The Mad Doctor of London Part VIII

The Mad Doctor of London

A Great Mouse Detective Pastiche

By E. Grimes

In Part VII: Anna has looked back upon her past with Dr. Von Seyss---recalling the events leading up
to his attempt on her life, his flight from Vienna and her own arrival in England.

Safe and well cared for by the Harwickes, the young Austrian woman gives birth to a baby boy and names
him after the late son of the kindly farm couple. But despite Anna's happiness with her infant, she cannot
free herself from the memory of Von Seyss...even though she now realises that the doctor had only used her,
that he is indeed an insane monster and not the kindly physician who once befriended her.

Having told her story at last to Bess Harwicke, Anna now faces the present...and an uncertain future.

Meanwhile, terror stalks the streets of London once again---but in a more insidious form than ever.

Part VIII:
The Face of Evil

"My devil had been long caged; he came out roaring...
instantly the spirit of Hell awoke in me and raged."

~~from The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
by Robert Louis Stevenson

____________________________________________

Only a few heads turned at the Thistle & Rose Pub as the tall thin gentlemouse in the cape and
deerstalker strode in and quietly sat at a corner table. Josh, the barkeep, raised surprised eyebrows,
but walked over to the tall mouse with a friendly grin.

"Why, 'allo there, Mister Basil!" he said cheerily. "An't seen ye 'round 'ere in quite a spell. What's
yer pleasure, aye?"

His visitor smiled broadly. "How nice to see you again, dear boy! My pleasure? Let's see...would you
happen to have any cognac?"

"Cognac?? Er...got some in th' back, I b'lieve. I'll fetch it fer yer right away!"

As he was pouring the liquor, Josh said in a low voice to the barmaid: "Blimey...Mister Basil's got
rahther fanc'ful tastes t'night. 'e usually asks fer a sherry, er a pint er somethin'."

The barmaid shrugged. "Well, 'at's Mistah Basil fer yer...yer nevah know wot's on 'is mind."

As the gentlemouse sat enjoying his drink, he became aware that another mouse in dark clothing
was glaring at him from across the room. He was well known, but not much liked among the pub
patrons. As he often was, he was fairly in his cups and in the mood for trouble.

"Well, well...lookit Mister Fancy Britches over there," he sneered. "An't a pint er Guinness good
enuff f'yer, Prince Charmin'?"

The tall mouse cast him a disgusted glance, but ignored him and continued to drink.

"Oi! I'm talkin' t'yer, yer long-nosed twit!" the other mouse snarled hatefully.

"Git off, Percy!" barked Josh. "I don't need yeh makin' trouble ev'ry blinkin' time yeh come
around 'ere."

"Wot're yeh sayin', Josh? Me munny's 's good 's ennyone's 'ere!" Percy shot back as he staggered
over to the gentlemouse's table and very deliberately planted himself at a seat next to him. The
gentlemouse glared venomously; but the ruffian only grinned roguishly and called to the barkeep.

"Gimme 'nother pint, Josh!" he ordered. "An' bring one fer 'is Lordship 'ere, too!"

"Thank you, no," was the gentlemouse's dry reply. "Now would you please leave?"

His refusal infuriated Percy. "So, ol' Percy ain't fit t' sit with yeh, eh? Hah! Look at yer, sippin' 'at
fancy likker like yer th' bleedin' Lord Mayor o' London!

"Josh! Yer bringin' me 'at pint er an't yer?" he insisted angrily.

"I think yeh've 'ad enough," the barkeep said firmly, with his arms folded.

"Aye, really now? Well, so 'as 'is bloke!" Percy grabbed the gentlemouse's glass and dashed the cognac
straight into his face, laughing harshly when the other mouse gave a start and jumped up in rage. He stood
glaring at the rough mouse for several moments, his fists clenched.

"That'll do it, Percy!" Josh snapped. "Leave Mister Basil alone---'e's a detective, an' 'e'll take yer t'gaol!"

"Oi, now! Is 'at right?" Percy shot an ugly look at the gentlemouse, who gave him a disdainful glance as
he wiped his face and tried to wipe the drink from his cape. "Aye, I remember yer now...yer got th'Yard on
a few o' me frien's!" He gave a sarcastic laugh. "Small world, an't it, guv'nor?

" 'ere, MISTER Basil," he continued mockingly, "lemme 'elp clean yer off!"

Grabbing a mug of ale from another patron, he dumped its contents over the tall mouse's head
with a vicious laugh.

