The Mad Doctor of London Part IV

The Mad Doctor of London

A Great Mouse Detective Pastiche

By E. Grimes

In Part III: Dr. Heinrich Von Seyss, having begun his scientific work in his youth, finally embarks upon his medical career in his native Vienna. However, both his happiness and a promising vocation are shattered when his mother, while working in the slums among the poor, is brutally murdered by a crazed derelict.

His mind already jangled by his tortured past, Von Seyss trashes his house in a frenzy of rage after his mother's funeral---and from that moment, he fully collapses into insanity. Now his mission as a doctor is no longer to heal---but to kill. His chosen victims are the mentally ill and the slum inhabitants, who innocently bear the blame for his mother's death.

By a quirk of Fate, Von Seyss becomes Director of a local asylum. Finding his mother's killer there, he secretly murders him one night. After that, several other patients---and eventually, mice from the slums, are sacrificed for the doctor's sadistic and deadly "experiments".

In the course of time, Von Seyss meets a young flower girl, Anna Heinstoffer, and brings her to his home--at first intending her to be another victim. He changes his mind and makes her his mistress instead, but later events lead to his brutal confrontation with her and his flight from Vienna, as told of in Part I.

Now, his residence established in London's East End, Von Seyss begins his deadly work once again...

Hubert Downing, a rather large and muscular mouse, was a common sight among the Cockneys of London's East End. He was the neighbourhood tinker, a kind and gentle sort despite his formidable appearance. The only negative thing about him, actually, was his overfondness for drink---and often his pitiful earnings went for cheap liquor or a couple of pints at the tavern.

On this particular evening, poor Hubert hadn't had much work, and so he was getting rather desperate---and thirsty. It was late, and some of the costermongers had gone home; so the streets were fairly quiet as he pushed his little cart along the cobblestones. Suddenly, he spied a tall gentlemouse in dark clothing walking towards him...

"I sy, guv'nor?" Hubert called to him. "D'ye need ennyting? Ye moit 'ave a knife er scissahs, needs shahp'nin?"

The gentlemouse looked startled. "What?" he replied in a a thick Austrian accent. "Oh...no, I don't think so..."

Hubert grinned. "Crikey, guv, y'tawk funny. Y'ant from 'round 'ere, are ye?"

The gentlemouse ignored the remark, but looked over the tinker's cart, and the tinker himself, with a wry smile.

"I believe I might...you sound as though you're in dire need of work. Hungry, poor fellow?"

The tinker lowered his eyes to the ground. "Ay...rahther. But t'tell yeh the trut', guv, ahm needin' a good stiff drink. Y'see, it's me shoulder, sah," he added quickly when the gentlemouse raised his eyebrows. "Ah 'urt it 'while back, and the cold fair nips at me out 'ere..."

"Then I must surely help you, dear boy," the other mouse said kindly, a look of pity on his face. He put an arm around the tinker's shoulders, saying, "Come with me, Mister...?"

"Very well then---Hubert. I'm quite certain that I shall have need of you. And I can do something about that shoulder---it so happens that I'm a doctor..."

As Hubert and the doctor walked off, laughing and speaking amiably, a young street urchin nibbling a bit of stolen cheese watched them curiously from his nest in an old crate.

"Nois cozy plyce y'av 'ere, Doc," marvelled Hubert, as he followed the doctor inside.

"It's humble," replied the gentlemouse, "but it's a roof over my head. Sit down at the table, won't you, Hubert?"

"All in good time, dear boy," his host replied. "You'll be able to work better after you'd had a bite to eat."

Hubert grinned as the doctor set out plates of cold meat and cheese, but grinned even wider when given a large pint of stout.

He tucked in heartily, the doctor taking great care to see that Hubert's glass stayed full. Before long, the tinker was well in his cups.

"I sy, Doc," he said, sniffling, "aynt menny chaps ben as good t'me as you 'ave..."

"Well after all, Hubert...what are friends for?" replied his benefactor, who made sure that Hubert didn't notice the small vial being emptied into his glass.

