Chapter 1 - The Call.

Basil was experimenting with chemical in the laboratory.

The Woman. Rarely was the name of Mademoiselle Irene Relda referred by another name by my friend. She was, and is, a beauty of womanhood, a goddess, an adventuress of highest degree, a superb actress on stage, an opera singer with a voice like an angel, and one of few antagonists who have outwitted my friend.

I recall vividly our first encounter with the formidable woman years ago. Her plot to crumbling the kingdom of Bohemia, though foiled by Basil and I, she was able pull the wool over our eyes, escaping with a blackmailing photograph which was the root of the scandal, plus leaving rather saucy fleas in Basil's ear.

In spite of this, there was no grudge against her in Basil, apparently -- no hint of jealousy or regret -- but a greatest admiration for her bold and exceptional nature. Her name would reflect back thoughts and emotions that would remain his, and his alone.

It was on the drizzly day in March, Basil was labouring with his chemical experiments, when a telegram arrived at our shared flat at Lower 221B Baker Street and these very thoughts of The Woman resurfaced again.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, his eyes twinkled and a grin flared upon his face.

"What is it, Basil?" I asked, walking towards him.

He laughed to himself, and handed me the paper merrily. "Read this."

" 'MY DEAR MR. BASIL--I SHALL CALL UPON YOU THIS AFTERNOON AT FOUR ON A MATTER OF SOME IMPORTANCE. I'M SURE YOU ARE AWARE OF OUR HISTORY TOGETHER AND I WISH NOT TO REVAMP ON BITTER TIMES, AND I REMAIN, VERY TRULY YOURS, I. RELDA.' My word! Why is she coming to consult us? That's terrible insolent of her, especially after all this time. Basil. Basil?"

He finally walked calmly out of his room, sweeping his hair back, wearing his smart maroon dressing-gown.

The sound of his scurried footsteps past behind me twice as I turned, and he passed behind me again in that same quick-footed scurry.

"Basil?"

He scurried passed in front of me this time, with a bundle of old newspapers in his arms, hiding them behind the desk. He then grabbed a silver savour with a tea-china set, scurried across the room. He shot open a door and tossed the entire set out of it. As he slammed the door, our landlady gave out a harsh wailing.

"It's all right, Mrs. Judson, I shall recompense for the lost!" he hollered, and scurried off again.

Never have I seen Basil so agitated -- or was it excited? -- over a coming a client!

After some minutes, he finally walked calmly out of his room, sweeping his hair back, wearing his smart maroon dressing-gown. He then glanced over the study and then to myself, "Good heavens, Dawson! You're not wearing that, are you? No, it's too late now! Go answer the door and give her your full attention, here she comes!"

Chapter 2 - A Visitor.

There was a light knock at the door, I answered, and there stood a small, middle-aged mouse in a terribly ill-fitting uniform. His trousers were soaked and clung up to his knees and his breath was irregular, and he was holding a small piece of paper in his hand.

Basil's excited grin fled to an annoyed grimace, but ran his words very politely, "Deason. Your presence was unexpected. How may we help you?"

"What confounded impudence!" cried he, crumbling the note and pitching it fiercely into the fire-gate.

"Sorry to disturb you, sirs, but Master Stephan-Goddard instructed me to deliver this note. He said it was urgent and also instructed me to wait for a reply."

Basil took the note causally. Upon reading it, his expression suddenly turned cross. "What confounded impudence!" cried he, crumbling the note and pitching it fiercely into the fire-gate. "I have no answer for him!"

"But, sir, he said I must have an answer from you."

"Tell your master that I will instruct a reply in due course."

"Very well, sir," replied he who promptly left, turning his collar high to his neck and over his head.

"What did the note say?"

He twisted his eye in a somewhat unflattering impression of a mocking voice, " 'Basil. You're unemployed, so stop playing with those filthy chemicals. That stench of yours can be smelt all the way to Queer Street! Blech! Do everyone a favour and make yourself useful for once! Straighten up and get a real job! Stephan-Goddard.' "

Mr. Stephan-Goddard is a retired manufacturer who lives a lane across our flat. He is not particularly well liked and for good reason. This hot-tempered mouse was greatly noted as a tyrant to all who meet him. Stephan-Goddard seemingly believed that his immense wealth gave him right to domineer the local residents.

"You have every right to be cross with him, Basil. Half of the mice in London would leap at a chance to swing at him."

"I know I shouldn't take it too close to heart, Doctor, however--"

"Excuse me, gentlemen?" came a voice.

Chapter 3 - The Return of The Woman.

They stood silently face to face for some minutes, neither a flinch nor a blink emitted from either of them; it was an acute analysis of each other: wit to wit, mind to mind.

We turned and stood speechless to the familiar figure who had entered the room, unknowingly.

"Your door was open, so I didn't see the need to knock or to stand out in the rain. Am I interrupting something? I believe I have an appointment."

She removed the hood. It was definitely she! A figment of memory returned, we stood motionless as if time stood still for a moment. I finally was able to muster the first words.