"You drunken imbecile!!" screeched the gentlemouse in rage. Forgetting any dignity for the moment,
he cursed and roughly shoved Percy. The drunkard stumbled back and fell against the bar, while the
other patrons whooped in approval. Josh and the barmaid stood gaping in stunned silence, then the
barkeep ran over and grabbed Percy's arm.

"'at's enough, yeh bloody fool---go 'ome an' sober up!" he snapped. "I an't tellin' yer again!"

But Percy, blind with drunken fury, was now beyond all reasoning. He shook himself loose, then
rushed at the gentlemouse and slammed a hard fist into his face, knocking him to the floor. Before
the tall mouse could rise, the ruffian was on him, trying to choke him as Josh did his best to break
up the fight. The tall mouse grabbed a beer bottle lying nearby and smashed it over Percy's head,
then he squirmed loose and kicked Percy away from him. The rest of the customers stood around
eagerly watching the spectacle and egging the two on; but the barkeep had seen enough.

"That tears it, Percy!" he roared, firmly grabbing the quarreling mouse and twisting his arm behind
him. "Get out o' me pub---an' don't yeh never come back!"

Heedless of Percy's protests and threats, Josh dragged him outside and physically threw him down
the street, sending him on his way with a healthy kick to his rump. The crowd, watching through the
window, cheered and laughed derisively.

"Serves th'blighter right," said an old fishermouse at the bar. It had been his mug of ale that
Percy had wasted.

The gentlemouse, meanwhile, was sitting at a table feeling his sore jaw, while the barmaid wiped the
blood from his face. Josh went up to him, his face a mixture of embarrassment and concern.

"I'm right sorry, Mister Basil," he said in a low voice. " 'e won't be botherin' yer again. Lemme get
yer another drink---on th' 'ouse."

The gentlemouse shook his head painfully. "Thank you...perhaps another time. I believe I'll go home
for tonight."

He rose slowly and slipped Josh a few shillings; then he walked out into the night, while the barkeep
shook his head and sighed heavily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the gentlemouse walked back to his flat, he could hear faint yet heavy footsteps some distance
behind him. He could guess their source; yet he walked on, though at a quicker pace, until he reached
his flat. With a shrewd glance behind him, he unlocked the door and crept inside.

At that moment, the unsteady footsteps suddenly quickened, until a shadow fell upon the doorstep
and its owner kicked open the door. Percy, enraged at his humiliation at the pub, had watched and
followed the tall mouse as he walked home, awaiting a chance for revenge.

"Where are yer, MISTER Basil?" he snarled, glowering all around him. "I'll teach yer t' 'ave me thrown
out o' me fav'rite pub!"

"I'm here," said a voice behind him. The drunkard whirled around in fury.

"Yer where??" he demanded. "Come out where I c'n blinkin' see yer, an' fight like a man!"

The blade of a large knife flashed in his grimy paw as he stood waiting, not knowing his every move
was being carefully watched. The room was quite dark, with every window shade drawn, and there
was a sudden click of the door being bolted.

"Come out 'ere, I said!" Percy snarled in an ugly voice. "I've got somethin' 'ere fer yer, d'tective!
Ol' Percy's gonna slit yer throat right down t'yer bloomin' trousers---"

There was a swift movement behind him, and the drunkard suddenly gave a harsh cry, dropping his
knife as a sharp pain struck his upper arm. He staggered and grabbed his arm, squinting angrily as
a gaslamp was suddenly lit. Into the dim light stepped the tall gentlemouse, holding a syringe.

"You dirty..." Percy choked out as he lurched at the other mouse and grabbed the front of his cape
with trembling hands. But the gentlemouse only stared coldly into his eyes, smiling as Percy slid
unconscious to the floor.

Stepping over him, the tall mouse poured himself a glass of cognac and gulped it down. Then with a
contemptful glare at Percy's limp form, he roughly shoved it aside with his foot.

"So," he hissed, "you were going to cut my throat, sie schmutziger Hund?"

And maniacal laughter filled the room as the mad doctor of London dragged off yet another
victim.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Basil and Dawson had returned to the East End. It seemed now that the whole
of their work was a constant running back and forth---from Baker Street to the East End, then
back again. The routine of it was tiresome to Dawson and frustrating to Basil, anxious though
he was to solve the case.

They happened to be across the street from the Thistle 'n' Rose Pub, when Josh spied them and
quickly went up to them.

"Oi, if it an't Mister Basil an' Dr. Dawson!" he exclaimed, shaking their hands with a wide grin.
"An' 'ow yeh feelin', Mister Basil?"