The tinker downed his drink, then wiped his mouth and said in a slurred voice, "Sy, Doc...I don't tink ay can be much 'elp t'ye, feelin' loik this..."

"On the contrary, dear boy," the doctor said slyly, "you're about to help me a great deal..."

Despite his condition, the tinker felt uneasy when he saw the doctor's twisted smile and the ominous gleam in his green eyes. In sudden dread, Hubert tried to rise, but found himself getting quite drowsy...

"Ay...ay doesn't feel so good, eh?" he muttered, just before he fell to the floor unconscious.

Hubert opened his eyes to find himself in a dimly-lit cellar and strapped to a hard chair, his shabby coat removed and one of his shirt sleeves rolled up...and Dr. Von Seyss standing before him with a cold, cruel smile.

"You'll soon find out, old boy," Von Seyss answered cheerfully. "You've had your fun---now it's my turn!"

"Wha...what're ye gon' do t'me, Doc?" cried Hubert, his eyes widening with fright as he watched Von Seyss pick up a beaker of dark green liquid and a large hypodermic syringe.

The doctor turned to Hubert with a look of mild surprise. "Why, can't you see, dear boy? I'm only going to give you a little injection...

"This," he explained excitedly, holding the beaker up to Hubert's pale face, "is a serum I made myself, from a rare plant grown in Africa. I'm going to try it out on you---isn't that thrilling, dear Hubert?" He let forth with his typical demented giggle.

"But, dear boy, I've been most kind to you this evening...can't you do something for me?"

What made the doctor's actions all the more sinister was his jovial, methodical air, as though he were committing no wrong whatsoever. That he spoke to his prisoner with such calm and familiarity only added to the horror.

But now, Von Seyss watched with a cruel smirk as Hubert vainly fought to break the leather straps holding him to the chair.

"Please stop that, Hubert," requested Von Seyss, wincing painfully. "These walls are quite thick, and no one will hear you anyway. Besides, it creates the most frightful echo---you can't imagine how it grates on my ears!"

Von Seyss leaned over and squeezed Hubert's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Why, I know that, dear boy," he purred. "I rather like you, actually. But you see, Hubert," he continued, as he calmly filled the syringe, "you have the tragic misfortune to belong to a society that has done great harm indeed---and must go on harming if someone doesn't care enough to do something."

"Do stop crying, Hubert," he said sternly, as though correcting a child. "It's most unmanly. You're a grown man, after all---what would your friends think if they saw you?"

He rubbed a bit of alcohol on Hubert's arm. "Musn't risk infection, you see..."

Hubert screamed again and tried once more to break free, and so Von Seyss shoved a rag into the tinker's mouth, with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head.

"Hubert, I asked you not to do that. But be a brave fellow, it'll be over quickly..."

The tinker let out a muffled yell as Von Seyss made the injection and stepped back triumphantly to watch the results.

"Now the fun begins!" he declared, chuckling brutally as Hubert began shivering, as if with fever. But Von Seyss had misjudged the power of his own serum; Hubert's eyes became glassy, and with a stifled roar, he made a violent jerk and broke the leather straps. The doctor's exhileration gave way to panic as his "patient" lurched up from the chair, yanked the rag from his mouth, then lunged at his tormentor.

"Hubert, settle down!" Von Seyss screamed frantically; but the tinker, foaming with demented rage, cuffed him to the floor, then threw himself at the doctor and tried to strangle him. Only by a chance grab at a glass beaker and a blow to the tinker's head did Von Seyss escape.

Jumping up quickly, he glared furiously at his victim, snarling, "I don't think I like you anymore, Hubert!"

As he ran upstairs, the tinker following, Von Seyss remembered a pistol that he kept hidden in his sitting room; but the thought that the shots might be heard outside discouraged him. Suddenly, however, there was the sound of an approaching coach, and another solution presented itself...

"Very well, dear Hubert," he sneered at the tinker, who was stumbling toward him with maddened grunts. "Do you want me? Then come and get me!"

