Your studies at the British Mousmopolitan must be fascinating. JUDSON, our mousekeeper, rapped on the door and admitted a caller.īasil rose to shake paws with a tall, muscular mouse. Nothing must halt me in my pursuit of the ruthless Ratigan!” However, unless the case concerns the Professor, I shall decline it. He had put down his bow, and was peering intently out of the front window. “Splendid idea, Dawson, but it must wait.” “Really, Basil! Why don’t you practice outdoors, as William Tell did? Spare me! Next you’ll place a grape upon my helpless head, and aim at it!” I feared to remain in my chair, and I feared to rise from it. I began to feel as though I might turn out to be the target, instead of the owl. The arrows flashed by, faster and faster. Ping! An arrow whizzed past my right ear.
Mousterpiece so dear to my heart crack#
A crack shot, Basil was also a walking encyclopedia on the history of archery. The target was an oil painting of a horned owl. Holmes relaxes with indoor pistol practice, but I prefer the bow and arrow.” I’ll not leave London until Ratigan is behind bars. “No doubt, Dawson, but the old one will have to do. Climbing an alp or two will make a new mouse of you!” The International Society of Mouse Mountaineers meets in Switzerland next week. You’ve been trailing him and his gang for weeks, and you’re exhausted. “It’s a pity that this brilliant Ratcliffe graduate chose a life of crime. “Armor stolen from the British Mousmopolitan Museum,” said I. “That ambush was arranged! In all England, there is only one mouse who can bargain safely with cats, only one mouse who owns a suit of armor-the villainous Professor Ratigan!” Clearly, the cat preferred catnip to mousenip, else I should not be here to tell the tale.” I tore it open, tossed it at the monster, and fled. “Dawson, I am always prepared for emergencies. “End the suspense, Basil-how did you escape?”
Mousterpiece so dear to my heart full#
“But the Siamese spied me! My dear doctor, have you ever seen a kitten coming toward you at a full gallop? It’s a sight I would sooner forget!” I raced along underground and climbed up on James Street. ‘This cat-and-mouse game is not for you,’ I told myself. Back and forth above me moved the kitten’s claw.
“Then it sprang, but I sprang faster, down through a crack in the pavement. “ ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ said the Siamese softly. A voice said, ‘Basil of Baker Street, I presume?’ I nodded. “I turned a corner on Stilton Square, and two blue eyes met mine. “Ambushed! Ambushed by a starving Siamese!” Suddenly I heard unsteady steps on the stair-could it be Basil? I flung the door wide-it was he!įace scratched, clothes torn, he staggered inside.
He had jailed all but the Professor and two gangsters. This afternoon he prowled the streets of London, tracking Professor Ratigan’s gang. It was not surprising, therefore, that Basil came to be called the Sherlock Holmes of the Mouse World. There my friend learned all his detective lore by listening as the great man discussed his cases with his associate, Dr. The cozy flat Basil and I shared was in the model mouse town of Ho lmestead, erected on a high shelf in the cellar of Baker Street, Number 221B.Ībovestairs lived Basil’s hero, Mr. It all began in London, England, on a chill April afternoon in the year 1891. The Case of the Lost Colony was clearly the most extraordinary exploit of this extraordinary detective.ĭid it not take him to another land, to lead an expedition of thirty-two mice up a towering mountain? Was he not pursued by Professor Ratigan, sinister ruler of the mouse underworld?Īnd what of the shaggy mouse? Were it not for Basil, the giant creature might never have-īut I fear I am scampering ahead of my tale. Some mice claim that the Sealed Mousehole Mystery best displayed Basil’s genius. AN ARROW WITH STRANGE MARKINGS was the clue that sent Basil of Baker Street scurrying off to Switzerland in search of the Lost Colony.
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