Basil of Baker Street &

The Case of the Emerald Ring

As told by David Q. Dawson, M. D.

Peeping through the cracks in the closet door, I could dimly make out the shadowy figure tiptoeing around the room. He appeared to be searching for something, looking in every nook and cranny of the room. I fingered the revolver in my pocket, wondering if I should come out of my hiding place and question this intruder, but I remembered Basil's precise instructions to stay put until his signal. I wasn't even entirely sure what the signal was. However, fearing that I would jeopardize whatever his mission was, I remained hidden, hardly daring to breathe.

The figure stooped down on the floor and poked his head under the bed. Then a harsh voice over his shoulder said, "Looking for something?"

The intruder jumped in surprise and turned to look up into the sharp, green eyes of Basil of Baker Street. The detective glared at the intruder, and held up Roger Garrett's business card.

"I…I'm sure I don't know what you-" the figure began in a deep voice.

"You know very well what I mean," Basil interrupted. "I know everything, so you might as well give up this charade."

The other mouse chuckled darkly. "If only you could find Abby's ring as easily," he said, this time in a different voice. Although his back was to me, I could tell that he must have had a smirk on his face. He held out his hand for the card, but Basil didn't give it to him.

"I have a pretty good idea where the emerald is," Basil replied.

"Oh, do you now? Care to enlighten the rest of us?"

His insolence was maddening, but I admired Basil for enduring these insults so calmly. He spoke in a cold, controlled voice. "The game is up. I know you took it."

"You can't prove it."

"I can, and I will. I'm as certain that the black box containing the ring is in the inside right-hand pocket of your coat as I am of my own name. Now, I would rather not have to force it from you, so if you would be so kind as to place it in my hand and have a seat on the bed, I would appreciate it. It would not be in your best interest to attempt an escape. The police are already on their way. In fact, I believe I see Inspector Grayson himself making his way to the door now."

The thief glanced out the window nervously, but he seemed to give up; he hung his head and reached a hand into his pocket as if to hand over the ring. But a cold glint entered his eyes as he realized that the detective was the one obstacle between him and escape. Instead of the ring, he drew out a knife, and made a desperate lunge at Basil. Light glinted off the steel blade as the thief sliced at him; but Basil easily dodged out of the way and dealt a stinging blow to his hand, making him drop the weapon. As they grappled with each other in the semidarkness, it was hard for me to tell who was who. Basil was able to hold off his attacker for a few moments, but the sudden exertion seemed to drain him of energy, especially because of his recent injuries. The thief soon gained the upper hand, and as his hand closed around the detective's throat, Basil finally yelled, "NOW, Dawson!"

I immediately jumped out of my hiding spot and brought the butt of the revolver down between the thief's ears. Stunned, he released his hold on Basil, and I pulled him off of the detective and clapped the revolver to his temple. "Are you alright?" I asked Basil, keeping a tight hold on the thief.

"Yes…I believe so," he panted. "Quite a desperate fellow, isn't he?" he remarked with a smile as he dusted himself off. Then he chuckled. "See, Dawson? Looks like that revolver came in handy after all."

The thief gingerly rubbed the large bump that had appeared on his head. "What the…where did you come from?" he asked me dazedly.

It was Basil who answered. "I thought I might need some reinforcement, and it turns out I was right. Now once again, I must ask you to sit at the foot of the bed there. I wouldn't try anything else, unless you want my friend to knock a little more sense into you. Ah, good evening, Inspector. You took your time, didn't you?"

Inspector Grayson stepped into the room, along with Miss Abby and Mr. Fletcher. "Mr. Basil," said Grayson irately, "I hope you have a good explanation for dragging me back out here in the pouring rain…why, what happened here? What's going on?"

"Just a minor incident. Our thief came back to the scene of the crime, just as I expected."

"Thief?" Grayson asked bewilderedly. "Then the ring really was stolen?"

"Yes, as you would have found out, had you paid more attention to the evidence."

Grayson scowled at the remark. "Well, who the devil is he?"

Instead of answering the Inspector, Basil turned to the maid, who was peering around the doorway. "Miss Hannah, do you recognize this mouse?"

She stepped into the room to get a closer look, then gasped. "I-It's John!"

"John Benet?" Miss Abby asked incredibly.

