Chapter 5 - Sweet Revenge.

Basil, a master of disguises, not merely a change of his costume, but his manner and expression, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage had lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when Basil of Baker Street became a specialist in crime.

The following morning, he treated me to dress in an ill-fitted costume, then seated me at his make-up desk, irritably humming an aria, as he slapped on cold cream and powder upon my face. When he finished, he cried a triumphant "Voila!" Handing me a looking-glass, the detective sat down pasting himself down with the cream and powder.

I looked in the glass with some astonishment at the result my friend had contributed to myself. He had waxed down my moustache as if it never existed, and pasted instead long side-whiskers, which curved down nearly to my chin, painting my brows to match. With the final details of high collar and flat-brimmed hat, he sculptured my face in his deft hands an elder brow of some cleric schoolmaster. Nevertheless, I could not help but feel a little nervous. To impersonate men of the cloth is indeed a crime -- of course, so is burglary.

He finally spun around the chair, and I tried to control my amusement at his appearance. He pasted gray side-whiskers upon his cheeks, bristling up his eyebrows, with a pair of wire speckles on the brim of his nose, summing it all as a comical-looking non-conformist parson.

"How come I can't wear those?" asked I, pointing to his crooked false teeth.

"I like these teeth," he smiled, whistling at the syllables as he spoke.

I chuckled at his remark.

"Now Dawson," he came seriously, "You understand everything I explained."

"I do. I have everything in my pockets."

"Good, let us commence with our bit of intrigue!"

It was not long that Basil and I stood in front of Mr. Stephan-Goddard's home, an elegant arched flat with long windows that reached almost to the floor, and surrounded by much shrubbery. Without hesitation, Basil pounded at the door. In a moment, the door opened and there stood our prey. In an instant Basil fell into the role of a sweet and frail cleric.

"Mr. Stephan-Goddard?" he asked, in an awful high-pitched voice.

The door slammed. We looked at each other rather puzzling, Basil pounded the door again. The door opened again.

"My name is Rev. Applebee and this is my friend, Dr. Hoppler."

"Glad to meet you, sir," I added, in a Scottish accent, "I've heard a great deal about you, sir."

The door slammed again. I found myself in a rage of this mouse's rudeness, particular this insulting gesture to be given to the clerical, though surreptitiously clerical as we were. Basil pursed an annoyed bottom lip, he pounded the door again, but this time there was no answer. A sneer passes my friend's lip, and he began to holler his voice loudly.

"If we could have a moment with you," Basil hollered close to the door, "I could explain our mission!"

No answer.

"We are raising a subscription list," Basil continued loudly, "for a children's charity hospital. You are a prominent resident here and we thought you might like to donate a few guineas for our cause."

"Aah, it's a fine cause, sir," I added loudly. "I'm giving my educational services three days a week, and the Reverend here is donating his services, too!"

Again, no answer. An expression of concern came to Basil's face. Perhaps our disguises failed us, I thought.

Basil continued on. "All your neighbors have contributed to the cause, sir! We just came from Baker Street, two of the residents there are most generous! Sir..? Sir...?"

The door opened. He was a tall, formidable-build mouse, one with great strength in his large hands. It took some effort and pain for me to look up at his face; his face was sharp-featured with a high forehead and a great crop of dark grey hair, speckled with white.

"Which residents of Baker Street?" questioned Stephan-Goddard, disdainfully.

"A Mr. Basil and a Dr. Dawson, very kind sirs. They gave us cheques of five guineas the each of them!" I answered, in some relief.

Stephan-Goddard clenched his fists as a frown crossed his face. "They gave you ten guineas, did they?"

"Oh yes. Very nice gentlemen, Mr. Basil and the Doctor," Basil commented.

"We're proposing to name a ward in the hospital after them," I added.

Stephan-Goddard's lips curled distainfully. "Is this list of subscribers going to be published in the papers?"

"Oh yes indeed, Mr. Stephan-Goddard," Basil added, smiling with his false teeth.

"I'll give you twenty guineas!"

