Basil of Baker Street and the Rogue of Madame Mussauds
Chapter 5 (Epilogue)

Dawson-

One of my many downfalls is keeping a straight, neutral face. This is why, between Basil and myself, I would instantly lose at a game of poker. Jillian Loveur only took us a short distance to meet with her husband, whom was already heading out his front door. The moment I saw him, I failed at the restraint to hold back a gasp. Fortunately for me, no one heard it.

Benjamin Loveur is her husband!

"Impossible..." I frowned as the curator approached us, looking to each of us individually. "B-but, but I thought-"

"Darling, we need to postpone our plans and return to the museum," Jillian interrupted, taking her husband's arm. "It's your brother, he's there now, and I think he's going to do something terrible-"

"I knew it! I knew it was only a matter of time before he would snap!" Loveur growled angrily.

The curator pushed ahead of us, still adjusting his overcoat and hat, and dodging large rain puddles. I started to wonder why he was at home when Basil was supposed to meet him at the museum? On top of that, where was the scar on his cheek, the one he pointed out to us when he got into a fight with his brother? The more I was trying piece everything in my head, the more the blocks of confusion stacked up. Worry was another layer that had set in. I feared I would not get to my friend in time, nor find the Proudfoot twins for that matter!

We soon returned to the museum's entrance. Soaked and determined, we watched with anticipation as the curator paused and entered the code. Something was wrong. He tried entering a second time. Then, a third. We were denied access every time. He could not have forgotten the code; someone had altered it while he was away. But, who?

"Dash it all, the password has been changed!"

"Changed?" I asked, my heart sinking. "How could it have changed-"

"I don't know, but I can't get inside!" he sighed, frantically depressing each number a fourth time.

"No..." I whispered. "This cannot be happening..."

Loveur was just here; how could it not work? Was this really the curator? Was it all a ruse? Did my friend meet his fate once and for all? I could feel myself flushing with rage inside. I had completely lost all manner of a calm composure by then. Taking my umbrella and using it as a weapon, I turned into some sort of barbaric monster, whacking and thrusting at that wretched code box. An officer gripped my shoulder and pulled me back just as I heard the glorious sound of a latch clicking. The door unlocked!

"Dr. Dawson, remind me to never get on your bad side again!" Mr. Proudfoot muttered next to me.

All of us shoved our way inside and fanned out within the foyer. My eyes looked in every direction, ever corner, and then, there he was. In a far section of the main room was the detective and the Proudfoot twins sitting on benches. The twins immediately saw their parents and came rushing toward them as Basil chose to remain seated on the bench. He was slipping something into his coat pocket and rising off the bench as I came closer, just in time to catch him from falling over.

"Basil!" I exclaimed, helping him to keep a balance. Aside from his bloodied trouser leg, he looked chipper than a rich gent strolling through the park in May. "Are you all right? You have no idea how worried sick I was!"

"I have a pretty good idea, Dawson," he grinned slyly, his gaze moving toward the crowd I brought in with me. I could see him looking to the Loveurs the most; his eyes slanting a little at the sight of them. "It looks as though you did as I had asked, bringing in the police with you. But, that couple over there-"

"Yes, I have quite an abundance to tell you, Basil!" I nodded, also looking towards them. "Jillian, the one we talked to about Mary Pearcey, she's actually married to Benjamin Loveur!" I looked back to Basil, noting he had not said a word, nor made a flinch to the name I revealed.

"Benjamin? Really?" he faintly said. The couple looked our way and started coming closer to us. "Are you sure about this?"

"Well, yes! Why on earth would you doubt-"

"Mr. Basil!" Loveur said, extending his hand to him. "So good to see you, yet unfortunate under these circumstances!"

"Henry Loveur, it's good to see you, too."

Henry?

"You remember my wife, Jillian?" Loveur gestured to the female and she smiled, receiving the same expression in return. Noting my befuddled stare, Loveur turned in my direction. "Forgive me for not properly introducing myself. You must be Mr. Basil's assistant, Dr. Dawson. Henry Loveur." I looked down to his hand, strangely feeling as though I had already shaken it hours ago!