He ran through his flat and out the door, knowing that the tinker would pursue him. Glancing quickly up the way, Von Seyss darted across the street, his victim's screams of fury in his ears. When he reached the other side of the street and fell to the ground, the doctor turned to see the coach rushing past, and poor Hubert lying dead on the cobblestones.

The crazed giggle that bubbled forth from Von Seyss' lips at the sight quickly changed to sobbing as several mice came running over and gathered at the scene of the tinker's tragic "accident" .

"Are yer all right, guv'nor?" asked one of them, as Von Seyss sat down and bowed his head in his hands.

"Horrible...so horrible...oh, that poor fellow," he groaned. "How could such a thing have happened?"

" 'e was drunk, that's 'ow," said another mouse, smelling the stout on Hubert's clothing. "Poor 'ubert. I warned 'im the drink would kill 'im one day. Now," he added sadly, " 't 'pears it 'as."

The street urchin who had seen Hubert going home with Von Seyss now came running up. Seeing the tinker's body lying in the street, the poor boy collapsed over it, sobbing painfully. Several of the mice tried to comfort him.

"Yer friend's gone, little 'un," an elderly lady mouse said gently. "An't no more yeh c'n do for 'im."

By the time Hubert's body had been covered and placed on a litter, Von Seyss was giving his "explanation" to the crowd, seeing that the neighborhood bobby had now appeared.

"Ah, yes, yes," the doctor said haltingly, taking care to appear quite grieved, "I don't know what happened...we were only having a friendly drink together, but he'd had too much, I'm afraid, and began losing his temper..."

The street urchin, who had reluctantly left the tinker's body, stared strangely at Von Seyss as he spoke.

"I tried to calm him down," Von Seyss continued, "but he became violent, and it was all I could do to get away from him. He never saw that coach coming, poor devil...you all saw him chasing me. He was like a madman---I thought he'd surely kill me!"

"Liar!!!" screeched the street urchin, glaring at the doctor, who turned to stare back at him.

"But, my dear child," he said calmly, playing his part to the hilt, "you weren't there. You didn't see it..."

There was a spark of deadly anger in the doctor's eyes that no one else saw; but the boy noticed, and he backed away uneasily, then followed the bearers as they carried away Hubert's body.

Once the crowd had been dispersed, Von Seyss crept back to his flat. When he was safely inside, away from the eyes and ears of everyone, he sat down and poured a glass of cognac, then lit a Turkish cigarette.

And only the walls heard the maniacal giggling that burst forth once again...

It was some evenings later that the little street urchin was wandering through Hubert's old haunts, unable to stay away. Understandably, his friend's death had left him cheerless and sluggish, and unable to resort to his usual petty thefts. But this night, passing by the costermongers' carts with the smell of hot saveloys and other foods in the air, hunger finally got the better of the boy.

He came upon a cart hawking buns; with his small but practised paw, he began to stow a couple under his ragged coat.

"Oi!!!" snarled the bun seller, grabbing the boy's arm before he could run. "Ah've gotcher now, yeh lil' wharf rat! Stealin' me mahchandoise, eh?"

"Lemme go!!!" screamed the street urchin. "Yeh've gots plenty of 'em---cawn't yer spare a bit?"

But the costermonger, a big, blustery fellow, fished out the stolen pastries and threw them on the ground. "There, naw! Ah'll not be selllin' em, naw 'at yeer filthy paws 'av bin at 'em! Ah've a good min' ter fetch the beadle on yer, er tyke a stick to yeh meself!"

The bun seller looked up to see a tall and handsome doctor looking down at him, and holding out a handful of pence. Startled, the costermonger released the street urchin, who stared up at the gentlemouse.

"Can't you see the boy's hungry, sir?" the doctor continued, with a disarming smile. "Surely you can spare a couple of buns."

"Aye, sir!" exclaimed the bun seller, grinning broadly as he took the money and gave the doctor two buns. But when the gentlemouse tried to give them to the street urchin, the boy refused, eyeing him fearfully.

