Chapter Text
Of all the cases Basil of Baker Street and I worked on together, none affected both of us as much as one that began on a chilly spring evening in late May of 1899. Basil and I had been assisting Scotland Yard in apprehending members of a smuggling ring who had been bringing in low-grade, unregulated opium into the city. Through our combined efforts, we had determined who was in charge, where their source of the opium came from, to whom they were distributing their product, and when each shipment came into port. We knew nearly everything except how they were moving their goods from the ships and onto the streets. More than once, Inspector Pine of Scotland Yard had tried raiding a shipment, but, to the police’s embarrassment (and Basil’s, who had consulted Pine on when to make his move on the smugglers), no opium was found, and questioning the passengers and crew yielded nothing. Pine nearly had us taken off the case in his outrage, but as it usually does, my friend’s intellect and skills in deduction proved too invaluable for the Yard to cut him loose in this instance.
I find it worth mentioning that with the anniversary of our first case together, and subsequently, Professor Ratigan’s downfall, looming in the coming month, Basil’s mood swings were becoming more erratic. I had known the detective for two years at this point, and I was no stranger to how quickly he could switch from energetic and restless to deeply melancholy. However, if the previous year was anything to go by, this time of year made his moods more extreme and his eccentricities more augmented. He has never spoken to me about it, and I have never asked, but I think, in his own way, Basil missed Professor Ratigan. Or, perhaps, he didn’t miss the villain as much as he missed the pursuit. I know that I am not lacking in mental faculties. I would never have been able to become a doctor if I did, and Basil would never suffer my presence if I were a fool. But I do consider myself self-aware enough to realize that I do not operate at the same level as my friend does. Ratigan, I believe, is the only person who could match Basil, both in genius and temperament, evil as he was, and his demise left something of a hole in Basil’s life. Since that fateful case that brought us together as colleagues and friends, he had been growing more and more restless and agitated, lamenting that cases of missing objects that were the usual fare in our line of work were not up to snuff with his skills, and I couldn’t help but agree.
And so that brings us back to the smuggling ring. At first, Basil didn’t want to take the case. There is some bad blood between him and Inspector Pine that he did not want to put up with, but when Pine went over the details, it sparked both Basil’s and my interest, so we accepted. Progress was made quickly thanks to Basil. After the failed shipment raids, however, everything stuttered to a halt. So there we were, sitting in our armchairs in front of the fire in our flat, Basil playing a depressing dirge of a piece on his recently replaced violin, and I was reading the London Mouse in an attempt to tune out Basil’s violin playing. Our day had been spent puzzling over the smugglers, and Basil had worked himself into a frustrated frenzy, pacing all over the house for so long Mrs. Judson scolded him quite harshly that he was going to wear out the wood floor. In retaliation, he grabbed his instrument of choice and slumped in his chair, and had not stopped playing since.
It was a small miracle when a knock came at the door. I eagerly stood to go see who it was, grateful for a distraction from Basil’s grim melody. My relief quickly abated when I opened the door to see that it was none other than Inspector Pine standing on the other side. He was a stocky mouse of average height, with white fur and cold, grey eyes that contrasted starkly with his black police uniform.
“Oh, it’s you, Pine,” said Basil flatly as he came up behind me. I could sense his mood becoming fouler by the moment. “Considering the hour, I thought it was someone important”.
“Good evening to you too, Detective, Doctor,” Pine responded, seemingly oblivious to Basil’s insult. The inspector actually seemed quite chipper, almost giddy. “May I come in?” he asked.
I moved aside to let him in, “Of course. Would you like some tea? I could have our landlady put the kettle on”.
Pine waved a dismissive hand, “No need. I can’t imagine I’ll be staying long,” he sauntered over to Basil’s workspace, eyeing up the scientific bric-a-brac strewn about the table.
“Have there been any breakthroughs in the case, Detective?” he asked Basil. There was a smug tone to his voice, as if he knew something we didn’t. “You and your associate have been working on it for a long time now”.
Basil frowned at Pine, “Not yet, Inspector. You know as well as I do that these things take time. Well, less time for me than you. But rest assured! Dawson and I will solve the case before you know it!”
Pine smiled in earnest then, but it was condescending and not at all friendly, “Well, it seems someone else has taken that honor from you”.