"But...but, you're not Benjamin?" I asked. At that moment, the police returned from the back rooms with three mice in handcuffs. I stared at the two workers with disgrace. The third, Benjamin Loveur, was too ashamed to look at any of us. "Uh, wait a moment! Why do I see Benjamin over there when he is right...here..." I did not want to look at Basil smiling, nor did I want to look at the expressions of Mr. and Mrs. Loveur. "Are you and Benjamin...ah.."

"Twins? Yes, we are, but with two entirely different attributes...excuse me for a moment..." Henry Loveur crossed the room and went straight over to his brother. Lifting his face up, he let out a sigh. "You and I have a lot to talk about, but right now the very sight of you is breaking my heart." Looking to the police he replied, "Please take him away, I shall speak with him later at the station! The rest of you, please search for the museum for any others that might be lurking about."

The police escorted the three rogues away. I was seeing double, there was no fooling my eyes now. I took a glance to Henry Loveur, and then over to Benjamin before he was removed out of the museum. Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I gave a hurt look to Basil. He knew and never once told me!

"Um...by the way, doctor-"

"You knew all along?"

"Well, I've known these gents for years, how could I not know that?" he asked innocently.

"They're twins?"

"Of course, just like the Proudfoots, Dawson," he shrugged, eyeing the children as they too started to walk out of the museum with their parents. Henry Loveur returned to us, allowing me a second chance to look him over. The brothers were identical twins with the one difference of Benjamin having a faint scar during one of their past physical encounters.

"We have much to discuss, Mr. Basil, but I think you should tend to that wound first."

"And you need to save your museum, Henry," my friend equally replied. "Before we go, I must inform you that the lower basement is flooded with a massive chemical spill. That needs to be cleaned up immediately. One more thing..." Basil took Henry aside and whispered something only he could hear. I saw the curator sigh before muttering this line:

"We will contact you as soon as everything is taken care of, Mr. Basil. You have my word on that."

As we waited outside for a hansom with the Proudfoots, I was given the chance to hear much of what I was curious about from the very start. Basil had known the Loveur brothers before they moved their museum from Baker Street to Marylebone Road. He met Jillian Loveur two weeks ago when he shared the same hansom home with the couple. Henry spoke of a project in the works involving my friend and Professor Ratigan, but they were having difficulty making the wax figure of the latter. Workers had to go into the underground to obtain information to make a precise rendition of the professor. At the same time, the Loveur brothers were at odds with one another, having terrible disputes and causing distance.

Jillian privately married Henry, but neither one told Benjamin. She went to the museum several times to observe the rise and fall of displays. Her sister, Susan, is in the costume department, and allowed her to look around behind the scenes. She was informed that two of the workers, namely Charles and Leonard, were making frequent trips to the Rat Trap, not only to learn about the professor, but to see the showgirls on stage. These workers started talking to the professor's former minions. Since these were criminals, Henry told his workers never to return to the pub again, that they had to find their own way to make the professor's figure. By then, Benjamin was having one row after another with his brother; he told his workers not to listen to him. They, in turn, started to plan on their own how to perfect the professor's wax figure. My doubts about what happened to his body had finally come to an end.

"While you were in the museum, a police official told me a team of searchers never found his body near the clock tower," I said, watching Basil lower his head.

"And they never would have, not when his thugs came and collected the remains," he replied softly. "I heard that they kept and preserved the professor's body all these months, planning some sort of resurrection. That plan never saw the light of day."

"Why is that?" I asked.

Basil continued. "Charles and Leonard were preparing to make the wax figure of the professor after all of the gathered notes. There was just one problem: they were running out of materials, time, and most importantly, money. This was a huge project they were working on, and they wanted it done right. They finally went down a very wrong and very diabolical path. Not only did they 'borrow' a lot of money from the museum's safe..." he paused and looked up. "They took the professor's body too."

"What?!" I stared with my jaw dropped. "But, how did they do it?"