"An't yer 'ungry, boy?" asked the costermonger, surprised at the child's reaction. "They's me best bakin' !"

"But of course---of course he's hungry!" insisted the doctor. "Come, come, child, I shan't hurt you---" As he pushed the buns towards the boy, he took ahold of his arm.

"Naw!!! Git awff!!!" the tyke screeched, slapping the buns to the ground and shaking off the doctor's grasp. "Din't wan' nuttin' from yer, yeh murderah!!!"

He tore down the street as if a gang of cats were after him, attracting the attention of a policeman, who chased after him as the other mice stared at the spectacle. The bun seller was quite stunned.

The doctor said nothing, but stood glaring after the fleeing young mouse, with dark thoughts that he shared with no one...

Well, there he is, in one of his little moods again. And what's up with him this time? thought Dawson, with a patient sigh.

It was dinner-time at the flat at 221B Lower Baker Street. Basil and Dawson were both at table, but only Dawson seemed to care about eating. Basil sat across from the good doctor, deep in thought and not touching his plate.

"I say, dear boy, try to eat a little something, won't you?" suggested Dawson. "The grouse is quite scrumptious tonight---Mrs. Judson has truly outdone herself!"

But Basil waved away the words like bothersome flies, and said sternly: "Here I sit racking my brains, Doctor, and off you go prattling about grouse. You know I can't eat when a case is troubling me!"

But he had noticed that Basil had been quite pensive and moody for some days, eating and sleeping little; when he hadn't been poring over newspapers, he had been playing his violin with his typical brooding expression. Dawson, as usual, was being kept in the dark, until such time as the detective would choose to discuss the matter.

Suddenly, there came a frantic rapping at the door, and Mrs. Judson hurried to answer it.

"Just a minute, just a minute!" the housekeeper snapped, as the knocking continued; but Basil recognised its sound.

"That's young Tommy Higgins," he said. "He runs errands for me at times. What sort of trouble has he gotten into now?"

Mrs. Judson opened the door to find the street urchin standing pale and frightened, and quite out of breath. But by this time, the policeman had caught up to him, and grabbed him roughly.

"Now then, young un!" he growled. "What's this about? You've been pinchin' from the carts again, I'll wager!"

"Let the boy go!" Basil ordered. "You don't know that he's stolen anything..."

"Keep out of this, Mister Basil, won't you?" the bobby shot back. "I'll handle this!"

"No, sir---I'll handle this!" Basil said angrily, stepping outside and wrenching the policeman's hand from the young mouse's arm. "Leave him alone, I said!"

"All right, then. But don't come cryin' to me, sir, if you catch him thievin'!"

As the policeman stalked off, Basil led the boy inside. The child was shaking, and obviously fighting back tears. The detective sensed something was troubling him deeply; still, he chose not to question the situation just yet. He helped his small visitor seat himself on the couch, and sat beside him.

"Now, Tommy," he began, with a mildly stern look, "haven't I talked to you about your stealing?"

"Correct. And I also told you, that if you're so very hungry, you can come by anytime and we'll feed you. You're always a great help to me, so it won't be a handout. In fact, we're having dinner right now---I'll have Mrs. Judson get you some."

To his surprise, the street urchin shook his head. "An't 'ungry, Mistah Basil," he said, his voice trembling. "Not now!"

The terror and sadness in his eyes hinted at something far worse than a brush with the law.

A tear rolled down Tommy's grubby cheek. " 'ubert," he sniffled, " 'e's dead..."

Basil nodded, with a heavy sigh. "Oh, yes...Hubert, the tinker. I read about that the other night... I'm very sorry, Tommy. A horrid street accident, they said---"

"Naw!!! T'warn't naw accident!!!" blurted the little boy, jumping off the couch. "I knaw it warn't---din't care wot they sez!!!"

By now, tears of anger and sorrow were rolling down his face, as Basil and Dawson both tried to calm him.

"Steady on, son," Dawson said kindly, patting the boy's shoulder. "I know it's awful to think about...but the poor fellow had been drinking, and made the tragic mistake of running out in front of a coach..."