"Yes. However, if we make a few adjustments, you'll see that you know him better as…" Basil removed what was apparently a fake mustache and wig from the mouse, and the room grew deathly quiet. I was so shocked that I'm sure that my mouth must have been gaping wide open and my eyes bulging out of my head. Miss Abby finally broke the silence.

"Roger?"

Mr. Fletcher stuttered, "How can…you mean…?"

Basil nodded. "Roger Garrett and John Benet are one and the same."

…...

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, boy-o" said the inspector as he pushed the handcuffed thief into a dining room chair.

"I'm not saying anything," he snarled.

Basil stepped forward. "You don't have to; I will be happy to explain everything."

Basil still held the knife, and he showed it to us. "This knife was used to pry open the window in the hall. Observe that the initials R. F. are carved into the handle; they stand for Robert Flynn, the true identity of this mouse. He is a well-known criminal, and one of the few key members left of the late Professor Ratigan's gang. As a young mouse, he had a promising career as an actor on the stage, but was also a compulsive gambler; as he sank further into debt, he turned to more criminal means of making a living, and eventually joined Ratigan's gang. As you can see, his experience at the theater has made him a master of disguise, a talent which made him very useful to the Professor. But once Ratigan was defeated, and we rounded up most of the other thugs, Flynn was forced into hiding. It was best that he flee the country, but of course, he needed money to do so; which is why he stole your ring, Miss Abby."

"He was no doubt drawn to you because of your emerald ring. Under the guise of Roger Garrett, he became your friend, and once he learned of the ring's worth, he saw an easy opportunity to gain the money he needed to flee from the police. He became your suitor, in order to get closer to you, but stealing the ring proved to be a more difficult task than he first imagined, since you wore it constantly. Adopting yet another persona, that of Mr. John Benet, he also became acquainted with Hannah, the maid, and so learned that the only time you take off the ring is at night, right before you go to bed. And so, night would be the ideal time to steal the ring.

"But he also learned that you locked all the windows and doors yourself. So he attempted to persuade Hannah to let him inside, on the pretense that he wanted to spend more time with her. But, seeing the folly in such action, she refused. So, Flynn realized that he would have to resort to breaking and entering. He hid in some bushes near the gate, waiting until he was sure all inside the house were sound asleep. Then he made his move. He crept down the path, and using the knife, was able to force the window open. Once safely inside, he went quietly down the hall to Miss Abby's room, took the box containing the ring, and slipped out as quietly as he came.

"But when you returned home with your prize, you realized that you had left something behind. You've had several different business cards made for each of your many aliases, stating a different name and profession. I found this card lying half buried in the mud outside. Once you realized your mistake, you decided to come back to the scene of your crime, this time as Roger Garrett so as to avoid suspicion, and recover what you had lost. But with Dawson and I being present, you didn't have the chance to search the house. You would have done better to have just left with the ring while you had the chance. But, fearing that the truth would be discovered, you made your way back here as John Benet, thinking that Dawson and I would have been gone by that time. I knew that you would return to recover the card, so I sent the Fletcher's out of the house to send for the Inspector, and then cornered you in Miss Abby's room. Realizing just how desperate the situation was, you resorted to attacking me, and would have added murder to your growing list of offenses, had I not taken the precaution of having Dawson hide nearby in the wardrobe, in case I needed assistance."

Basil paused for a moment, standing with a slight smile of triumph, giving all the information a chance to soak in.

"Remarkable!" exclaimed Mr. Fletcher.

"Elementary," replied Basil with a slight bow.

"But how did you figure out that they were the same person?" Miss Abby asked.

Basil explained. "There were two pieces of evidence that led me to that conclusion: the footprints in the garden, and this business card.

"When we first met Mr. Garrett, the first thing I noticed about him was his distinctive handmade shoes. I observed that there scratches in the leather near the sole. That suggested that he had been walking in a muddy place, much like the garden, and in the process of trying to scrape the mud off, he cut the leather of the shoe.

"Once I examined the footprints in the garden, things began to fall into place. I found the footprints that belonged to John Benet, the so-called smith, to be rather peculiar. They were made by a soft soled shoe, which would be particularly useful for sneaking about a house whose occupants were asleep. Needless to say that is hardly the type of shoe worn by smiths, who typically tend to wear heavy boots. The pattern on the sole of those shoes is unique to a particular brand of dress shoes, which were identical to those that Roger Garrett was wearing.