"Bribery is what did it, what else?" Basil said, still talking in a hushed voice. "They came around once more to the professor's hideout, offering hefty amounts of banknotes in exchange for his body. The thugs felt this was a profitable way to go rather than give their former boss a proper burial."

"And the mechanical features?"

"Undoubtedly, the workers found Flaversham's name in the London Mouse, discovering it was the same toymaker who invented a robot of our queen," Basil answered. "Since they were mainly assigned to the displays in the Chamber of Horrors, they wanted to increase their frightening acts by installing moveable parts, to give their audience a bit of a scare. Loveur contacted our old friend, trying out their first robotic experiment with the display of the foot of Mary Pearcey."

"They didn't cut off and steal the poor woman's real foot, did they?" I was afraid to ask, yet, at the same time, curious. Basil remained silent for several seconds. "Did they?!"

"Of course not, Dawson! I was just amused by the direction your thoughts often take you," he chuckled. "But, it is very true about Ratigan's body. That's what they were using the Hydrol chemical for; to keep the dead tissue from rotting beneath the wax and wires."

"Goodness, Basil...that is just awful, even for the professor," I replied, waiting for Basil to say something. Instead, he looked away solemnly. "But, we still never found out who sent you that letter in the first place."

"On the contrary, I have a very strong idea who typed up that grammatical mess of a note, Dawson," he said, now lifting his familiar smug grin. "You see, I have reason to believe that not only was there bribery, there was a bargain. As you know, I receive death threats almost on a weekly basis, but would I get a trick letter from an acquaintance who works as a curator? Not likely, unless money was involved. You and I both know it wasn't Benjamin who typed that letter, but who else would have easy access to his office either by key or forceful entry?"

"Henry?" I asked; he shook his head no. "One of the workers?" His smile broadened next. "Who was it? Charles or Leonard? Do you know?"

"I had to frisk an anonymous female to get my answer, but yes, I have no doubt that it was Charles." Frisk an anonymous female? I started to ask, but Basil casually continued. "The workers took a substantial amount of banknotes from the museum's safe to hand over to the thugs in exchange for the professor's body. Benjamin Loveur blamed Henry for the missing currency and fired him. But meanwhile, Benjamin was performing depravities of his own by having his ways with one of his female employees...right in his office." I looked perplexed, forcing him to jog my memory. "Remember the blue sequins you found on his desk?"

"Having his ways with her? You mean he..." Basil did not have to say it, nor did I. "That scoundrel!"

"Indeed," Basil faintly nodded, grinning to another gasp I could not suppress. "The young and naïve costumer was busy doing her job when she got called in to her employer's office to have a little conference. Let's just say Henry walked in to the office and caught his brother in flagrante delicto!"

"What a cad," I groaned.

"It takes two to tango; she is not quite guilt-free herself, Dawson," he said with a shrug. "As you recall, Benjamin told us it was his brother who was smitten with a girl from the costume department. We were naturally told a lie when his mannerisms, stutter in voice, lack of eye contact, and lack of memory of his costumer's name were clues enough. But, he thought he might get away with it since they're twins."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Basil! I am surprised no one has said a word of these devilish acts as of yet!"

"Typical exploits of indecency; one could almost write an amusing farce with the shenanigans that went on behind the scenes at this place." At the sound and vibration of a hansom approaching, Basil took a few steps back, away from the curb. "Our chariot has arrived. I could tell you more at home, if you wish-"

"No, I have heard quite enough," I huffed in disappointment. Basil tapped my shoulder in the usual way to offer a bit of condolence. That did not seem to ease the amount of shock I was verbally given. The Proudfoots, meanwhile, had fortunately been standing a foot or two away. I had preferred them missing out on such a conversation; they all had been through enough already!


Another mystery solved; the case at Madame Mussauds ended. Benjamin Loveur was, in fact, an acquaintance of Basil's who could not be trusted after all. My friend had to disagree, noting that a much stronger evil was slowly changing the mouse he once knew. That evil was known as money. Loveur's workers wanted a successful show, even if it meant doing the most unthinkable and diabolical of schemes. I was not given very many details of what happened while he was held captive in the museum's basement, only that he never wanted to speak to that dastardly curator again.