But Tommy shook his head vehemently. " 'e dun it!!! I knaw it!!!" he cried. " 'at doctah bloke wot went awf wit' 'im... 'e kilt 'ubert, an' lied 'bout 'im!!!"

A strange gleam suddenly came into Basil's eyes. Leaning forward, he put his hands on the small shoulders.

Tommy nodded. " 'e's lyin' win 'e sez 'at, Doctah Dawson. 'ubert was me fren' ... 'e wouldn't 'urt no one, even if he got drunk! But 'at doctah, 'e's a bad un, I knaw it...e's bad, an' I doesn't care 'ow much a gennulmun 'e is.."

"Yas, Mistah Basil..." He lowered his head. "Ah...ah was pinchin' some buns, an' ah was bad t'do it...thot ah was gon' ter catch it good! But 'at doctah bloke cum up, payin' fer 'em...an' 'e grobbed me...ah was 'fraid of 'im, so ah run awff..."

He gazed beseechingly into Basil's sharp eyes. "Ah cum over 'ere...ah 'ad t'see yeh, Mistah Basil, t'tell yeh 'bout 'im...ah knaw yeh go after bad men like 'at...I cawn't say 'ow I knaw, Mistah Basil, but 'at doctah's a bad sort..."

"What about his voice, Tommy?" demanded the detective. "Did he talk like you and I, or did he sound different?"

Tommy shrugged, sniffling. "Ah dunno...guess so...an' 'e acted like 'e was tryin' t'be noice...but ah looked in 'is oyes... an' Mistah Basil, t'was like lookin' at Old Nick 'isself!!!"

The street urchin wiped his nose on his ragged sleeve and sniffled. "Din't yeh b'lieve me, Mistah Basil?" he said plaintively.

Basil, his hands still on the boy's shoulder's, gazed steadily into Tommy's eyes. "I believe you, Tommy," he said quietly. "I don't know yet what must be done, but I promise you: I'll look after this somehow."

The boy flung his arms around Basil and buried his face in the detective's dressing gown, sobbing, while Basil stared solemnly ahead of him.

"Mrs. Judson," he told the housekeeper, who had been witnessing the scene with tears in her eyes, "pray wash Tommy's face, and take him to the kitchen....he's likely hungry now. And we'd best give him a bed for the night...the streets definitely won't be safe for him right now."

When the street urchin was out of the room, Basil lit his pipe and paced around, many thoughts racing through his mind.

"The poor boy..." Dawson said, with a sigh. "But Basil...might this have anything to do with your frame of mind these last few days and nights?"

Basil stopped pacing and gave the doctor a shrewd glance. "Perhaps," he said, with his usual evasiveness. "But what can you deduce from all this, Dawson?"

"Only that you seemed quite interested about that doctor Tommy's so afraid of...and that you've been quite preoccupied with periodicals and old articles. Might the two be connected, perchance?"

The detective's reply was to show him an article, two months old, from The Ilustrated London Mouse:

VIENNA, AUSTRIA---A former director and physician of Heidelberg Sanitarium is being sought in the wake of several mysterious deaths within the asylum and in the locality of the slums. Dr. Heinrich Von Seyss, formerly a private physician, is alleged to have subjected certain of his patients, as well as mice inhabiting the slums, to criminal medical experiments that resulted in deaths of most of the victims. His present whereabouts are as yet unknown, although it is now suspected that Von Seyss has fled Austria and is still somewhere in Europe.

"And something else, Dawson," Basil declared, as he picked up some more recent articles that he had clipped out. "Tommy is not the only one who's been suspicious about the tinker's 'accident'...I have shared his suspicions, for this tragic event has been but one of many in the East End these past few nights..."

"But that should be no surprise, Basil---what with the poverty and criminal elements swarming through the East End. After all, that had been the site of Professor Ratigan's lair..."