We both stared in a mock amazement at Stephan-Goddard.

"Oh thank you, sir!" Basil stuttered.

"Come into the study, gentlemen." He came in some bored sincerity. "I'll get my cheque-book."

Stephan-Goddard strode before us, his huge frame moving clumsily into the study. There he turned and gestured offhandedly for us to a sofa.

"I'd offer you two a cup of tea, but the pot's empty and you two shan't be here long."

Basil twisted a smile at him, "Oh that's quite fine, sir. Thank you."

He sat at his desk, his back to us. As he unlocked his massive roll-top desk and pulled out his cheque-book, I reached into my pockets, readying for Basil to whisper the queue.

"Quick, now!"

"Gentlemen, who do I make this cheque payable to?" Stephan-Goddard said as I moved quietly behind him, my arm poised. Before an answer was forthcoming, I was upon him, having poured the chloroform from a small vial into my handkerchief. He struggled for a moment, his huge frame rising from the chair, dragging me effortlessly with him, but Basil held him steady with his strong hands as the chloroform took effect. Soon he slumped forward as I placed him back in the chair, leaning him gently against the desk.

"Very neat, Doctor," said Basil, a grin crossed his face.

"Is the filigree box in the desk?"

"Let us see."

He slipped his fingers the side of Stephan-Goddard's head, scratching at the wooden sides for several seconds. With irritated, pursed lips, he pulled out his hand bare. He sneered at the body of the unconscious figure, and with his finger pushed coolly the head away a few inches. The body shifted and collapsed off the side of the desk, and Stephan-Goddard tottered flat to the floor with a clamorous thud!

"Ah, interesting..." came Basil, glancing indifferently at our neighbor.

I stared at the laying body, I confess it was a rather amusing sight. "Don't you mean Oops?" smiled I.

"My dear fellow, I never say Oops. Ah! here it is!"

With one gesture, he had pulled open a drawer, lifting up the box and showed it to me. The case was of a dull, discoloured metal, gathering in green rust one some parts and and speckled in black stains on others, yet masterfully designed with twisting ivy vines and figures of great Grecian goddesses.

Then Basil went to its lid to open it. As he cracked the lid open, I shut it, just as quick, with my hand. I found myself in ire, prompted by his action and what we had earlier promised to Miss Relda.

"Don't open it! We promised we wouldn't!"

"But I just wish to make sure that--"

"To make sure what was there, Mr. Basil of Baker Street?" interrupted a voice somewhere in the room.

Chapter 6 - An Execution.

Basil and I were taken by surprise, but before we could turn around and see who it was, he again spoke.

"Do not turn around, gentlemen! I have a revolver pointed at you both! Now place the box on the table, Mr. Basil. And put your hands up, the both of you!"

"I know that voice," Basil said calmly, as he placed the box on the table, "it's Deason, the butler."

"Well, Deason," I said furiously, "you need not point a revolver at us. Your master is not injured."

"I'm not in the least interested in my bloody master's health, Dr. Dawson. In fact, if the old bugger were dead, I should be utterly delighted!"

Basil's brow furrowed. "Then what are you up to, Deason?"

"I'm taking advantage of situation, sir," he replied, quite calmly. "I've been trying to opening that desk for weeks. After such kindness on your part, sir, I hate to seem ungracious, but I'm dreadfully afraid I shall have to kill you. Rather, to kill the both of you two."

I stood there; my hands hovered above my head, at a complete loss as to what to do. When I looked at my friend Basil, I saw no trace of emotion in his face, whereas I found myself fighting off the anguish of the moment. The thought of Basil and I lying dead in Stephan-Goddard's home made me cringe in disgust.

"Deason," Basil spoke up, "I dislike to interrupt such a melodramatic moment, but is it necessary to kill us?"

"For months, Mr. Basil, I have been waiting for an opportunity to take the Kitmanjar Emerald, and now you have done it for me, sir, and presented me with a perfect alibi."

"Kitmanjar Emerald?" Basil questioned, a curious look upon his face.