"Why...I'm quite well, Josh," Basil replied, giving him a curious glance. "And it's very nice to see
you again. It's been a good while."

The barkeep laughed. "What d'yeh mean, Mister Basil? You were in th' Thistle 'n' Rose just las'
night!"

Basil stared in surprise. "Why, no I wasn't, Josh. Dawson and I were both at home."

It was now Josh's turn to stare. "Mister Basil, yeh were in me pub. I knew yer th' minute I saw yeh."

"I most certainly was not in the pub, Josh," the detective answered firmly. "I insist I was not."

"Mister Basil," Josh said angrily, with his hands on his hips, "are yeh callin' me a liar?"

Basil, quite annoyed at this point, assumed the same pose. "Most assuredly not! I am merely
suggesting that you must be mistaken. And I really haven't the time for this, sir."

As the two mice stood glaring at each other, Dawson tried to settle things. "But Josh," he said
in his friendliest tone, "Basil was home last night. I know, I was there. Perhaps you only saw
someone who looked like him."

But the barkeep shook his head stubbornly, insisting that Basil had indeed been at the pub. "Doctor
Dawson, 'e was dressed just like that," he said, pointing at the detective's outfit. " 'e looked just like
'im...even talked like 'im!" He gave a sad chuckle as he remembered last night's brawl. "Yer didn't
look so nice though, aftah ol' Percy took a good swipe at yer."

Basil's eyebrows shot up. "Percy?? You don't mean Percy Braithwaite---one of Ratigan's old gang?"

"Aye! 'at's th' bloke!" Josh said with a triumphant grin. "Yeh do remembah now, don't yeh,
Mister Basil? Ol' Percy th' Pilferer, we all called 'im. Tho' 'e didn't seem t'mind that 'andle...
seemed right proud of it, 'e did. But none of us cared for 'im much---'e was always startin' a
brawl er somethin'."

"Go on," Basil urged, with sudden interest.

"Well---you were there, Mister Basil. Ol' Percy got ter talkin' ugly when yeh asked fer a
cognac t' drink, an' t'wasn't long b'fore th' both of yeh was thrashin' away at each other.
T'aint like yeh t' get mixed in a brawl like 'at, Mister Basil...but t'aint like yeh t' order no
cognac in me pub, either..." He stopped and watched curiously as Basil exchanged a glance
with Dawson; but it was the detective's turn to be curious as he noticed Josh leaning closely
and studying his face.

"Blimey," he remarked in surprise. "Where's yer bruise?"

"What?"

Josh lightly took hold of Basil's face. "Yer bruise," he repeated. "Percy gave yeh a bad
beatin', yeh know...left yeh bleedin', even. Yet y'ain't got a mark on yeh now..."

As Basil stood deep in thought, Dawson insisted, "But Josh, you must be mistaken. Basil was
most assuredly home last night---Mrs. Judson and I both can vouch for that."

"No, he may be right, Dawson," Basil said suddenly. "Perhaps...yes, come to think of it, I was
there last night, Josh!"

Dawson stared at him. "But, Basil---"

"Tut, tut! We'll discuss that later, Dawson," the detective said with a shrewd look, and turned
to the barkeep with a smile. "My deepest apologies, Josh, for having disputed you."

Josh grinned kindly. "No 'ard feelin's, Mister Basil. Guess yeh covered up 'at bruise, eh? Yeh
know, wit' makeup, all that there d'tective stuff..."

"Certainly. Meanwhile, what became of Percy, after the fight?"

"Why, I threw 'im out, Mister Basil...though I s'pose yeh was 'urt too bad t' notice much."

"Yes, but after that?"

Josh, with sudden excitement, glanced cautiously around him and spoke in a low voice.

"Mister Basil, 't's what I'd just come out t'tell yer...Percy's dead."

"Dead!!" repeated Basil and Dawson in equal surprise.

"As a doornail," sighed the barkeep. They found 'im in an alley, couple streets from 'ere...
poor Percy was lyin' in th' dirt, with 'at big knife o' 'is just stickin' up in 'is chest. Must o'
tripped an' fell on it---bein' stinkin' drunk an' all."

"Perhaps," Basil muttered darkly.

Josh shook his head once more. "Poor devil. Won't miss 'im exactly, 'e was nuthin' but trouble.
Shame, though. Well, 'e's paid fer th' way 'e treated yeh, Mister Basil. Might say, t'was th' 'and
o' Prov'dence, as they calls it..."

