Chapter 11:
Captured by The Terrible Three!

At once, Basil hurled himself forward, fighting like a wildcat.

I myself battled with a strength I never dreamed I had, tackling one enemy after another. Then two of them sat on me, and I was powerless to move.

I saw that my muscular friend was being held down by several sailors. He had already knocked three of them senseless.

But we were only two against many, and we were soon disarmed and tightly bound.

The Terrible Three stood over us, scowling.

"Our spies heard you say you were comin’ here," said one of them. "You’re no ship’s Cap’n, and you ain’t no first mate. Who are you, and why did you sneak aboard?"

"You may not recognise me," declared Basil calmly, "but I can name each one of you -- Barney the Bank Robber, Freddie the Forger, and Percy the Pickpocket. Now you’ve become kidnappers! In the name of our good and gracious Queen -- commit no more crimes!"

Freddie the Forger rubbed at Basil’s cheek. Some of the greasepaint came off.

"In disguise, eh? Well, shiver my timbers if it ain’t our old enemy -- Basil, the scientific sleuth! And Doc Dawson, too! What a catch!"

"It’s you who’ll be caught," said Basil sternly. "And you’ll pay for your crimes -- I’ll see to it!"

"Not a chance, you snoop! You’ll be too busy playin’ tag with the fishes at the bottom of the ocean!"

Percy the Pickpocket laughed harshly. "Thought you’d trap us, eh? Tomorrow our gang goes to Baker Street to chase everybody out. As for the twins, we’ll keep ‘em ourselves. That’ll teach you to stick your nose into our business!"

"Take ‘em on deck, crew," ordered Barney the Bank Robber. "We’ll soon be up to heave ‘em overboard. It’ll be more fun than burglin’ the Bank of England!"

We were carried above and dumped on deck. The sailors turned their backs and began singing again.

Basil squirmed close. "Quick, Dawson -- the ropes!"

I had visited my dentist recently, and my teeth were in excellent condition. Bending my head, I gnawed steadily away until Basil was free.

At once he stood up and gave three loud, sharp squeaks.

Dozens of police, led by Constable Clewes, came swarming over the rails of the yacht! It was a bitter battle, but the forces of law and order won.

Clewes tipped his cap to Basil. "I thought you’d never give the signal, sir. Our boats were waiting on the starboard side, ready to carry out your plan."

"Well done!" Basil handed him the kidnap note.

"This evidence will put The Terrible Three behind bars. The typewriter is below -- take it with you."

The constable paused. "I trust the police will receive some of the credit for the capture."

"Tut, tut, Clewes! All the credit will go to you and your brave force. Leave my name out of it!"

Then he beamed most happily at The Terrible Three, whose faces were as black as thunderclouds.

"So your scheme failed, eh? In his poem, ‘To a Mouse’, Robert Burns, a wise human poet, wrote:

I often wish that Burns had been a mouse."

He lit his meerwood pipe. "And now, my Not-So-Terrible Three, where are the twins?"

"We’ll never squeal!" they shouted hoarsely.

"Then I’ll find out for myself. And I wish you all a nice, long vacation in Mousemoore Prison!"

It was well past midnight when a police launch put us ashore.

"Will you need any help, sir?" asked Clewes.

"No, thank you, Constable. I believe we can handle the rest of this matter ourselves." A chill wind was blowing as we made our way back to town. We passed the inn, and I thought longingly of my comfortable bed.

But Basil did not stop. He strode on so rapidly that I had difficulty in keeping pace.

We went along, wide spacious avenues lined with beautiful homes. Then the wide avenues gave way to narrow, crooked lanes. The houses grew smaller and shabbier, and were crowded close together.

At last Basil halted before a neat but tumble-down dwelling at the end of a grass-grown lane.

The upper windows were dark, but a dim light burned downstairs. Basil crept close and peeped inside.

"We’re in luck," he whispered. "There’s Hawkins, dozing in his rocker. We dare not ring the bell at this hour. I’ll fling some pebbles at the window."

The rattle of the pebbles awoke Hawkins, who rubbed his eyes and looked sleepily about.

"Psst!" Basil tapped lightly on the pane until the carpenter saw him and came to the window.

"What do you want so late at night, Cap’n?"

"You had better step outside," said Basil in a low voice, "unless you wish your wife to know of your connection with The Terrible Three."

The carpenter cringed, and rushed outside. "Who are you, and what do you want of me?"

"Then you don’t recognise us, Hawkins. I am Basil of Baker Street, and this is Dr. Dawson."

He stared hard at us. "I’d never ‘a’ knowed you, sirs. Did you track me down, all the way from London?" "Never mind about that," replied Basil sternly. "Where have you hidden Angela and Agatha?"

Hawkins was terrified. "I can’t tell you."

"They’ve threatened you, then?"