"I also became suspicious when I discovered the business card. You'll notice that there is no address; what kind of businessman doesn't reveal his place of business? And so, my suspicions were confirmed."

Flynn glared at Basil the whole time he explained. "Congratulations, Mr. Basil," he said with a smirk on his face. "You figured it out. I guess it was stupid of me to think that you wouldn't, especially since you were smart enough to defeat Professor Ratigan himself." The smile faded and he gritted his teeth. "But just you wait, detective. If you're not careful, one of these days your meddling will cost you your neck."

"You pay me an enormous complement, Mr. Flynn," Basil said with a smile. "Allow me to pay you one in return by saying that I admire you somewhat for your remarkable confidence. It takes someone with a cool hand to steal something from the very room where a person is sleeping, especially with the high risk of waking them. Then you came back to the scene of the crime, risking everything in order to retrieve the card that you had dropped. You even had the courage to attempt to deceive not just one, but two innocent women. But your mistake was believing that you could go so far and get away with it. There is such a thing as too much confidence, as you've learned to your great cost."

After Grayson had led Flynn away, Miss Abby turned to us with a beautiful smile as she looked at the recovered gem on her finger. "Thank you so much, Mr. Basil. This ring means the world to me. I can't thank you enough for finding it, and for exposing Roger for who he really is."

Basil bowed again. "No thanks is necessary, madam. The work itself is reward enough for me. It is I who should be thanking you. This was a most intriguing case, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Now Dawson," he said turning to me, "I do believe we'll be back at Baker Street just in time to enjoy Mrs. Judson's delicious supper."

…..

The next day, we were once again in the comfort of the sitting room at 221 ½ B Baker Street. Miss Abby had expressed her profound thanks at Basil finding her beloved ring. The detective had refused any type payment for his services at first, but finally accepted a small fee at his client's insistence. He now sat in his favorite red armchair, the smoke from his pipe swirling about his head, and I sat in the green chair across from him.

"I still can't believe the results of this case," I remarked to Basil. "How that one mouse could adopt two different personalities, and be able to fool everyone around him. To me, Roger Garrett seemed to be such a nice, respectable gentleman, and acted as if he truly loved Miss Abby."

Basil nodded. "Yes, but that is the key word; he 'acted.' That is why it is so important to not let your own personal biases rule over the facts. You see that although he seemed to be the most respectable of persons, the evidence stated otherwise. And you also must remember his background. He has trained as an actor for years, so it was not that difficult for him to adopt two different personas."

"I'm still amazed at how quickly you were able to solve this case."

"It was elementary, my dear Dawson," he replied with a hint of a smile.

After thinking for a moment, I remarked, "You should publish accounts of your cases. The public should know of your remarkable powers. I would be happy to do it for you, if you want."

"You may do what you like, Doctor," he answered with a shrug. "But look at this!" He tossed me the day's newspaper. He refilled his pipe as I read the small column about Flynn's arrest.

"Yesterday evening," it read, "a most wanted criminal was finally apprehended in Hampstead. Robert Flynn has eluded the police for some time because of his talents as a master of disguise. But, after months of frustration, Inspector Thomas Grayson of Scotland Yard found Flynn while investigating a small matter concerning a missing emerald ring. Mr. Basil of Baker Street and Dr. David Dawson were also of some assistance, as it was discovered that Flynn was a key member of the late Professor Ratigan's gang. Flynn's capture is a great triumph for Inspector Grayson, whose famous tenacity and persistence is a shining example to the amateur detective…"

I could read no more. "This is absurd!" I exclaimed. "Grayson wasn't even investigating the case…Miss Abby came to you because he didn't even believe that the ring had been stolen! And to go so far as to call you an amateur…why, it's positively maddening!"

The detective chuckled. "Yes, Doctor, this is the result of our efforts. Now you understand my frustration. But we mustn't blame Grayson. He is one of Scotland Yard's finest, and I believe he has potential, if only he is willing to learn. But he will have to overcome his pride, which is no mean feat. And I am an amateur, in that I do the work more for pleasure rather than payment. But you know, I'm actually surprised that our names were mentioned at all."

"Well, don't worry, old boy," I assured him. "I have all the facts in my journal, as well as those from the Flaversham case, and the world will soon know the truth. Once they read of the exploits of the great mouse detective, you will receive the recognition you deserve."

And so, it was from that time on that I became the chronicler of Basil of Baker Street, the great mouse detective.

THE END