"And his evil didn't die with him, Doctor. There are other Ratigans, as well as other Moriartys...their name is "Legion", as it were. I might dare to imagine that there are criminals even worse than they. But there have been incidents that bear strange echoes of the very crimes for which Dr. Von Seyss is being hunted.

"For instance," he went on, reading from one of the articles, "a beggar drowned himself in the Thames just three nights hence. Witnesses saw him running through the streets, foaming and screaming like a maniac, until he jumped into the river. He sank like a rock, and no one could get to him in time. Yet those who knew him did not remember such behaviour from him in the past...

"...a trollop was found dead in an alley, a look of horror on her face...yet there were no signs of any visible wounds or bruises, nor weapons at the site. Neither was there any sign that she had swallowed poison.

"Then, there was the adolescent milkmaid who tried to 'fly' off of a window ledge. She survived, though she broke several bones; but she was found babbling all sorts of nonsense, and the last I heard, she is still not in her right mind---yet until that night, she was known to be as sound as you and I."

"Need I say more, my dear Doctor? If I am not greatly in error, it is most evident that our Austrian physician has taken up residence here in London, where he intends to carry on his murderous 'trade' ."

Fifty-five year old Emma Tilbury wrapped her ragged shawl tighter against the chill night air as she sat outside of a tavern, selling violets. She'd had a bit of luck this particular night, managing to sell a few small bouquets. Soon her evening's work would be done, and Emma looked forward to going home to her pot of tea and her humble bed.

My, my...what a 'andsome chap 'e is, she mused as she saw a certain doctor coming up the street. Such a one must 'ave a lydy friend er wife...

The doctor sat down beside her. "My...lady?" he repeated, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry to say, my dear, that I have no lady..."

Emma patted his hand. "Aw, whatta shame, suh! A 'andsome young mouse loike yew, too! Guess yeh won't be needin' no violets, then?" she added sadly.

"Well, really, good lady...you're such a dear, I'll gladly buy your whole basket of violets!"

He pressed a guinea into the old lady mouse's hand, and Emma looked startled.

Emma gasped in delight. "Aw, young mon---yeh're too kind, much too kind!" She took his hand and kissed it.

Her benefactor laughed gently. "And why not?" he declared. "The world could use a bit more kindness, couldn't it?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, luv," the flower seller replied, as she started to empty her basket, "indeed so---" she winced in pain and started rubbing her arm.

Emma laughed reassuringly. "Oh, 'tis nothing, luv...just me old bones actin' up. I an't so young no more, yeh see..."

"Why, you poor soul!" he cried. "Aren't you fortunate that I came your way...it so happens that I'm a doctor!"

"Cor...this is me lucky noit, suh! I'd 'eard a 'andsome young doc 'ad set up 'ouse 'round 'ere. And 'aven't yeh got the most interestin' voice...yeh sound loike a foine gennelmouse. But I do 'ate t'be a bother..."

The doctor laughed and gently raised her up. "You're no bother at all, Mother," he assured her. "You'd be doing me a favour---I'm new to your beloved England, and very lonely. I'd be delighted if you'd come and take tea with me..."

Emma, known for her gentle humour, drew back a bit in mock modesty. "But, suh...are yeer intenshuns 'on'rable?"

The doctor stared curiously for a moment, then burst out laughing as he caught the joke. "Ah, bless you, gentle lady!" he cried, as he kissed Emmas' hands. "Of course, of course...my good woman, you are quite a caution!"

"After all, good suh," the old woman replied coquettishly, "ahm a well-bred lydy!"

"Shall we go, then?" said the gentlemouse, gallantly offering his arm to Emma, who took it daintily.

It was no difficult task for the doctor to lead Emma to his flat---where, during their spirited conversation and while the old woman's back was turned, he slipped yet another of his soporifics into her cup of tea. Poor Emma went out like a light after only a few sips...

She awoke to find Dr. Von Seyss standing before her with a charming smile on his lips, but a glint as hard as steel in his green eyes.

"Wot...wot's 'goin' on 'ere?" Emma said weakly. "Wot plyce is 'is? An' 'oo are yeh?"