There was a beat of stunned silence. “I beg your pardon?” I asked in confusion.
Turning around to face us, Pine clarified, “That’s why I’m here, to tell you that the case has been solved. Quite the interesting business it was, too”.
I glanced at Basil to see if he had any idea what the deuce Inspector Pine was on about, but my friend looked quite thoroughly dumbfounded.
“You solved the case?” he asked like Pine was playing a great joke on him.
The inspector shrugged, “I didn’t, no. Like I said, the circumstances are very interesting”.
“Are you going to elaborate, or are you just going to stand there looking smug?” asked Basil irritably.
“I plan on doing both, actually. You see, we received an anonymous tip early this afternoon telling us where to find the smugglers. Something we knew already, but--”.
“Thanks to me,” Basil interjected.
“--But we knew a breakthrough was happening when the tip came with this,” Pine reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small rubber balloon. Pine handed it to Basil, who held it out so that I could also inspect it. I couldn’t discern anything forthcoming, but I could see the wheels turning in Basil’s head.
“Clever, if unpalatable,” he mused.
“What is it Basil?” I asked, wondering what he had seen, but I had not.
He stretched open the neck of the balloon, “Take a look inside, Dawson,” I put my glasses on to do as Basil asked, and was taken aback by what I saw.
“Opium,” I gasped at the black residue inside. “They were storing it in balloons? But how did no one notice balloons full of narcotics during the shipment raids?”
“I can answer that,” Pine cut in before Basil could answer, “the smugglers got their cargo into the city by forcing ship passengers to swallow the balloons. Mostly children and young girls, people we wouldn’t be suspicious of,” Pine’s smile vanished, and his expression became more serious.
“How did they get the balloons back out?” I pondered aloud, though I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know the answer.
“I’d imagine the smugglers’ mules vomited up these packages,” mused Basil, still studying the outside of the balloon.
“Actually, they tied the ends with string and hid it under their tongues after swallowing,” explained Pine. “When the opium needed to be retrieved it was pulled out the same way it came in”.
“How barbaric,” I suddenly began to feel sick to my stomach. How anyone could do something so cruel and evil as to force children to swallow drugs was beyond me. The fact that smugglers had been caught did little to ease the suffering these children must have gone through.
“How did you find all this out, Pine? Where did the anonymous tip come from?” asked Basil. I could tell by his tone that he was growing irritated, most likely because he had failed to find the information out himself.
“It was left at the front desk down at headquarters,” Pine replied.
“By whom?”
“We don’t know. No one saw him come in or leave”.
Basil tsked “And how did that happen?”
“Do you know Constable Rivers?”
“The water shrew?”
Pine nodded, “The very same. He was on desk duty today. He left briefly to go relieve himself, and when he came back, there was a note with the anonymous tip and the balloon. Can’t be too mad at Rivers, though. Our good samaritan led us to some fairly damning evidence”.
“What do you mean?” Basil’s curiosity had once again been piqued.
“Would you like to see? That’s also why I came here, Detective. There’s a lot of evidence to sort through, and we need someone clever to question the prisoners we have in lockup. Speaking of which,” the inspector turned to address me, “All of the smugglers we have at headquarters could use some medical attention, Doctor. Our anonymous tipper did a number on them. We could use the help documenting their injuries, if you don’t mind”.
“I don’t mind at all,” I assured, retrieving my medical bag from its spot next to the worktable. Being a doctor, and an army one at that, one always needs to be prepared. I put on my coat and hat, ready to accompany Inspector Pine back to Scotland Yard’s headquarters. Basil had also put on his jacket, inverness, and deerstalker hat.
“Very good,” Pine was waiting for us at the door, “I’ll hail us a cab”.
“Don’t be absurd, Pine. We can take Toby. He’s much faster than a cab. I believe Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson are out now, so it shouldn’t be a problem”.
Pine wrinkled his nose. “Who’s Toby?”
“The humans’ pet dog,” I replied. “We frequently borrow him for transportation purposes”.
“I’m not riding a dog ,” Pine spat.
Basil shrugged, “Then hail a cab for yourself and you can meet us. You can also explain to the superintendent why you were dawdling and arrived after we did”.
“I--! Oh, fine”.
My friend and I both chuckled at the inspector as we made our way to the hole in the wall that led upstairs.
