouse to care more about his precious reputation than his own workers was a very unsettling thing to hear. Moving toward the door told me that Basil was preparing to leave, and I was more than ready to follow behind.

"I would like another look around in your gallery."

"If you don't mind, that is," I added affably. Basil still shot me a mild glare.

"Not at all," Mr. Loveur led us out of the back rooms and through a door that took us straight into the main gallery where wax figures could be seen in every corner. It was near closing time and some of the guests were still walking around and commenting to the figures. At one point, Mr. Loveur left our side unannounced. I still wanted to know why he was so visibly shaken after Basil requested to enter his office, but I had to be patient in receiving such answers. My attention turned back to my friend examining each figure and the costumes they wore.

"You're on to something, aren't you, Basil?"

"When am I not?" he stepped back from a display and said something I had been expecting to hear. "I have now officially viewed every female's costume in this entire museum. Not one of them have on an attire that contains a use for these blue sequins. I did, however, find some more next to this risen platform." The display looked like a theater stage that was in the process of being changed to something else. A sign was found next to the sequins with these words written in chalk: The corps de ballet in formation for a backdrop, from the production of "S...n...ake". Someone erased the title with a few of the letters still showing.

"A production of Snake? I've never heard of a ballet like that before."

"It said Swan Lake before they erased it, Dawson," Basil replied. "See the spacing in the letters?"

"Are you sure?" I was given an annoyed look.

"Very sure, doctor."

"Well, if you hadn't rushed me, I wouldn't have left my reading glasses at home!" I ignored Basil rolling his eyes and repeating the word 'snake' with a scoff. Watching him put his magnifier in his coat pocket, I was reminded of another word I could not read on the crate without the use of a larger lens. "Basil, about that crate with the writing, in the back near the curator's office, what did it say?"

"The one word I caught was Hydrol. Now why they would have a crate containing such chemicals, well, I am certain to find out...soon..." His voice drifted in a way that told me something, or rather someone, caught his attention. A pair of mice I instantly recognized gleefully waved to us. I could hear a groan of regret yet his face revealed the exact opposite.

"Mr. Basil, Dr. Dawson!" one of the mice exclaimed as they shuffled over to us.

"Ah, if it isn't our neighbors, the Proudfoots!" Basil attempted a friendly grin.

"What a pleasant surprise!" Mr. Proudfoot said as he and his wife approached us. As Basil stated, the couple, along with their twin daughters Angela and Agatha, were neighbors of ours. I had only met them on a few rare occasions, but I knew they were good mice who never bothered anyone. "How are you two doing this days?"

"Doing quite well, thank you," Basil put his hands behind his back and nodded to Mrs. Proudfoot. "Ma'am."

"Hello, Mr. Basil," Mrs. Proudfoot smiled warmly. "Have you had the chance to tour this museum? It is quite a show! The figures look so real, almost life-like!"

"You must see the Chamber of Horrors," Mr. Proudfoot cut in. "It frightens the bravest of heart. Our daughters considered that room their least favorite."

Basil and I only nodded, bringing on an awkward few seconds of silence. I could see in his expression that he could care less what the young girls liked or disliked. Their absence from their parent's side, however, did cause a bit of a concern to us both. I finally asked, "Speaking of which, where are those twins of yours?"

"We were hoping they'd meet us in here, but they've scampered off on us!" Mrs. Proudfoot said in a tone of worry. "Have either of you seen them?"

I regretted shaking my head. "No, miss, I'm afraid we have not."

"Oh, dear, I hope they haven't gone far," Mrs. Proudfoot said, her eyes now turning to every corner of the room. As we talked, I noticed an employee approach with a set of keys in hand. Basil also saw this mouse and stared suspiciously at him.

"Fake," he muttered next to my ear.

"What?"

"Shhh..."

"Folks, the museum is closing," the employee said, facing Basil next. "Are you Mr. Basil?" Receiving a mere nod, he added, "Mr. Loveur wishes to speak with you. He's waiting in the back. If you would kindly follow me."

Mrs. Proudfoot reached out to the employee. "Sir, wait, our children, we can't find them-"

"No worries, miss," the employee said calmly. "We've already cleared the other rooms of guests. I'm sure they're waiting for you outside the main gate." Mrs. Proudfoot looked to her husband and sighed heavily. Both nodded and walked out of the room toward the exit. "This way, Mr. Basil." The employee started to leave and I soon followed, noting he put a hand up to stop me. "Sorry, sir, he only wishes to see Mr. Basil; no one else."

"Er, but..."

"Go with the Proudfoots, Dawson," Basil said loudly before whispering to where I could only hear him, "and then go get the police..."

I did not like the fact that I was leaving my friend alone with these hoodlums. If he knew what he was doing, I had to let him go. That still did not change the fact that I was going to worry about him for several long hours. The next I saw of him was at a time I least expected: saving his own life!


End of Chapter 2. Notes:

Mary Pearcey is a real life convicted murderer of her lover's wife and child. Due to all the blood they found in her home, she insisted she was just killing mice. I came across her name after discovering she had a wax figure in Madame Tussaud's during the 1890's. Ironically, she murdered the mother and child on October 24, 1890, the same month and day I chose for the events of this story. It seemed like it would make for a fitting display of her foot stepping on mice for the Chamber of Horrors room. It also helped to show an example of the mechanical features.

While thinking of random names for the minor characters, Henry, Loveur's younger brother, was inspired by the character of Henry Jarrod from the 1953 version of "The House of Wax." He was played by Vincent Price.

Adding in Flaversham as an outside help to make the wax figures robotic came up years later when continuing to mess around with the plot of the story. The idea of a wax figure coming to life like an animatronic made it feel so much more creepier, like when Flaversham made the robot Queen Moustoria. There was also a minor nod to her character. Basil says, "How extraordinary..." when watching Pearcey's mechanical foot move. The queen uttered the same two words when she stared at the robotic version of herself.

The Proudfoots are neighbors to Basil and Dawson from the first Eve Titus book, "Basil of Baker Street." In the book, the twin daughters, Angela and Agatha, were kidnapped and used as ransom by a trio of mice called the Terrible Three. They wanted to take over Holmestead (the community of mice under Holmes' floorboards) and use it as their hideout.