The carpenter hung his head. "The one thing on earth I’m afeard of is those three. There’s no tellin’ what they’ll do to my family if I talk."

"Then I deduced correctly," remarked Basil. "You were dragged into this against your will."

"I’ll tell you as much as I can, Mr. Basil. Me an’ mine have always been straight, honest folk. The Terrible Three asked me to do some cabinetwork on their yacht. Jobs were scarce, and not knowin’who they were, I agreed. I had my family to feed. But one day I heard them talk of kidnappin’ the twins. I said I’d go to the police, but they just laughed, said I’d never see my own young ‘uns again if I went. Scared me half out o’ me wits, they did! Then one o’them said, ‘Let’s make him deliver the note and have him hide the twins instead o’ havin’ one o’ the gang do it. Then he won’t run tattlin’ to the law."

"Now I’m in it up to my neck, just as deep as they are. But I had to help them, on account of my family." "Set your fears at rest," said Basil. "They will menace you no more, for they are in prison."

"Thank heavens!" Hawkins fell to his knees and clutched at the detective’s legs. "But does this mean I’ll go to jail, too? Spare me, I beg of you! Think of my good wife, and my eight young ‘uns -- such a disgrace would break their hearts!"

"It is precisely they of whom I am thinking. Take us to the twins and I promise that the police will know nothing of what you did. But if The Terrible Three reveal your part in this affair, I’ll see to it that you get a light sentence or none at all. The honest life you’ve led will be in your favour, and so will the fact that you were forced into this."

Tears of gratitude sprang to Hawkins’s eyes as Basil helped him to feet.

"Thank you, sir! The twins are in an old deserted barn in the woods outside Mousecliffe. I’ll take you to ‘em myself. Nice, sweet children they are. I’ve tried to be kind to the poor little things."

"I am well aware of that," said Basil. "you bought extra food for them, and sweets."

Hawkins’ mouth hung open. "How did you know?"

"No matter. Let us start at once."

"Right, sir. I’ll fetch a lantern."

He hurried us through town, taking a short cut, and soon we were entering the woods.

He was in a cheerier frame of mind, now that he had confessed. "It’s like a load’s been lifted off my shoulders. I’ll gladly face my punishment, and then I’ll made a new start in life."

The faint gleam of his lantern guided us. It was raining, and our clothes were soaked through.

Even in dry weather, going though such dense forest would have been difficult. The rainfall grew heavier, and often we sank in mud up to our ankles.

Despite these discomforts, I was in high spirits.

In a little while we would find the twins, and this dangerous case would be closed!

Hawkins stopped at a tree that had once been struck by lightning.

"The path to the barn is over yonder."

A few steps more and we were out of the woods. With a feeling of thankfulness, I sighted the old deserted barn. It stood on a slight rise of ground, half hidden by masses of overgrown shrubbery, and it had a lonely look.

We plowed through shoulder-high weeds to get there. The door hung crazily from one rusty hinge. It gave way slowly, creaking as though in protest.

Inside, Hawkins held up his lantern, which glimmered feebly in the gloom. It was an eerie place, dusty and long unused. Cobwebs brushed our faces.

"Angela! Agatha!" called Hawkins eagerly.

A ghostly echo was his only reply. We shouted their names loudly, again and again, but back came the same mocking echo.

"They’re locked in an upstairs room," said the worried Hawkins, "and usually answer the minute I call. I wonder what’s happened."

I, too, wondered. Had The Terrible Three hidden the twins elsewhere, without telling the carpenter?

I moved a few feet away and began to pray silently.

Then Basil laughed. "Do you realise that it’s past three in the morning? They must be sound asleep."

I sighed with relief, then stiffened in fear!

There was a whirring of wings around my head, and a giant thing with great golden eyes swooped down upon me!

I heard weird hoots and screeches, and I knew that the worst had come to pass. I was being attacked by our ancient enemy, the barn owl!

"Help! In heaven’s name, HELP ME!"

Before the creature could fly away with me, my two friends were upon him.

Their bravery was unbelievable! They climbed up on the great feathered body and rained heavy blows upon the monster with sticks they had picked up. They bit, they scratched, they kicked!

I dangled helplessly in mid-air, for a sharp claw had hooked itself into my jacket.

Hawkins fought with the strength of ten mice -- never for one moment did he stop drumming at the owl with his stick!

The claw loosened, then tightened again as the bird made one last effort to fly off with me. But Basil and Hawkins were too much for him!

Ever so slowly the claw relaxed its grip. Half-fainting, I slumped to the floor.

The owl must have been badly hurt, for he, too, fell to the floor. He lay there, his body heaving as though in pain.

My friends quickly dragged me a safe distance away.

Hawkins spat out a mouthful of feathers, and leaned against the wall, panting heavily.

Basil cautiously approached our fallen enemy. The golden eyes gleamed angrily, but my friend stared back, unafraid. He began to talk calmly, in the manner of a teacher addressing a class.