Upon returning to our flat, I immediately tended to Basil's leg wound, noting he needed to stay off of his feet. The stubborn mouse, of course, refused to listen to a doctor's orders. As a token of gratitude, the Proudfoot twins came around to give the detective some gifts: a basket of assorted cheese. After hearing my friend was a difficult patient and would not sit still for good lengths of time, Mr. Proudfoot loaned him one of his many walking sticks. Basil graciously accepted the gifts from his neighbors while I, on the other hand, could not stop staring at all of the offered cheese!

It took several days for my friend to properly heal from his injury, and I was certain another wound would never go away: betrayal. It was not the first time someone he called a friend had deceived him, not by a long shot. Seeing how this news affected him, I told him he could always trust me. I was sure that helped after a wide smile crossed his lips.

A full week had gone by when Basil received news of when the police were planning to bury the professor's body. He had a better idea. With no family or friends to contact, it was settled to have him cremated with the ashes spread in the Thames River. On Sunday, the 31st of October, we told Mrs. Judson to turn anyone away who came to our door, and left to take care of a small matter. An officer carried the box with the professor's ashes as we both walked along the edge of the Thames. The official handed Basil the box and he stared down at it.

"Give us a moment, please," he told the officer.

"Of course, sir," the officer nodded and stepped away.

"Should we say something?" I quietly asked.

"What is there to say?" he replied, still staring at the box. "This is it, Dawson. The professor is gone. He can no longer harm us or anyone else in the world. It's over..." his words cut off as he looked away. Something was troubling him; I could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. It was then I realized he was feeling some bereavement.

"Don't tell me you're sad that he's dead? He was a rogue, a murderer, the Napoleon of crime, and-"

"And yet, he was also a genius...much like myself," Basil interrupted. "He could have done many great things if he used his talents for good instead of bad. Before I met you, I spent several years tracking him down, and when I got close enough to him, he would elude my grasp every time. He would live to fight another day, another chance to kill an innocent. I pursued him both day and night, and he was always one step ahead of me. I followed him, he followed me, it became sort of a game between us. That ship has now sailed, Dawson. Others will appear to commit crimes, but none, I daresay, none will ever come as close to his brains and intelligence."

Basil moved closer to the edge of the water and looked out across its surface. Carefully opening the box, he started to turn it upside down when-

"Stop!"

We both turned to see a young lady running along the beach and moving closer toward us. Her face was concealed beneath a black hooded cloak, but I could clearly see her white fur and beautiful blue eyes. It took me a few seconds to realize who she was while my friend instantly recognized her.

"Oh, my...I know who you are," I said. "You're one of those dancers from the Rat Trap! But how did you know to-"

"I got a tip-off from someone that told me you two would be here." She paused directly in front of Basil and lowered her eyes upon the box. "I came to pay my last respects."

"But, why?" I asked. "How did you know the professor?"

"Simple, Dawson," Basil answered. "He was her employer."

"What?!"

"It's true, doctor. Please let me explain," she said with a sniff. "He may have been a murderer and did terrible things, but he wasn't at all like that with me. He treated the other dancers and I with the utmost respect and kindness. Some of us originally came from a brothel. We had nowhere to go, and we had very little education. It was Ratigan who got us jobs as burlesque showgirls at the pub, and he promised to get us back into school. All of that changed the night he died."

"I cannot believe what I'm hearing," I shook my head. "I never thought I'd hear the words 'respect' and 'kindness' to describe Ratigan."

"There was a time he had some good in him, Dawson," Basil stated, looking down to the box. "It was, however, a very long time ago, before I met you or this dancer. He was known for doing charitable work, getting those less fortunate into programs and becoming fully educated. I know that is something very hard to hear, even believe, but it's true."

"For a while I was angry at you, detective, I even blamed you for his death," the showgirl said in a whisper, "but then I knew there had to be more to the story, more to your side of what exactly happened on that clock tower."