"Miss Relda."

"Yes," extending her hand to me in a pleasant greeting. "Dr. Dawson, as I recall correctly?"

She was a lovely creature; there was no denying the fact. A most attractive white mouse with large dark eyes, which clearly showed the same mischief as they did years before. Yet I sensed a bit of a discomfort, if not annoyance, in her eyes. I suppose it was from her situation: acquiring consultation from a former advisory.

"And Mr. Basil."

He reached for her hand. "Mlle. Relda."

They stood silently face to face for some minutes, neither a flinch nor a blink emitted from either of them; it was an acute analysis of each other: wit to wit, mind to mind. Then I interrupted:

"May I take your cape and gloves, Miss Relda? They should be properly dried."

"Um? Ah yes, thank you, Doctor. I hope I haven't dampened your rugs, it's quite a flood to-day. Shall we turn into business, now? I do have several other appointments to keep."

"Yes, of course," Basil shrugged off.

I motioned to the cushioned armchair, "Oh, please?"

"No thank you, Doctor, I'll be quite happier here," she said, taking the harder wooden chair.

Basil sat himself upon his favorite armchair, with sober smile and his eyes fixed analytically on her. "I perceive you are staying at the Hotel Green Park. Did you enjoy your croustille au fromage and coffee at the lunch to-day?"

She smiled amusingly and replied stoically, "You noticed my receipt in the inner pocket of my cape. Bravo. Yes, it was wonderful. And you, I see, have been out of practice for awhile -- a pity, really, you deserve better -- and very recently tidied up before my calling." She smiled at my friend's dusty magnifying lens on the table and mess of papers slid behind it. "How sweet of you, indeed. One would half expect that you were interested of my coming."

"A client always interests me, Mademoiselle. The wire of your calling amazed me really."

"Well, it should!"

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes at her own words, "Because... because I... apparently need your... assistance. It's ironic, really."

Basil was all but amused. "What is the deed?"

"Blackmail."

Basil chuckled, "Ha, that is ironic!"

"Yes, I thought it would amuse you. My blackmailer apparently has obtained several letters written by a former acquaintance of mine by thievery a month ago. He threatens to expose these very letters to my marraine, my godmother, whom I am very fond of."

"And the contents of these letters?"

"Sprightly. He was a fool in lettering them in such a vulgar manner. My marraine is in the most frail state; her heart is exceedingly weak. She desired to stay in England for her remaining days. The contents, if exposed to her, would send her in shock and I cannot allow her to die in such an appauling manner."

"What is the amount he asks for his silence?"

"Five thousand pounds."

Basil sounded a whistle. "I take it this is beyond your purse."

"I retaliate the bills for marraine's medical attention, she needs every bit of it. By no means can I pay him off. There is no way to waver him down, I have tried."

"I see. And whom is this blackmailer giving you so much distress?"

She rose, walking to her cape which laid drying on the fire-gate, and handed a card to Basil taken from the pocket. "Mr. Stephan-Goddard."

He glanced at the card, "Yes, we are aquatinted with the name. Now," he came with a coy smile, "what exactly do you want with me?

She stared at the fire, her back upon us, brushing out the water-spots from her cape. It took her a moment before she answered. "Is it not painfully obvious? I want you to get them back for me."

"How?"

She snapped her head back towards Basil with the most cunning smile across her face, her eyes twinkled slyly. "Steal them, of course!"

I sat there, shocked that the words of this remarkable woman, astonished by the idea that she would associate Basil in the category of a common thief.

"Really, Miss Relda," I ventured. "How could you contemplate that we would commit burglary?"

She intervened sternly, "No, not commit, merely perform; besides, retrieving back one's property is a valid option, Doctor."

"Nonetheless, it's a felony!"

"A felony you two do rather well as I hear. No one present here has committed a crime, Doctor. It is never illegal unless one get caught, that is the only time one truly commits one. Being expert criminologists, I suspected you two should be aware of that. Apparently, I was mistaken."

Basil raised his hand to me.

"Calm yourself, Dawson. Miss Relda is a most forthright woman and her logic is apparently sound. Paying off the blackmailer is not an option; your relation should be able to get the best of care. No, money is not the option. Bargaining has been tried and failed, plus blackmailing cases are unwise to be handled by the official police. Burglary is the only rational alternative."

"But think of the risks, Basil! Your good name ruined! The police will definitely make a pester over petty larceny, particularly the papers! An honourable career ruined!"

Basil's face turned what I can describe as a twitch of anxiety. It was obvious that he very well knew what the chances were.

"You two should not concern yourselves about that. You cannot be caught, you two are far too clever and can allude the police easily. The police here cannot see penny past their noses most of the time."

"Do you speak from experiences?" asked Basil.

"I am sure the fact is sound, particularly if you speak from yours, yes?"

"Um, London is fortunate not have me as a criminal," said Basil.

She shaped a prevailing smile, "So you are willing to assist me?"

There was a few seconds of silence.