"This owl is badly hurt. He will be unable to move for some time. Luckily, the creature is not yet full-grown, or Dawson would have been gobbled up before you could say ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’! We would never have won the battle with an adult owl. This one is nine inches long -- about twice our own size. The average British barn owl grows to fourteen inches in length. So much for natural history."

He helped me up. "Can you walk?"

I took a few steps. "I’m still shaky, but it will pass. I’ll never forget this experience. Nor shall I ever forget that you two heroes saved my life, at the risk of your own!"

"It was the least I could do," said Hawkins modestly. "Let’s climb the ladder. I can’t wait to see those twins’ faces when they get a look at who’s come to fetch ‘em home!"

We climbed the ladder to the loft.

Hawkins halted before a narrow door. He fitted a long key into the padlock, and the door swung open, revealing a large room.

In the middle of the floor lay a box of half-nibbled chocolates.

Beside it, covered with dirt and grime, and with their pinafores all tattered and torn, lay Angela and Agatha, fast asleep!

They were such a welcome sight that I even enjoyed listening to their delicate snoring.

My silent prayer had been answered -- the twins were safe and unharmed!

We shook them gently, and they awoke, staring sleepily about. Basil and I rubbed some of our make-up off, and they recognised us.

Shouting our delight, they leaped upon us and smeared our cheeks with wet, sticky kisses.

After a while Basil waved them away. "Little mouselings, your parents will soon shower you with affection. As for myself, I’d sooner tackle a tabbycat than put up with all this kissing!"

The twins giggled, and hugged Hawkins instead.

Basil looked at them sternly. "All this trouble and worry could have been avoided if you children hadn’t gone off with a stranger."

Angela hung her head. "We’ll never do it again!"

And Agatha added solemnly, "Cross our hearts!"

Outside, the black of night had given way to the pink dawn. Tired but happy, we made our way back to the Greymouse Inn.

There I got out my little black bag and gave the twins a complete check-up. I was glad to find that they were in perfect health.

Hawkins offered to bathe them. "I’m quite used to it, sirs, with eight of me own."

Meanwhile, Basil and I changed into our regular clothes. It was good to be our own selves again.

When the shops opened, we sent Hawkins out to buy new pinafores for the twins.

Freshly scrubbed and shiny clean, they were two of the prettiest little white mice in all England!

Basil attracted many stares in the lobby. Now that he was no longer in disguise, everyone recognised the Sherlock Holmes of the Mouse World.

After breakfast, Hawkins guided us to Workington Station. A train was about to leave for London, and we slipped into an empty compartment.

Basil leaned out. "Hawkins, we Baker Street mice plan a school annex and other buildings. We should be happy to hire a fine carpenter like yourself and to provide lodgings for your family in Holmestead. If you should serve a prison term, the job will wait."

The train began moving slowly out of the station.

Harry Hawkins ran alongside, waving and calling, "Bless you, Basil -- and bless all of you!"

The twins enjoyed watching the trees and houses flash by and glued their noses to the window all the way to London.

At Euston Station, we overheard a lady directing her driver to Baker Street. We helped Angela and Agatha up, and all four of us perched on the rear of the hansom cab.

What a heart-warming scene took place when we reached the cellar of Baker Street, Number 221B!

As Basil remarked later, watching the reunion of mother and children was ample reward for all the dangers we had faced.

The twins scampered on ahead, calling, "Mummy! Papa! We’re home!"

There was a look of heavenly joy on Mrs. Proudfoot’s face as she clasped Angela and Agatha in her arms.

"My darlings! My very own darlings!"

Mr. Proudfoot wiped away his happy tears, and my own eyes were far from dry.

Many friends and neighbours crowded around to congratulate Basil.

When we returned to our rooms, Mrs. Judson bustled in with a cheese soufflé, Basil’s favourite dish.

She beamed proudly at him. "Sir, you are the world’s greatest detective!"

"The second greatest, Mrs. Judson. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, of course, ranks first."

Afterward, we settled in comfortable chairs before the fire.

I looked searchingly at Basil. He had been working at a mad pace and seemed unusually tired.

"As your doctor, I prescribe a full week’s rest."

Basil slouched down in his chair and yawned.

"Sounds fearfully dull, Dawson."

It was a wild, windy night, with a blizzard raging.

Suddenly our doorbell clanged. Basil sat bolt upright, no longer bored.

Our mousekeeper rapped on the door. "A caller for you, Basil. Says it’s a matter of life or death."

He turned to me pleadingly. "My dear doctor, can’t that week’s rest wait? Only a most exciting case would bring a mouse out on a night like this!"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose you’d grumble and groan for days if I denied you. Get on with it!"

The famous sleuth faced the door, his weariness magically gone, his eyes agleam with eagerness.

"Mrs. Judson, I am ready to receive my caller."