As it turns out, getting criminals to talk about someone who single-handedly defeated them is no easy task. There were twelve men in lockup, including the leader of the smuggling ring, a lanky grey mouse named Percy Whitmore, who was in a cell by himself. Initially, Basil was worried for my safety, but everyone was in terrible shape, and in far too much pain to pose a threat to me as I examined their injuries, not to mention one of the constables was keeping guard nearby. I nearly lost track of how many cracked ribs, broken noses, and black eyes these men had between them (for posterity’s sake, it was fourteen, nine, and seven, respectively), along with other cuts, bruises, concussions, and broken bones. It was utterly shocking how one man could unleash such brutal violence on a dozen men. All the more shocking that these men were unwilling to talk about it.
“Really, you don’t remember anything?” Basil questioned a burly tan mouse with beady eyes in the cell next to the one I was working in. “What he looked like? What he was wearing? Anything at all?”
The prisoners remained silent, looking at each other nervously to see if anyone was going to talk first.
Basil sighed, his frustration growing, “I don’t know why you refuse to speak. This man beat you! I would think you’d like to know who he is and why he did this”.
“Why should we tell you?” asked Whitmore, his tone condescending “So you can shake his hand? Have Her Majesty give him a medal?”
“Perhaps,” Basil said, his voice equally venomous. “He certainly did the city a favor by turning you over to the police”.
“A man like that ain’t doing no one no favors. Look at my boys! We’re lucky to be alive!”
“So you’re trying to do us a favor by withholding information?”
Whitmore scoffed, “Not at all. If he took a crack at you, I wouldn’t cry about it. We ain’t talking ‘cause we’re already in the nick, so why should we make things easier for you?”
I finished my work on the last prisoner, and packed up my medical bag so I could join Basil by Whitmore’s cell.
Whitmore stood up from the cell cot. He was a bit wobbly due to his injuries, but still approached the bars and beckoned Basil to come closer, “I’ll tell you what, if I’m going to give you what you want, why don’t you give me a little something in return?”
“What did you have in mind?” asked Basil skeptically.
“I want immunity”.
“I don’t have the authority to grant that,” Basil stated.
Whitmore shrugged and hobbled back to his cot, “Then we’re done here”.
“Not so fast!” came Pine’s voice from the end of hallway, his steps brisk and sure as he strode up to Basil.
“What the devil are you doing, Pine?” asked Basil sharply.
“Throwing you a bone,” he handed Basil a small stack of papers, I assumed from the box of evidence, “I hope you don’t mind, but I started sorting the evidence without you, and some information has come to light that might make Mr. Whitmore sing like a canary”.
“What are you on about?” demanded Whitmore, sitting up straighter on his cot.
Basil quickly read over the papers Pine had given him. I watched as a grim look spread out over my friend’s face, “Children are dead because of you,” he declared.
Whitmore’s expression went suspiciously blank, “I never sold my stash to any kids”.
“Perhaps not, but you did use them as opium mules to move your product. I bet some of the balloons broke inside their stomachs, or their stomach acid wore away at the rubber. Either way, Whitmore, your mules die of an overdose and you’ve got blood on your hands”.
Whitmore’s eyes grew wide and I could see his skin grow pale beneath his fur, “You can’t prove nothing!” he shouted desperately.
“Yes, we can. Those papers Detective Basil is holding go into detail about where you dumped the bodies,” Pine sauntered up to the bars and leaned in close, “you’re for the hangman’s noose now”.
Whitmore gulped, the fear evident in his eyes.
“But,” Pine continued, “maybe if you cooperate with the good detective here, perhaps we can convince the barristers to petition for a life sentence instead of a death sentence”.
Taking a moment to consider the offer, Whitmore slowly collected himself and began to speak, “We were at our hideout this morning, waiting for word on a shipment that was late, when we heard some shuffling outside. Didn’t think nothing of it. Just thought Weston and Hawk were having a bit of a scuffle. But then...but then he came in. Black as the devil, he was. Tall, thin, wore a hood over his head, so I couldn’t get a good look at his face, but I could see that his fur was just as black as his clothes. He was carrying a big, lead pipe in his hand. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. You know what he did? My boy, Jones, was closing in on him, and this bloke just wallops him in the face with the pipe hard as he can. Jones drops like a stone, and everything gets a little hazy. No one could get a good hit on this guy. Ducking and dodging and hitting us like no one’s business”.
