by Eve Titus
“All right,” Alain said. “But how in the name of all cheese do you intend to put your paws on a sample of Ratigan’s writing?”
“We saw him just now scribbling notes in a book,” I told him.
“Yes,” Basil said. “So all we need to do is sneak into Ratigan’s room and steal a page from that book.”
“But how?” I asked. “You and I can’t risk it—if he spies us lurking about, he’ll recognize us and surely guess that we’re onto him. Then we might never figure out what he’s up to in time to stop it!”
Basil remained unruffled. “That’s why we’ll have to get someone else to do it. Perhaps one of your staff, Alain?”
Alain’s three assistants had been working nearby as usual. Pierre immediately turned toward us. “I will volunteer if you can spare me, Chef Rongeur,” he said. “I know what Ratigan looks like, and I’m familiar with that hotel—my aunt works there. She can help sneak me in if necessary.”
“That’s a good lad,” Basil said. “Thank you, monsieur.”
Pierre bowed in response. “I’m happy to help if it means saving the cook-off,” he said. Then he glanced at Alain. “Chef?”
Alain looked worried but nodded shortly. “As long as you know what you’re in for, lad,” he said. “Ratigan is a dangerous character.”
“I know,” Pierre said. “I’ll be careful.”
“Good. Be quick, too. We can’t spare you for long.” With that, Alain gave him a clap on the shoulder and sent him on his way.
“There, that should take care of things.” Basil leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “In the meantime, perhaps we—”
Before he could finish, the crooked-whiskered cook, Raymond, rushed back in. “Chef Rongeur, sir!” he cried. “Something terrible has happened—someone has stolen the tasting sample of your signature soufflé!”
9
THE DISAPPEARING SOUFFLÉ
“WHAT?” ALAIN CRIED, JUMPING TO his feet. “How could that be?”
“I thought you were currently preparing it for the chef to taste,” Basil said to the junior cook.
“That’s right, monsieur.” Raymond looked miserable. “I stepped away for only a moment to check on the ratatouille. When I returned, the soufflé was gone!”
“Well, it can’t have gone far.” Basil strode toward the door. “Show me where you last saw it, if you please.”
Alain looked concerned. “Certainly. But it’s almost as if this cook-off is cursed,” he muttered. “Perhaps I should go ahead and cancel after all.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I remained mum. By then we’d all reached a prep area around the corner from the main kitchen near the back of the building. There on a table lay a plate—empty of all but a few crumbs.
Several other cooks had gathered around, chattering excitedly about what had happened. Then one of them pointed to some paw prints leading to a window standing slightly ajar. “Look!” he cried. “Perhaps the soufflé thief escaped that way!”
Basil and I leaped into action, shimmying out through the window. When we dropped to the ground outside, we nearly landed on another mouse—a familiar one. For there in the back alley sat Theo, the young mouse with the nicked ear. And in his paw was a half-eaten cheese soufflé!
“It was you!” I cried.
I grabbed the youngster by the shoulder. “All right, sir,” I said sternly. “Would you care to explain this thievery? Because I’m starting to think you may be up to no good—in more ways than one. We can see that you stole the soufflé—are you trying to shut down the cook-off as well?”
“What?” Theo’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, monsieur! I would never do such a thing. I love the cook-off! That’s why I, uh . . .” His voice trailed off, and his eyes dropped to the ground.
“What is it, lad?” I asked. “Tell us the truth, if you know what’s good for you.”
“The truth?” Theo glanced at me, then at Basil. “The truth is . . . I love food!” He held up the half-eaten soufflé. “I live for fine cuisine and cookery. It’s all I think about! That’s why I’m always here trying to catch a look, a sniff . . .” He licked his snout, glancing again at the soufflé. “A taste.”
Basil and I traded a surprised look, for this was not at all what we’d expected to hear. “Oh, I see,” Basil murmured.
“It’s true—ask anyone who knows me,” Theo continued. “As soon as I’m old enough I intend to apply to work at the cooking school. Chef Rongeur is my hero!”