Basil had quite a different opinion, but he only thanked the barkeep for the news. "We'd best be
on our way, Josh...but we'll stop by and see you soon."

"Aye! Please do, gentlemen," Josh replied, smiling and waving as the two walked off.

As soon as they were out of the barkeep's sight, Dawson noticed the familiar dark frown on
Basil's face, the same expression he had borne after their talk with Emma Tilbury.

"Basil," the doctor said, somewhat irritated, "you were home last night. Why did you imply
otherwise?"

"Dawson, there is a time to argue and a time to agree. This was not the time to argue. It's best
to let the matter lie until we've investigated further."

Dawson pondered their conversation with Josh a few moments. "You don't suppose Von Seyss
had anything to do with all this?"

Basil stopped and looked hard at him.

"I don't suppose, Dawson. I know it to be fact."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It can't go on like this, Von Seyss told himself. In time, I may surely be discovered. I shall have
to find a better method...a simpler one.

The doctor's latest experiment with Percy Braithwaite had proved to be as disastrous as his first
with Hubert Downing...the difference being that, instead of attacking Von Seyss directly, Percy
had simply gone berzerk---smashing things and screaming, striking out at anything in his path.
He had finally grabbed a razor that Von Seyss had carelessly left lying, and slashed the doctor's
arm. Since Percy's knife happened to be at easy access, Von Seyss had quickly settled matters.

It had not been easy moving the body; even in the dead of night, there had been the chance of
being spotted. But the doctor managed it, in spite of his wounded arm.

He had lain in his bed until morning, staring darkly at the ceiling, with a bandage around his arm and
heavy thoughts on his mind. Rising painfully, he slunk over to the lavatory and cleaned off his arm,
studying the wound carefully. The cut had not been deep, though it had bled a good deal. But for now,
Von Seyss would have to lay low and give his arm a chance to heal. In the meantime, he would find
a way to continue his deadly experiments without so much unpleasant business---or danger of being
found out.

He put a fresh dressing on his arm, then sat back on his bed. Picking up his mother's picture from
the nightstand, he gazed at it sadly...yet with grim determination.

"My work must go on, mein liebe Mutter," he whispered. "My great work---for you..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wish he'd either play something or put that blasted thing away, Dawson mused irritably as Basil sat
scratching an erratic tune on his violin. The detective sat curled in his chair, his eyes closed and his
face tense with concentration, seeming quite oblivious to his surroundings.

Basil had not spoken again since his last remark to Dawson, regarding Von Seyss' likely connection
to Percy's death. He had remained in his sitting room much of the day, either playing his violin or
sullenly puffing at his pipe. Dawson had long since learned not to disturb him.

Just around dinner time, however, Basil suddenly opened his eyes and quickly sat upright, glaring
intensely at Dawson.

"Cognac," he said slowly but emphatically, pointing his violin bow at the doctor.

"Cognac?" Dawson repeated curiously. "Er...I don't think we've any cognac, Basil. There's port,
and sherry, and brandy; but I can go out and fetch you a bottle---"

"No, no, Dawson!" Basil said impatiently. "I am referring to Josh's mysterious patron of last
evening."

The doctor thought a few moments. "Why, yes...that fellow that looked like you. He did have cognac,
didn't he? But what have you deduced from that, old friend?"

"If my memory serves me correctly," the detective continued, "and I'm quite certain it does---during
the course of my investigation of Von Seyss, I came upon many outstanding traits of the doctor's
character. One in particular comes to mind, Dawson: Von Seyss is most fond of cognac."

"But that could be mere coincidence, Basil...a lot of people drink cognac."

"Ah, but how many of them go around looking like me, Dawson?" the detective said sternly. "This
fellow so closely resembled myself---even down to my clothing---that Josh the barkeep could not
have told us apart."

"But if that is Von Seyss, how could he have accomplished that?"

Basil poured a glass of claret as he spoke. "How indeed, my dear Doctor? The answer came
to me slowly but surely just awhile ago...

"Do you recall the strange peddler who trailed us not many days back? That fellow in black, who
always managed to appear wherever we went---from the East End to our very own Baker Street.
Although he did his best not to appear to do so, I discreetly observed that he was studying me
most intensely...paying close attention to my appearance, even hanging on every word I spoke
and the slightest move I made."

Basil picked up one of the many old periodicals that he had set aside for his investigation. Along
with an article about Von Seyss, it featured a full-length photograph of the Austrian doctor. As
Dawson studied the photograph in astonishment, the detective went on with his theory.