"One question at a time, good lady," Von Seyss replied pleasantly. "But first---you'll appreciate, I'm sure, that I've tied you up very gently with soft ropes, rather than those nasty leather straps---I didn't want to bruise those delicate old limbs of yours. And to answer your questions, I've brought you here for a little experiment, and you happen to be in my cellar. As to whom I am, my name doesn't matter, since you won't be around long enough to know me that well."

"Yeh mean...yer gon' t' croak me? Yeh cawn't mean it, suh!" cried the old woman, her voice quavering with fear as she saw Von Seyss pick up a small syringe.

"I do mean it, ma'am," the doctor replied as he filled the syringe with a light blue liquid. "But don't be frightened...I promise you won't suffer much."

Emma began to weep. "Please, doctah...please lemme go! Ah won't tell no one..."

"Oh, but I will let you go, my dear, just as soon as I've injected you," the doctor declared, excitedly. "As a matter of fact, you're actually going to enjoy this. I've distilled the juices of a flower found in Southeast Asia, and its effects, you'll find, will be most exhilerating!

"You'll be in quite a state of euphoria, good lady," he told the trembling woman, as he patted her cheek affectionately. "You'll be dancing around like a little fairy, happy as a lark--until the serum stops your heart completely. That is, assuming you're not run over by a carriage or eaten by a cat first."

Emma shrieked in terror, and Von Seyss put his hand firmly over her mouth. "Please be quiet, my dear," he implored. "I can't bear the sound of screaming down here. After all, I'm not really going to hurt you..."

"Oh, please... please," the woman sobbed in despair. "Why're yeh doin' this, suh...why?"

She continued to sob loudly until Von Seyss tied a handkerchief around her mouth.

"Shhhhh," he whispered, stroking her greying hair as if to comfort her. "I've nothing against you, my dear...but you must understand that I have to do this. You and your kind are a threat to society, and must be eliminated. Think of it this way: I'm actually doing you a favour. What kind of life might you have had among the dregs of Mousedom? You're a good woman, so I've no doubt I'm sending you to a better world than this."

With sinister tenderness, the doctor kissed the old woman's tear-stained cheeks. "Farewell, gentle lady...and thank you for those lovely violets. I shall think of you every time I look at them..."

As he picked up the syringe and gently took Emma's trembling arm, he happened to glance into the old woman's soft blue eyes...and his reaction was quite astonishing.

The needle never touched the woman's flesh. Instead, Von Seyss stared into Emma's swollen eyes, a devastated expression on his face---unable to move, like one hypnotised. Then, as if he had suddenly realised what he was about to do, he threw the syringe down to the floor, where it shattered.

"Get out!!!" he screamed, cutting the ropes that bound Emma and yanking her from the chair. "Get out! I never want to see your face again!

"But wait!!!" he snarled, grabbing the old woman's arm and glaring dangerously at her. "You'll say nothing of what's gone on down here---nothing, d'you hear? If you tell one soul about this, I swear I'll find you, no matter where you are...I'll find you, and I'll kill you!"

Emma nodded, sobbing gratefully, and ran up the steps. But something made her look back...and she turned to see Von Seyss leaning against the farthest wall, his face buried in his arms, and strange gasping sounds coming from him....

Concerned in spite of herself, she asked haltingly, "Are...are yeh quite all right...suh?"

The doctor spun around in rage. "What the devil are you looking at ??" he screeched. "I've given you your life, haven't I? Get out---before I change my mind!"

Emma, forgetting her aching bones for the moment, ran as fast and as far from the place as she could.

After several minutes, Von Seyss staggered up the stairs, and to his room. Lying down upon his bed, he stared up at a photograph on his nightstand, bearing the image of an elderly woman with silver hair and gentle blue eyes...of his beloved
and long-dead mother, Hilda Von Seyss.

Trembling, the doctor picked up the photograph and kissed it; then, curling up like a fetus in the womb, Von Seyss hugged his mother's portrait to his breast, sobbing into his pillow...