I chuckled. “He’ll be glad to hear it,” I said. “But come with us, young mouse—you’ll have to confess to your hero yourself. He’s wondering what became of his soufflé.”
We started to herd him toward the window. But he stopped and pointed. “If it’s a troublemaker you’re after, there she is!” he exclaimed.
I turned and saw Adeline; she had just rounded the corner and looked startled to see us. “Stop right there!” Basil barked out.
She obeyed. I looked to see what Theo would say next—but he’d disappeared! I supposed the thought of facing his hero with what he’d done was too much for his nerves.
“Or maybe he just sneaked off to finish that soufflé,” I murmured with a smile.
By the time I caught up to Basil, he was questioning the young female mouse. “I promise you, monsieur, I’m not up to any trouble!” she was exclaiming. “I was just visiting my—my twin brother. He works in the kitchen.”
“Does he?” Basil sounded surprised. “Well, whyever didn’t you tell us before? How can we find this brother of yours? And what is his name?”
“His name?” She blinked twice, sounding nervous—and no wonder! Basil could be an imposing figure indeed. “His name is Ad—Adelard. He looks much like me—but male, of course. There are no female mice allowed to work in the cooking school.”
“All right. If your brother will vouch for you, and Alain has hired him, I suppose that’s good enough for me.” Basil eyed Adeline with lingering suspicion. “Good day, mademoiselle.”
We hurried back inside, intending to seek out Adeline’s brother. But we were distracted by Alain rushing to meet us. “Pierre has already returned with your writing sample,” the chef said, waving a sheet of paper before us. “One doesn’t have to be an expert nor a super sleuth to see the truth—the writing on those threatening notes looks nothing like it at all!”
10
RUNNING OUT OF SUSPECTS?
“NOW WHAT?” I ASKED AS Basil and I studied the notes and the sample. As Alain had already told us, they were clearly penned by two totally different paws. “Will the cook-off have to be canceled after all? Ratigan was our only suspect!”
“On the contrary, Dawson.” Basil sounded undaunted. “He was our best suspect, perhaps, as he so often seems to be. But he’s far from the only one.”
“Are you thinking of young Theo?” I asked. “I thought we’d determined he was guilty only of a taste for fine cuisine.”
“We’ve determined nothing of the sort,” Basil said. “Being guilty of one thing is rarely an alibi for a second crime. But Theo is not the mouse I’m thinking of. I’d like to locate Adeline’s twin brother and ask him a few questions about his sister.”
I looked around for Alain, who had hurried off to check on something or other. “Shall we ask Alain where we might find this Adelard fellow?”
“Let’s not bother,” Basil said. “It will be better to question him without his boss there to make him nervous.”
I nodded at the detective’s wisdom and we set out, asking after Adelard. Nobody seemed to know him, which struck me as odd.
“Perhaps he’s one of Chef Rongeur’s temporary workers,” Assistant Chef Gustave suggested when we asked him. “I don’t remember all their names. He hires them for the cook-off, since we’re so busy then.”
“I see.” Basil nodded. “Well, this Adelard is said to be slim of face, with large eyes and . . .”
“There!” I broke in, pointing at a mouse hurrying past with a tray
of dirty dishes. “That must be him. He looks uncannily like his sister!”
The mouse in question indeed bore a strong resemblance to Adeline—except, of course, that he was dressed in a young male’s trousers, shoes, and cap along with a crisp white apron.
“Good eye, Dawson,” Basil said. “Come—let’s talk to the lad.”
“Yes, Adeline is my sister,” Adelard told us in a gruff, raspy voice once we’d started questioning him. “Is she all right?”
“Oh, yes, don’t worry,” I said. “We’re just wondering why she always seems to be hanging around here.”
“She’s a good girl, never causes any trouble at all,” Adelard said. “She lives nearby and sometimes comes to walk me home from work, that’s all.”