"You will notice, Dawson, how closely the doctor and I resemble one another---in height, face and form.
Granted, there are obvious differences; yet none that cannot be corrected by cosmetics and a simple change
of clothing. Keeping in mind, also, the many times I was observed by the 'peddler', it is not difficult to put two
and two together...in addition, during that period, there were no further reports of the mysterious deaths; nor
had anyone seen Von Seyss again in the East End---or at least anyone answering his description.

"I am not the least happy to admit, Dawson, that my deductive reasoning has not proved entirely
reliable; for not once in my observing our visitor's actions had I guessed their sinister purpose..."

"To imitate you?" Dawson asked incredulously. "But why, in Heaven's name?"

"Two reasons, Dawson: the first, to cover his tracks, certainly. It seems that our Austrian physician
is as resourceful and skilled as I am at disguises. But that is not the real horror involved here, my dear
Doctor; for Von Seyss has not merely concealed his identity---he has assumed my own."

Basil stared into his glass, his face pale and drawn with both anger and dismay.

"Which leads us to the second reason: to gain the trust of his victims."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three peaceful days followed---or at least, as peaceful as present circumstances allowed.
During that brief period, Basil gathered a good deal of evidence regarding the death of
Percy Braithwaite and the events that had surrounded it. Yet the trail did not quite lead
to Dr. Von Seyss; and whatever peace existed during that time was merely the proverbial
calm before the storm.

It was one night afterwards that Lucy McNab was walking the East End streets. A woman of
dubious reputation, she was quite accustomed to roaming the city after dark, for such was the
time to earn her living. But to her disappointment, there had been little sign of "customers"---
news of the East End murders had made all but the bravest or most desperate mice afraid to
leave their dwellings late at night.

Resigned to going to bed hungry, Lucy had turned to go home to her shabby flat when she heard
footsteps. Hoping that it was a prospective client, she turned eagerly toward the sound, but was
both startled and chagrined to see a tall and familiar-looking gentlemouse approach her.

"Eh...good evenin', Mistah Basil," she said, with a poor attempt at an innocent expression. "An'
wot brings yer out 'ere, eh?"

The gentlemouse glanced up and down at the female mouse in her heavy makeup and tattered crimson
gown. Lucy returned the glance haughtily, yet somewhat anxiously.

"I am out on business, my dear Miss Lucy," the tall mouse said at last. "And what, pray, brings you
out here?"

Lucy giggled nervously. "Awr, ye know wot, Mistah Basil...moight sy," she said with a wink, "oi'm
out on bus'ness meself."

"Ah, yes," the gentlemouse answered with a sly smile, "and we both know what kind of 'business'---
don't we, Miss Lucy?"

Lucy lowered her eyes with a childish pout.

"Crikey, Mistah Basil! Oi an't really a bad gel. Ah'm just earnin' me bread an' cheese, yeh know.
Y'ant gonner tyk me ter gaol, are yeh? Oi've 'elped yer menny a tyme..."

"My dear young lady," the gentlemouse said with a kindly smile, "I've no intention of arresting you.
I'm here to get you off of these streets---you know how dangerous it is these days..."

The prostitute smiled and gave a relieved laugh. "Aw, oi'll be awright, Mistah Basil..."

But the tall gentlemouse shook a stern finger at her. "No, Miss Lucy, I insist. The streets are most
unsafe for you tonight. In fact, I shall be most glad to escort you home myself." He offered his arm
with a charming smile. "Shall we, my dear?"

With a coquettish grin, Lucy took the gentlemouse's arm and let him lead her towards home.

"Sure yeh don't want a lil' comp'ny f' th' ev'nin', Mistah Basil?" she teased with a mischievous
wink.

The tall mouse raised his eyebrows for a few seconds, then shook his head, chuckling. "Why,
shame on you, Miss Lucy---I don't look like a prospective customer, do I?"

The woman shrugged. "Me mum always said t'look out fer th' quiet ones."

They both laughed; but Lucy protested mildly, "Y'know, oi've gotter eat, Mistah Basil. Poor gel's
gotter myke 'er livin', some' ow..."

"Well, you needn't worry about that, my dear. I'll give you a little something," the gentlemouse
assured her with a wink.

But when they were reaching Lucy's flat, the tall mouse stopped and gave a concerned frown.

"Miss Lucy, forgive me...but I just realised that if I am seen handing you money, it could create
a scandal for the both of us." He gestured toward an alley nearby. "Let's duck in there a moment.
That way, we're both safe from curious eyes..."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Mistah Basil, ef t'were ennyone else, oi'd swear yeh woz up t' somethin'!"