"Come now, Mr. Basil, you know the treasure is in this house as well as I do. Apart from the Emerald, there is a superb Cellini that would fetch a fine price in the right market."

"We're not after the valuables, my good fellow," I said, deeply annoyed.

"I'm not your 'good fellow,' Dr. Dawson," Deason replied, sharply. "It's patronising and untrue. In any case, whether you were here after the valuables or not makes no matter to me. Let us say I've caught you red-handed!"

"I take it that you are going to steal the treasure and pretend that we were responsible."

"Exactly, Mr. Basil. I shall kill you both secrete what objects appeal to me, and when the git regains consciousness I shall explain that I found three mice burgling the house. I shot and killed two of them, while the third fled away with the loot. Who will be able to doubt my word? I shall be regarded as a hero! I might even have my salary raised!"

Basil took a deep nervous breath. "I suppose this is the end, old fellow."

"What a sordid way to die," I blurted out, "shot in the back like a coward!" My face wrinkled as I heard the deafening cock of the revolver behind me. I shut my eyes in a disgusted rage and took a deep breath.

"Deason?" Basil spoke calmly, "Are we able to have last requests?"

"Doubt it."

"Well, could you at the least do us the courtesy of allowing us to face the firing squad?"

There was a silence for a few seconds. "Very well, gentlemen, turn around, but no tricks!"

"Oh, and one last request."

"What now?"

"I am beaten and I admit it. I have crossed swords with some of the greatest criminals in Europe. Attempts on my life have been made many times, but I've always escaped. If this is to be my swan-song, at least give me the privilege of shaking the hand of the one who has, at last, bested me."

A satisfied wicked grin crossed his face. "Well, sir, I feel that I am stepping a little out of my station, but I suppose that situation is unusual. Didn't expect it to be done in by servant, eh? Ha! Well, I hope you do not object to the left hand, sir. I'll keep the revolver in my right."

"Thank you, Deason."

I watched rather helplessly as the two mice stood shaking hands, in complete silence. They stared without a flinch, suddenly Basil twisted his body, holding Deason's arm. In an instant Basil applied leverage and Deason, taken completely by surprise, his head struck the desk and was knocked flat against the floor, his revolver discharging, its bullet imbedding itself harmlessly into the nearby wall.

"What a fool he is," sighed Basil, triumphantly. "You may have to see to him, Doctor?"

"His head's a bit gashed, but it's not serious."

"Good. I recommend you learning the Japanese art of Baritsu, my friend. It has gotten in out of tighter situations than this. I think we'll take the precaution of closing this desk drawer. I don't want him to be exposed to further temptation when he comes to."

I tossed the revolver in the desk as Basil shut it. "I suppose we better leave these two where they are. After all we are burglars and we're in disguise. I do not believe these two facts would hardly explain satisfactorily to the police."

"Agreed. We must get back to Baker Street as soon as possible, call Mlle. Relda, and inform her of our success." A sly grin came to his face. "The game is not quite over yet."

Chapter 7 - Check.

After Basil and I arrived at Baker Street, we took off our disguises (it took some while to remove at all the glue from my mustache) and, contacting Miss Relda, awaited her arrival. In due time a knock at the door signaled her arrival and she was soon sitting before us. How lovely she was as she entered, she seemed to glow with confidence and relief when he stepped in.

"Mr. Basil, Dr. Dawson, I received your wire and came immediately. I am so pleased you two were a success, I knew you would be. Did you get the filigree box?"

"Indeed, we did, Mademoiselle. And here it is."

"Oh, thank you," exclaimed she in a wonderful relief. "Thank you, both."

"Why don't you open it, Mademoiselle?" he said, holding the box out to her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Open it, my dear," he continued. "I fear it may not contain love letters as you originally claimed to us."

Miss Relda opened the box and pulled out a single piece of cream parchment, puzzled, as was I, by the actions.

"Please read it to us, my dear," he said, a smile crossing his lips.

She eyed the detective perceptively for a few seconds. An alluring smile rolled across her lips and glanced back at the parchment. "One may think this is some elaborated proposal, Mr. Basil."