“Did he say anything? Who he was? Why he was there?” prompted Basil.
Whitmore chuckled humorlessly, “Not a word. When we were too roughed up to move, he left as fast as he came. Not long after that, the police showed up”.
“Did you notice anything distinguishing about him?” I asked. Even I had to admit that I was starting to get curious about this vigilante fellow.
“The only thing I could distinguish is his boots felt like a sledgehammer when he kicked my ribs in”.
“I see. Is there anything else you remember?” asked Basil, who had begun pacing around the hallway while Whitmore was telling his story.
“No. Now I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. You gonna make good on yours?”
Pine, who had been leaning on Whitmore’s cell bars, nodded, “I’ll have a word with the barristers, but it’s out of my hands after that”.
Whitmore gave a mirthless smirk, “Fair enough”.
Basil smirked right back, “Now we’re done. Come along, Dawson, Pine”.
I followed my friend down the hallway towards the exit with Pine trailing not too far behind us, “What do you make of it, Basil?” I asked.
He hummed in thought, “It’s a bit early to tell, Doctor. Eyewitness testimony isn’t the most reliable, and even with the death sentence hanging over Whitmore’s head, he could still be lying”.
“Then isn’t it a good thing there’s a whole box of evidence upstairs on my desk for you to look at?” sounded Pine behind us, quickening his steps to catch up to us, “Whitmore’s statement is a little disturbing though, eh?”
“It is,” I agreed. “It’s a wonder one person could fight twelve men at once like that”.
“He didn’t fight them all at once,” Pine corrected, “He took down Hawk and Weston at the front entrance, and we found two more men at the rear entrance and another one at a side door”.
“So that brings it down from twelve to seven, and Whitmore said this man knocked out one of his lackeys early in the encounter, so it becomes one against six. Much better odds. Our vigilante is also a strategist,” Basil mused, deep in thought.
“It still doesn’t make his identity any clearer,” I said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Basil concurred, “but there might be a clue in the evidence he left for us. Pine, lead the way, if you please”.
Pine pushed on ahead of us, “Gladly. The evidence is...something else. You two aren’t going to believe your eyes when you see it”.
Basil and I glanced at each other questioningly as we followed the inspector to the main floor.
“Whoever left this was certainly very...thorough,” I said in amazement as I looked at what was before us.
On the main level, Pine, Basil and I were circled around Pine’s desk, a box filled with papers and other odds and ends laid on top. The three of us had spent some time sorting the contents inside. The man who had left the anonymous tip had been keeping detailed records of who the smugglers were, the women and children employed as the mules (there were annotations for each name commenting on who was working willingly, and who was not. All of the children were unwilling), the multiple sources of the opium (we had thought there was only one), and even receipts for shipments.
“Indeed,” Pine agreed.
“What I don’t understand is how this person managed to get this evidence. Some of these records date back three months!” Basil wondered at a receipt in his hands.
Pine scoffed, “I think what you don’t understand is how this man managed to collect all this evidence more quickly and efficiently than you did”.
Basil glared at Pine, “Either way, we’ve been working on this case for nearly the same amount of time, and none of us uncovered the breadth of it all. How did one person accomplish this?”
“Are we so certain it was one person? I would think it would take a team to gather this amount of information,” I pointed out.
“We have reason to believe it was just one person,” said Pine.
“Based on what?” Basil questioned.
“This,” Pine pulled another piece of paper, this one torn around the edges, out of a drawer in his desk and handed it to Basil. He quickly skimmed what was written on it, then got the most curious look on his face as he handed me the sheet.
I put my reading glasses on to get a better look, and surprised to see that what was in my hand was a letter:
To whom it may concern:
Enclosed in this box is a collection of evidence I have gathered in an attempt to incriminate a group of smugglers whom I have come to learn have been operating since October of last year. I have spent the better part of four months following, observing, and gathering evidence. I hope what I have to offer aids your investigation and puts these dangerous men in prison for a long time.
Best of luck in your endeavors,
At the bottom, instead of a signature, was a hand-drawn bow and arrow in black ink.