“Every mouse we talk to seems to live near here,” I muttered. Then again, I supposed that wasn’t surprising—in a bustling city like Paris, lots of mice live near everywhere!
“Would your sister have any reason to threaten the cook-off?” Basil asked.
Adelard’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, monsieur, not at all!” he exclaimed. “She loves the cook-off as much as anymouse! Besides, she would never want to hurt my chances of becoming a fine chef myself one day—it’s my life’s fondest dream.” He smiled slightly, looking a bit wistful.
“I see. Thank you, lad.” Basil turned and hurried away.
I followed, feeling concerned—especially when I noticed a clock hanging near the cellar stairs. Ticktock, ticktock . . . It seemed to be marking down the moments until the International Cheese Cook-Off.
“What now?” I asked Basil. “We seem to have run out of suspects.”
“Indeed it seems that way, my friend,” Basil replied. “If our culprit is not Ratigan, nor Theo, nor Adeline . . .” He narrowed his eyes and glanced around the busy cooking school. “Well, then, it could be just about anyone!”
11
SPYING A VILLAIN
I WAS ALARMED TO HEAR Basil sound so far from solving the case—especially with the cook-off due to begin bright and early the very next morning!
“Whatever shall we do?” I exclaimed. “We have to figure out who sent those notes—and what the threats might mean!”
Basil nodded, tapping his chin. “It seems odd that someone could have sneaked in three nights in a row to leave them,” he mused. “Let’s interview the guards again. If they can assure us that they never left their posts, it might point to an inside job.”
“What—you mean someone from the cooking school did it?” I exclaimed. “But who—and why?”
“First things first, Dawson.” Basil strode off.
The guard named Victor was once again at his post just outside the cellar window in the back alley. Seeing him there suddenly gave me the feeling that something wasn’t right about the scene. But it was only when Basil spoke that I realized why—and that the dazzling detective had already noticed the very same thing.
“A young mouse climbed in and out of this window to steal a soufflé from the kitchen earlier today,” Basil said with no preamble. “How did he do that when you’re supposed to be on guard here?”
Victor opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking startled. “Er . . . No English?” he tried with an overly dramatic French accent.
Basil crossed his arms over his chest. “As I’m sure you recall, we’ve already spoken on an earlier occasion, sir. I know you speak fine English. Now please answer my question.”
Victor’s shoulders slumped, and he looked sheepish. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “Theo is my nephew. I—er—might have looked the other way when he sneaked in to get a look at the cookery. He’s very interested in such things, you see—been that way his whole life.”
“That’s what seemed wrong,” I murmured to myself. “Victor was nowhere in sight when we found Theo out here earlier.”
“And what about others?” Basil asked the guard. “Did you look the other way for any other mouse to sneak inside?”
“Of course not!” The guard drew himself to his full height. “Only my nephew was allowed to slip past me. I would never endanger the school or the cook-off by letting any other mouse by!”
“He sounds sincere,” I whispered to Basil.
My friend seemed inclined to agree. He thanked Victor and then hurried off around the corner. “At least we’ve solved one mystery,” he told me once we were out of earshot and strolling toward the front of the building. “But now we must—hush!”
I grunted with surprise as he suddenly slammed me against the wall, pressing himself into a nook beside me. “What is it?” I hissed. “A cat?”
He shushed me again, then peered carefully out of our hiding place. I did the same—and my eyes widened when I saw who was standing just a few paces away. It was Ratigan! He was halfway between our hiding spot and the street, with three tough-looking mice beside him. All four of them were staring intently at the side of the cooking school building.
After a moment, Ratigan and his goons hurried off and disappeared into the street. Only then did Basil and I creep forward to see what they had been looking at with such interest.
“It’s a loading dock of some sort,” I said, staring at a crate marked JARLSBERG OST, which reminded me that it was well past lunchtime. “Could Ratigan have sneaked in this way when the humans opened the doors?”