She carefully unfolded the note and read it aloud, " 'YOU ARE IN CHECK, IRENE! LET THIS BE A WARNING TO YOU, CRIME DOES NOT PAY. YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT BY NOW. SINCERELY YOURS, BASIL.' "

She closed the note softly, then tapped it upon her chin with giggling smile. Her giggling became stronger, and she collapsed in Basil's armchair with grand melodious and uncontrollable laughter. Looking back at my friend after she calmed, resting limp upon the cushions, she replied lightheartedly, "Le crime ne paie pas, mais il se vend bien, no?"

"Le bon Docteur en saurait plus que moi a ce sujet."

A soft laugh came. "So you knew all along?"

"Not all along, honestly. However I knew you were up to something, the question was what. If I have not seen it sooner, you would have bested me. Clever, very clever, I must confess."

"Thank you. From you, dahling, that's quite a praise."

They stood silently face to face for some minutes, neither a flinch nor a blink emitted from either of them. Yet it was not the same acute analysis as it saw the day before. It was something slightly different. I was in a state of confusion as to the conversation between the two.

"Basil?" I finally interrupted. "What on earth is going on?"

"Oh, I afraid the good Doctor is lost in all of this?" entered Miss Relda, with an impish pout.

"Miss Relda was under the impression that she could use we as pawns on a board, to dupe use to commit burglary for her."

She raised a stern finger. "No, no! Not commit, mind you."

He bowed and said correctingly, "Perform, then. You will remember she asked us to promise not to 'open the box.' "

"So you looked in the box, and what was in the box?"

"No, I did not look, precisely, Dawson, I am one of my word. Before we left the household, I shook the box."

"Oh, bravo!" charmed Miss Relda.

"And I apparently heard no shuffle of papers or envelopes, but a heavy object clattering inside. Then I knew that object to be the Kitmanjar Emerald!"

"And where is the Emerald, now?" asked she serenely.

"Without Dawson realising it at the time, I slipped it back into Mr. Stephan-Goddard's desk and locked it. I brought the box here because I wanted to see your expression, Miss Relda, as you opened it."

She smiled and clapped her hands in applause. "Bravo, sir. Bravo. I admit it was a wildly exciting idea."

"Rather foolish idea to add."

"Ha! You men always have this constant need to win all the time. It gets quite tiresome."

"I merely wish a point on the score-board with you."

"Oh, now are we a little bitter?" she mused. "You know, a bit of losing would do your ego some good."

"As it would for yours!" warned my friend. "You wanted us to steal it for you! You remember, Dawson, she is an actress, and a fine actress at that. I recall her Lady Macbeth as one of the most striking I have yet seen. You have outwitted me once and got away, and you were bold enough to presumed you could do it again and get away! I should turn you over to the police."

She placed the box on the table. It took a few moments for her to reply, she appeared to have a dislike for being lectured. "My dear Mr. Basil, you would seriously risk your good name to convict me on a crime that you performed? I don't think the police will see that in a very good light."

"No, they would not, but I certainly would risk my name for the sake of justice!" he exclaimed angrily.

She smiled pleasingly. "Then I have underestimated you. That doesn't happen often."

"However, I feel you hoped to sell the Emerald to pay for your godmother's medical needs. You were telling the truth about your relation being ill, I made a few inquires as to her welfare. Though I have spoiled your attempt in obtaining the investment, as noble as the motivation behind this game was, you should not be exploiting others for your needs. But I warn you, Mademoiselle. You have had a narrow escape -- a very narrow escape."

She took a deep breath wearily. "Well, it seems my plan was in vain. Either that or you're going drearly soft on me. Before I go, Mr. Basil, there is one favour I'd like to ask you."

"What would that be?"

"Could I keep this filigree box with your note inside it? It would be a reminder all my life of this event. It is not everyday I get bested, particular by one of the male species. Of course, you are one of the most unique members of the sex I yet confronted."

He smiled and turned to me. "Well, what do you say, Dawson?"

"It is neither mine nor yours to give, Basil?