The gentlemouse gave a short, dry laugh. "My dear...do remember whom you're with."

"Awr, oi know," the woman said as she walked down the alley with him. "Oi an't 'fraid o' no gossip,
but oi don't want yer gettin' in enny trubble."

Once they were completely secluded, Lucy watched with a hopeful smile as the gentlemouse reached
into his pocket.

" 't' still don't seem roight," she said, "tykin' yer munny f' nuthin, Mistah Basil."

"Why, it isn't for 'nothing', Miss Lucy. As you say, you've been helpful to me many a time...

"In fact, my dear," Lucy heard him say, as she turned away to reach for her purse, "consider
this to be...your just reward."

Suddenly, Lucy felt strong arms grab her from behind, and a paw firmly cover her mouth to stifle
her scream as a needle bit into her delicate shoulder, and a burning liquid coursed through her
veins. Then just as suddenly, the iron-like embrace loosened and Lucy was thrown to the ground.
Clutching her arm, the prostitute stared back in shock and dismay at the tall mouse, who stared
back with an icy smirk.

"Mistah Basil...wot'd yeh do t' me?" she cried.

"Your mother warned you rightly, Miss Lucy," said the gentlemouse. "You should look out for
the quiet ones..."

Lucy tried to rise, but fell back to the ground, trembling violently.

"Why...why???" she wailed at the gentlemouse.

His only reply at first was a glare of contempt as he began to walk away.

"As I said, liebchen," he called back at last, "you're getting your just reward."

Humming a piece by Mozart, the gentlemouse calmly sauntered out of the alley, leaving
poor Lucy alone to face whatever drug-induced horrors awaited her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When has he slept? Dawson wondered, as he and Basil roamed the East End streets for the
fourth night in a row. He could hardly refrain from yawning, but had to settle for brief catnaps
while Basil seemed alert enough for the both of them.

"My 'twin' was seen leaving Thistle 'n' Rose," the detective declared. "His footsteps took
him in close proximity to the spot where Percy's body was found. If we only had Toby to help
us, I could have deduced for certain as to Braithwaite's final moments..."

To Basil's frustration, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had gone on holiday, and had taken Toby
with them.

"But you've fairly deduced it without Toby, haven't you?" Dawson asked.

"A good deal," sighed the detective. "Still, with Toby's nose, we might long since have brought
Von Seyss to justice---"

He broke off, startled, at the sound of a woman's bloodcurdling shrieks. As the screams continued,
lights went on all around them, and several mice came running toward the sound.

"Dear God, not again!" exclaimed Dawson, as he and Basil ran quickly to where a crowd had gathered
near an alley. A female mouse in a shabby crimson dress was crawling in the dirt, screeching in terror
and clawing at herself.

"It's Lucy!" Basil cried out in surprise. "Lucy McNab...she should have known better than to be out
here tonight!"

Some of the mice in the crowd reluctantly approached Lucy, trying to calm her, but she seemed
not to notice anyone.

"Let me through," Dawson told the others. "I'm a doctor."

"I'll go with you," Basil suggested. But when he tried to assist the young woman, she scratched him
and backed away from him, screaming harder than ever and staring maniacally at Basil.

"Git awf, yeh #*@$#!!" she shrieked. "Yeer th' bloke wot did 'is!!!"

"What??" Basil replied in stunned surprise, as he put a paw to his bleeding face. "Miss McNab...
it's me! I wouldn't hurt you, my dear..."

" 'e did 'is!!!" Lucy screamed at the crowd. "Mistah Basil did 'is t' me!"

The other mice stared at Basil, who stood quite bewildered as he watched a group of bobbies run
over and take hold of the prostitute, whose screaming had given way to whimpering as they bound
her arms and legs and carried her off.

"I've done nothing," Basil told the crowd, as Dawson, equally shocked, came up to look at the
scratches on his face. "I have witnesses who can swear I was nowhere near the woman!"

"Th'n why's she so frightened o' you?" demanded one of the mice.

"That's a good question," put in a bobby, who had stayed behind. "And now we need some answers."

He went up to Basil, who sighed resignedly as the policemouse held out a pair of handcuffs.

"I am sorry to say this, Mr. Basil," he declared, "but you'll have to come down to the Yard. In the name
of our gracious Queen, I am placing you under arrest."

End Part VIII

Part IX: Behind the Façade

Return to Basil's Pastiche Parlour

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