“I wonder what this means,” I said to Basil, pointing to the drawing.
“A substitute for our vigilante’s actual name, I should think. Most likely Archer, considering our mystery man drew the arrow drawn back in the bow, ready to shoot,” Basil surmised. He took the letter back from me to examine it again.
“Do you mind if I take this?” he asked Pine.
“I do, actually. We need to keep everything together when we give it to the barristers when the prisoners go to trial”.
“But if you let me run some tests, I could possibly find out so much more about our anonymous vigilante”.
“I don’t need to know more. Whoever this man is, he made my job a lot easier today. I think we can leave him be as a reward for his efforts,” Pine said.
“You can’t be serious. Don’t you want to know who this man is?”
“It’s not a priority at the moment”.
“Aren’t you going to need him to testify in court?” I asked.
“I doubt it. There is so much evidence here I don’t think a single person will need to take the stand”.
“Pine, please see reason,” Basil pleaded.
“No, you need to see reason. This box, this evidence, was given to the police, Detective, not you. If you wanted first crack at it, you should have stayed with the Yard instead of becoming a consulting detective”.
“And if you were at all good at your job, Pine, you wouldn’t have needed a mysterious vigilante to solve the case for you to begin with!” Basil was shouting by the end of his sentence, drawing the attention of the other constables and inspectors.
Worried that Basil and Pine would come to blows, I stepped in between them, “Now, now, you two, there’s no need to get so riled up. Come along, Basil, I think it’s time to go. Pine, would it be all right if we visited the smugglers’ hideout? Maybe there’s something there that could tell us more about the vigilante”.
Something seemed to fall into place in Basil’s expression, and he looked like he usually does when we get a promising lead, determined and just this side of mad. In a flash, he rushed past me towards the front door, muttering under his breath as he went.
When I turned back to Pine, he only looked resigned, “I suppose I can’t stop you now. Do try to keep him from mucking up the place too much, won’t you, Doctor?,” Pine said.
“I can’t make promises, Inspector, but I will do my best,” I assured.
“Aren’t you coming, Dawson?” Basil asked, having backtracked to see what had been keeping me.
I bid farewell to Pine, and followed Basil outside.
“What are you thinking Basil?” I asked my friend.
He hummed in thought, “We have an unknown black mouse who is skilled not only in the discipline of investigation, but also in hand-to-hand combat. Our vigilante has near pathological attention to detail, and has a penchant for keeping agonizingly thorough records, but a desire to keep his identity a secret. This is all quite fascinating, don’t you think so, Dawson?”
“I suppose,” I agreed reluctantly. All of those men were guilty of a serious crime, but the fact that they were all assaulted so viciously by one man was more alarming to me than fascinating, though it didn’t surprise me in the slightest that Basil felt differently than I.
“There aren’t a lot of black mice in London,” I pointed out, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“No, there are not. But there are enough that tracking this man down will still be tricky”.
I sighed, “It’s too bad Whitmore couldn’t give us a good lead to go on”.
“Indeed, Doctor, but as you said, there may be more clues at the crime scene!” said Basil excitedly.
“Wait, Basil, hold on!” I grabbed his arm to stop him. “Are you truly serious about pursuing this man?”
Basil looked as if he couldn’t believe I was asking such a question, “Of course I am! This man needs to be found at once!”
“But why? To what end? He hasn’t done anything illegal, so the police aren’t going to arrest him. Pine said they probably won’t even need him to testify. What are you hoping to accomplish?”
I didn’t expect Basil to be taken aback by what I had said, but it was plain to see he was nonetheless, “I--nothing!” he waved me off and headed over to Toby. “We’ll figure it out when we find him!”
I quickly became suspicious that my friend was less motivated by justice than he was for personal reasons. Basil was one of the most clever people I had ever met, and was certainly the most clever mouse in London, if not all of the United Kingdom. This vigilante had swooped in like a vulture and solved Basil’s case before he had a chance to puzzle it out for himself. I’d imagine Basil felt robbed in some way. He probably wanted to find the mysterious man just to prove that he was still just as intelligent as he and everyone else thought he was.
And, of course, I was going to help him do it.
“Come along, Dawson!” Basil called as he climbed onto Toby’s haunches, giving the dog an affectionate pat. “The game’s afoot!”