"True, old fellow, quite true. But I fail to see how we can return it now without disclosing our share in the attempted robbery. In any case, I don't like Stephan-Goddard. I think we might indulge in a petty larceny without feeling too guilty," he chuckled mischievously to himself. "Very well, Mademoiselle, but I have favour as well."

Chapter 8 - Check Mate.

He shrugged his shoulders coyly, with an impish smile across his face. He turned his head to the iron-framed photograph of an actress next to the mantelpiece. "Oh, an autograph, perhaps?"

Miss Relda arched a quaint eyebrow, and seemed to laugh lightly with an insight of demureness. "Of all things, you wish an autograph?"

"Yes, do you find it so hard to swallow?" he asked kindly, lifting the portrait from the wall.

"Am I chewing rocks?"

He chuckled as he dipped a pen in ink. "Your signature would be to me a small memorial for myself as to this event. I'm sure you won't object."

"No. How could I not?" She took a pen for his fingers and scratched in a sanguine hand: " 'TO ONE OF THE CLEVEREST IN LONDON. IN FONDNESS AND AFFECTION, I REMAIN, EVER YOURS, IRENE RELDA.'" The Woman lifted the photograph and delicately blew the ink dry. Basil and I seemed to have caught her scent.

"Ur, yes, thank you." It seemed a titter was snared in his voice as he spoke, returning the portrait back upon the wall. He thereafter handed her the filigree box from the table. "Good-night to you, Mademoiselle Relda."

"Good-night to you, Mr. Basil, Dr. Dawson. And thank you. This is a treasure, indeed," she came with a smile, which seemed oddly... smug?

Before I realised it, Miss Relda was gone, leaving Basil and I to reflect upon the days' events. Basil seated himself slowly and comfortably in his favourite armchair, lit his pipe, then leaned his head back, eyes closed, deep in thought. In this quiet moment after her departure, I am sure Basil was deeply affected by this re-encounter with The Woman, as he respectively referred to her as. She had brought back to my dear friend those many thoughts and emotions that would remain his, and his alone. I sat across from him, myself in thought, picking up the evening paper.

"Basil," revered I, after some minutes as I skimmed through the monotonous articles, "I found you surprisingly lenient with the lady."

"Um? Oh well, I could not let her be sent to prison while her godmother -- who in reality is her great-aunt, the illustrious Madame Bella Actrice -- is left ill in bed for with a heart ailment."

"Did you say Madame Bella Actrice?"

"Yes, the famous French actress. She canceled her fifth American stage tour due to her health. She was to play her proclaimed Margaret again, I believe. I always find it amazing about the stage-world that a woman over sixty can still pass on playing a girl of twenty. The stage is a world of glamour and fantasy, Dawson, I do miss it sometimes, I think."

"Basil, I think you need to read th--"

I was cut short by a booming knock on the front door.

Basil rolled his eyes. "Come in!" he yelled in irritation, "The door is open! Were you expecting anyone, Dawson?"

"No."

There was no mistaking the mouse in the doorway. It was Stephan-Goddard.

"Good afternoon, sir," Basil said, "This is an unexpected honour."

"You! Basil!" he blustered, "We haven't been the best of friends, I know, but you've got to help me now. I'm in serious trouble!"

"Oh, indeed? Will you not sit down? I take it you know my friend and associate, Dr. Dawson. And now, sir, what is your trouble?"

"I've been robbed, Basil!"

"Robbed?" said Basil in mock amazement. "What was stolen?"

"Well, my greatest treasure. The Kitmanjar Emerald was removed from its case, and then somehow mysteriously returned loose in my desk afterwards! But there's a priceless Cellini missing! My Cellini is missing!"

"Have you any idea who the burglars might be?"

"It was a gang! I'm sure of it, a hooligan gang! A couple disguised as a funny-looking clergyman and a fat, ugly schoolmaster came to my door on the pretext of raising money for some hospital or another! They overpowered me with chloroform! Can you believe it? Chloroform!"

"Dear me, dear me, how unpleasant of you," said a chagrined Basil.