“Perhaps, but why?” Basil said. “Alain’s kitchen is all the way across the cellar from here—Ratigan would be risking almost certain discovery, especially if he tried to sneak in three nights in a row. I should have realized as much when that assistant chef mentioned where he’d spotted him lurking about previously.” He shook his head. “But that’s all beside the point. Ratigan didn’t write those notes—I’m as sure of it as I am my own name.”
At that moment Alain appeared from inside with several of his assistants. The junior cooks set out extracting cheese from the crates and rushing off with it, but Alain spotted us and came over.
“Have you solved it, Basil?” he asked anxiously. “If I’m to cancel the cook-off, I need to do it soon—there are only hours to spare!”
“Not just yet,” Basil said. “But trust me, old friend—I’m on the verge of cracking the case.”
Alain’s expression turned to one of relief. I glanced at Basil, worried now myself. As far as I knew, we were no closer to solving the mystery than we’d ever been. And seeing Ratigan here at the school wasn’t making my mind rest any easier about the situation.
Would Basil’s confidence lead to a solution—or to disaster?
12
DESPERATE DETECTING
OVER THE COURSE OF THE next hour or more, Basil and I interviewed every guard on duty outside the school. All claimed to have kept their posts completely secure over the past week.
When we completed our circle, we found ourselves walking toward that rear cellar window yet again. And there was Theo, looking miserable as his uncle Victor scolded him roundly.
“I’m sorry,” the young mouse told us when we approached. “Please don’t hold my escapades against my uncle.”
“Hmm.” Basil tapped his chin. “Perhaps there’s a way you can make it up to us, lad.”
“Anything!” Young Theo brightened instantly. “I’ll do anything to help.”
“Then find us that female mouse you pointed out earlier, if you please,” Basil said. “I’d like to ask her a few questions.”
“Er, of course,” Theo said. “I’ll go find her right now.”
As he scurried off, Basil climbed back inside. I followed. “Why do you wish to speak to Adeline?” I asked him.
“Her brother might have sneaked her in,” Basil said. “In fact, she could have left the notes.”
“But why?” I said. “Adelard told us she loves the cook-off—why would she try to force Alain to cancel it?”
“Precisely why this is a mystery, Dawson.” Basil looked thoughtful. “But if it indeed turns out that nobody sneaked in to leave those messages, that leaves only the staff as suspects. Let’s q
uestion them again—beginning with Alain’s assistants. After all, the three of them were the only ones who knew about those nefarious notes. . . .”
I had trouble believing that Pierre, Henri, or Gustave could want to shut down the cook-off. Then again, Basil had revealed other seemingly earnest and honest mice to have hearts full of deceit and crime, and so I was willing to go along with his plan.
We’d questioned those three and a dozen more besides when Theo finally returned, breathless and frowning. “I’ve searched and scoured the city!” he exclaimed. “Adeline is nowhere to be found! Her neighbor says he’s seen neither whisker nor hair of her since yesterday.”
“That seems rather suspicious,” I said. “If she’s so fond of the cook-off, wouldn’t she stick around to enjoy it?”
“An excellent question, Dawson,” Basil replied. “And I do have a hunch as to the answer. But first, let’s find her brother and see if he can confirm my suspicions.”
We went in search of Adelard. Theo trailed after us, his eyes wide and interested as we passed busy mouse cooks going about their work. “Careful, lad,” I told him with a smile. “You’re starting to drool.”
Theo wiped his snout quickly, then smiled sheepishly as he realized I was joking. “This is incredible,” he said, watching as a chef grated fresh Parmesan over a delicious-looking casserole. “I feared I might never see the inside of this magnificent place!” He shot me a sidelong glance. “Legally, anyhow.”
I smiled and turned away to ask a passing dishwasher if he’d seen Adelard. “Who?” he said. “Oh, you mean the new guy. He’s over that way.”
We followed his directions and finally located Adelard, who was sweeping up in a distant corner of the cellar. “My sister?” he said. “Er, she has left Paris to visit relatives in, uh, Scotland. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