"It was a fight to the death," he replied softly. "What happened that night has made me a changed mouse. Ratigan kidnapped Flaversham's daughter and he almost killed her. Had I not been there, she would have died. I got her out of there and safely handed to her father. Ratigan, meanwhile, had other plans in store. He intended to kill me that night. It was either him or me, and I was not about to let him, the Napoleon of crime, win. When he took me down with him, I thought it was all over for the both of us. In my quick thinking, I pulled down the detached propeller from his dirigible and used that to save myself. Unfortunately, I could not save us both."

The dancer turned away and gazed out along the river. Basil did the same, exhaling a little and gripping the box. I too, was, speechless, but for reasons obviously different than theirs. For every moment spent pursuing that fiend on the Flaversham case, I only had one thought on my mind: putting an end to the professor's scheme. I would have preferred to see him behind bars, or, so help me, get the maximum sentence of the death penalty. This was an unexpected route for all of us to face. Basil was not a murderer, not from my perspective. Ratigan gave chase and we followed, but mainly to save the toymaker's daughter. Accidents happen. Some lives are lost, and some go on living.

"Are you ready, doctor?" Basil asked, snapping me out of a mild trance. I could only shrug. "And you, miss?" I looked to the dancer; a single tear escaped and slid down her cheek. One nod was enough for Basil to step closer to the water and kneel down. With a simple flick of the wrist, he turned the box upside down and opened the lid. He then waved his arm from left to right, allowing the ashes to spread evenly. I slowly approached from behind and watched this act in silence. While I felt a sense of relief, I knew my friend was feeling a sense of loss. The dancer inched closer and knelt beside Basil. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and carefully patted them on the water.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Farewell, Professor Padraic Ratigan. May the afterlife serve you well," he quietly uttered. I placed my hand upon Basil's shoulder as he quickly closed the box and turned to face me. Changing his tone to a more lively one, he said, "Right! Let's go, Dawson!"

Without another word, he slightly bowed to the young lady. She nodded once, departing in the opposite direction. I followed behind the detective, knowing deep down he was once again pushing his emotions as far away from his exterior as possible. I gave one last look to the river and to the scattered ashes with a heavy sigh.

"Farewell, Ratigan. Farewell, indeed..." As I walked away, I heard an old song suddenly repeat itself in my head, one that I knew both Basil and I would never forget...

Goodbye, so soon
And isn't it a crime?
We know by now that time knows how to fly
So here's goodbye so soon
You'll find your separate way
With time so short I'll say so long

And go...

So soon...

Goodbye...


End of Chapter 5/Epilogue. Notes:

The plot of making the Loveur brothers twins was one I played a lot with, debating on which would be the real criminal behind wanting to rid of Basil and not caring what materials their workers used to make the figures. I turned it around to the one who hid behind a mask the entire time to everyone. I almost was going to twist it with Henry being the culprit, but then used the confusion of their identical looks instead.

A full scene with Basil, Dawson, and the Loveur couple was typed out to reveal everything, but when it got too long, I cut it all out. I figured with Basil being injured, Dawson wouldn't want to waste time getting him the medical attention he needed. Instead, I cut down the revelations through some dialogue as Basil and Dawson waited with the Proudfoots for a carriage.

I originally had it where Jillian's sister, Susan, from the costume department, was having an affair with her husband Henry, meaning Benjamin wasn't lying to Basil and Dawson when they found blue sequin pieces. Figuring that was going into too much detail and storyline of a minor character, I scrapped it. The costumer Benjamin had an affair with in his office was just a random girl, but the same who worked on the Swan Lake display of ballet dancers.

Mr. Proudfoot offers Basil a walking stick to use while his injured leg mends. In the first Eve Titus book, Basil has his own walking stick.

A back story was never revealed about how much or how littler Basil and Ratigan knew each other. I have some speculation that there was a time Ratigan used to do good than bad, or the two met at a university, before choosing their paths. Miss Kitty is supposed to be depicted as a burlesque dancer, not a stripper, and that made me feel she was doing the side work to get money to go back to school with the help of the professor.

Vincent Price was cremated and his ashes were spread in an unknown place. It was only fitting to have Ratigan's remains cremated, but more so that no one could abuse them.