"If I do this, Mlle. Relda," Basil replied firmly, "I must insist on something before I can pronounce upon your matter."

"So the detective does have a price?" she asserted, amusingly. "What is it, pray?"

Chapter 4 - Vain Proposals.

"I want the photograph!"

She scoffed a ridiculous laugh. "Oh, you're still moaning over that?"

"The photograph, Mlle. Relda? Then I shall consider your case."

"That's a vain request, Mr. Basil, it is not possible."

"You can't or you won't?"

"Both. That photograph is my security and insurance from the King. What if I did give the photograph to you and you return it to the Royal Family, what is to happen to my livelihood?"

"And," interrupting Basil, who was about to speak again, "if you want me to give myself up to the authorities, it would be a vain attempt. I've done no wrongs according to your London police records. Are you going to send me all the way back to Bohemia due to an event that no more than a tall-tale?"

My companion puffed a frustrated sigh. "In Bohemia, your treason against the crown would be assured by the testimony of the King. However there is little existing evidence to support it, unless they want them in ashes, and His Majesty doesn't have the nerve to go against you with that photograph in your possession."

She wafted her hand over the chemical scents and smoke playfully.

"Exactly, a vain request as I told you. Either way, you yourself have a photograph of me mounted on your wall." She smirked at the iron-framed portrait of an actress next to the mantelpiece, a relic from the previous case with her. "That photograph was meant for the King, Mr. Basil, and yet I was astounded to learn that you asked for it."

"A reminder of the events, Mademoiselle. Nevertheless, I have a right mind to refuse your case!"

"But apparently it interests you. I can tell it in your eyes. So what keeps you from booting me out of your study?"

"I have a slight personal score to settle with Mr. Stephan-Goddard. He's rude and has no understanding of those around him. So I shall accept it. Now, Dawson," he boomed, "We must prepare. The letters will be send in three days, so we have only two days. Now, how are we going to start our little escapade?"

"I could tell you how," she remarked as she curiously examined the chemical laboratory.

"Really," I came, "you come to explain the problem and also the way of solving it. You know, Basil, detective work might turn easy if all our clients were equally as helpful."

Basil chuckled at my remark. "Indeed. What is your plan?"

She wafted her hand over the chemical scents and smoke playfully, "Hmmm, paradichlorobenzene. To-morrow is the servant's half-day off at Mr. Stephan-Goddard's. He'll be alone there during the afternoon."

"How did you come to know that fact?"

"I disguised myself as a maid 'keeping company', so to speak, with Deason the butler. It was necessary to acquire the information I needed. I found out everything from him. My letters are kept in a filigree box in his desk in his study."

Basil interjected, "I am surprised you didn't try to open the desk yourself, Mademoiselle."

"I did!" she returned. "And wouldn't have come here to ask for you, if I didn't have a very important errand to run for marraine. It is a very sturdy thing and has a combination lock. If it was a keyed lock, I'd be in and out in a matter of minutes, but those things would taken me quite a long time to get in. I am not greatly experienced with combinations. Nor do I have the luxury of time to conduct it, particularly with both Mr. Stephan-Goddard and Deason in the house. So I'm sure you and the Doctor will be more successful, you have the means and the knowledge."

"We shall do our best, Mademoiselle Relda," came Basil's reply as he stood and graciously bowed to this astute woman. He handed back her gloves and assisted her on applying her cape, now dried. She whispered a sincere thank you, he took her hand and escorted her to the door. I stood and followed. "We shall contact you when fresh developments arouse."

Miss Relda turned to us at the doorway, an anxious look on her face. "Could you promise me one thing, both of you?"

"What is it, Miss?" I returned curiously.

"Please don't open the box and read the letters, will you? I'm... well, it's very shameful writing, if you understand. His letters are very... upsetting to me."

"Of course, we won't, Mademoiselle," I assured.

He twisted the pipe about his lips.

"Thank you both. I must apologise for my behaviour, the experience has upset me, and my nerves are cross. How can I thank you two?"

"Thanks would be a little premature at this point," Basil said. "Do forgive me now as I must take time to give this problem some thought."

She nodded a goodbye as Basil ushered Mlle. Irene Relda out. He stood in the doorway a moment, his slender frame immovable as he watched The Woman as she lifted her hood and walked lightly up the post-rained street.

When he returned and we were both comfortably seated, he pulled out his pipe and lit it.

"What did you make of her, Dawson?"

"Ironic really. A very charming, attractive and brilliant woman. She's as self-assured as ever, though, yet appeared uneasy in being here to ask for help."

He laughed, puffed vigorously on his pipe. "Yes, it's not her manner to do that. She's far too proud. Clearly the concept annoyed her, coming here was an act of desperation."

"Do you believe she's sincere?"

"I excepted her case, did I not?"

He twisted the pipe about his lips and remained silent for a minute with thoughful glaze. "Tonight, Dawson, we relax."

"And to-morrow, Basil, a touch of daylight robbery."

CONTINUE ON TO PART TWO