"When I came to, I found my butler, Deason, lying beside me in a pool of blood. The brave fellow must be must have wrestled with the thieves, but got away. He is in hospital now. Basil, you've got to help me!"

"The Kitmanjar Emerald was returned, you say, but a Cellini is missing?"

"Yes, it's an exquisite filigree box, made in of a gold metalloid, in which I kept the Emerald. I haven't cleaned it in awhile, I admit, but it's absolutely priceless! Priceless, I say!"

"A filigree box!!" exclaimed Basil.

"Yes, it is a genuine Benvenuto Cellini. It is worth well over several thousand pounds! The police can't find a clue! Basil, you must help me solve this business!"

I coughed and interrupted to my companion. "There is an article in the gossip papers, Basil, that mentions Madame Belle Actrice shocking the social classes this morning. She was seen after two month of seclusion at a racing track. Her apparent illness was accordingly a complete rouse to allude the taxman in France. Or so it says."

The detective sat there in his armchair in complete shock; his eyes sat widen and glazed, his jaw open, his breathing seemed to have stopped.

"What's that infernal actress have to do with I being robbed! Basil? Basil! Are you paying any attention to me?!"

"Er oh, I am sorry, Mr. Stephan-Goddard," finally came Basil, collecting himself as he brushed back his hair. "But I am afraid I cannot help you. I have presently being consulted on a case already, and to have two mysteries on ends is too confusing. No, I cannot accept your case. I'm sure the police will find something about your gang. Good-night to you, sir."

"But Mr. Basil, I will pay you any fee within reason!"

"My decision is final, sir." Basil insisted, returning to his pipe. "Good-night."

"I might have known I would not get any help from you," he scoffed and cursed at my friend, then turning he glanced at me. He glared at me with the most unpleasant stare. He then pinched a few hairs from my upper lip with a sharp tug. I yelped. He cursed at me then, and shifted his great hulk away, slammed the door behind him.

My hand holding the pain upon my upper lip, I turned my attention to my friend, who sat there laughing hysterically, his head bent back in utter glee.

"She did it! Oh, she did it, again!! Ha ha ha!" he roared hysterically.

"Basil, she knew the box was a Cellini all the time!"

"Ha ha! The little devil of a woman! I can't believe this!! Ha ha ha! She did it! Oh, how she did it!! Ha ha ha ha!!!"

"Confound it, Basil!! You don't seem the least bit angry at all this!!"

"Ha ha! I know I should be, but I'm not. What splendid audacity! What superb nerve she has! If the Kitmanjar Emerald was there, she would have ran out with the both of them, but even the Emerald was toll-tax compared to the Cellini box. And she got it! She had it all planned to the ticket. Everything!"

"Are we able to get it back from her?"

"Perhaps. If it goes to a private seller, we cannot do much of anything, but if it comes to the black market, I will find it and bring it back. Or rather, I shall persuade Deason to bring it back, for the price of our silence, knowing that his master would hunt him down brutally if he had found out the truth of his loyalty."

"Could she be selling it to help pay her godmother's debts?"

"Possibly, but we cannot ignore the probability that the debts could be a falsity, just like the illness. The scheme was ingenious! Ha! Brazen natures seem to run in her family, particularly in the female members, for they certainly know how to leave an impression!" Basil poured two glasses of brandy from the table and languidly smiled. "It makes me wonder..." he chirped, his voice trailing off into thought.

"What about?"

"Oh," he continued, handing me a glass, "I wonder, old fellow, how I long I can remain in my profession with such a worthy antagonist at large, it's a challenge. I tell you, Dawson, it's an irresistible challenge!"

"So you suspect that you two will cross swords again?"

"Oh, I know we will, someday. We need not to find her; she will indefinitely find us."

"Three times the charm, eh, Basil?"

I chuckled at my bit of wit, but I preceive that my friend did not hear it. He gazed at the portrait of the actress next to the mantelpiece, and raised his glass in toast to the image with a smile. "To The Woman, and what a woman, indeed!"