by Eve Titus
I didn’t understand why the young mouse seemed so excessively nervous. I was also perplexed as to why Adeline would depart so suddenly, as neither she nor her brother had given any hints of such a move. “Scotland?” I echoed. “But why now, just before the cook-off?”
Just then a mouse called for help carrying some heavy bags of mozzarella, and Adelard used that as an excuse to scurry off posthaste.
Basil watched him withdraw with narrowed eyes. “Hmm, perhaps my hunch was incorrect for once. Because something’s amiss here,” he said. “I can tell when a mouse is lying, and Adelard was definitely lying just now. But why?”
I gasped as the answer hit me. “What if it’s him?” I exclaimed. “You said someone on the inside could have left those threatening notes. Maybe it was Adelard—and perhaps his sister is in on the plot as well!”
“I suppose you could be correct, Dawson,” Basil said slowly, though he seemed troubled. “Let’s have Alain collar the scoundrel and question him further.” Basil made a move to stride off in the direction the young mouse had gone.
But Theo, whose very presence I’d nearly forgotten about, leaped forward and stopped him by clutching his sleeve. “No, don’t do that, monsieur,” he cried. “Please! I—I can’t do this any longer. That mouse had nothing to do with it—or his sister, either.”
“How do you know?” I demanded.
Theo took a breath so deep it made his whiskers quiver. “Because it was me!” he confessed miserably. “I did it—I’m the one who left those threatening notes!”
13
A CONFOUNDING CONFESSION
“I KNEW IT!” BASIL EXCLAIMED, while I gasped in surprise.
“Yes, it was me.” Young Theo’s whiskers drooped as he stared at the floor. “I know it was wrong. But I—I didn’t want anyone hurt!”
“Hurt? How do you mean?” I asked.
He hesitated, fear flashing through his dark eyes. But then he took another deep breath. “I have to tell you,” he said, seeming to speak more to himself than to us. “I have to!”
“Tell us what?” By now I was thoroughly confused.
Basil said nothing. He merely waited, watching the young mouse closely.
“I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” Theo said after a moment. “Terrible things. There’s not much work in these parts for a poor, uneducated young mouse like me. So, when a tough-looking fellow offered my friends and me a week’s worth of cheese to help smuggle some bags into Paris, well . . .”
“What tough-looking fellow?” I asked, more perplexed than ever. What did any of this have to do with the cook-off?
“Ratigan.” Basil spat out the name as if it tasted foul. “It was he, was it not? Just as I suspected ever since the moment we spied him at that loading dock.”
“Yes,” Theo said with a shudder. “But I didn’t realize it was him at first. I also didn’t realize what the bags were for. When I found out, I knew I had to do something.”
“And what were they for?” I asked.
“Poison.” Theo frowned, his eyes flashing with fury. “The bags were filled with poison powder, tasteless and nearly invisible to the eye when sprinkled over food. That scoundrel planned to poison all the cheese used in the cook-off!”
“No!” I blurted out, horrified at the very thought.
“Indeed!” Basil said at the same time. “I had already formed a hypothesis that this is why Ratigan has been lurking around the loading bay. He meant to taint the cheese when it came through there. That way he had no need to sneak into the cooking school.”
“I was afraid to tell anyone once I realized the ruthless Ratigan was behind it.” Theo shuddered again. “Who knows what he’d do to me if he found out? So instead, as much as I hated the thought, I tried to stop the cook-off so no mouse would be hurt. I did it in the only way I could come up with—by convincing my uncle to let me sneak in so I could leave those notes.” He paused. “Uncle Victor didn’t know what I was doing, though—he just thought I wanted a look at the kitchens.” He glanced around. “Which I did, actually,” he added softly.
Basil hardly seemed to hear the last part of the youngster’s confession. “The cheese is already coming in for the cook-off,” he said. “What if . . . ?”
“Stop!” I yelled, turning and rushing through the basement, waving my paws above my head. “Everyone, please listen—don’t eat any of the cheese!”
A short while later, Alain had been notified and had repeated my command in French. All the cheese that had already come into the school had been gathered up and was being checked for poison. Meanwhile Basil and I still had one errand left to do. We headed back out into the city in search of Ratigan.
When we arrived at the Opera de Paris, we discovered that our task would be easier than we might have hoped for, as Ratigan was loitering in the lobby with the same goons we’d seen earlier. “Halt, arrêt!” Basil shouted, pointing. “Someone arrest that mouse!”
The villain froze. “Basil of Baker Street,” he growled. “What are you doing here?”
“Stopping you from another dastardly deed. We know all about your plot against the cook-off, Ratigan.” Basil waved to some Parisian policemice who’d just come in. “Quickly—arrest him!”
“Au revoir for now, Basil.” With that, Ratigan spun and fled out the back door—with Basil, myself, and the police hot on his trail.
Unfortunately, he lost us near the Gare de Lyon train station. By the time a helpful mouse lady told us she’d seen him scurrying aboard a train, it had departed—for far-off Venice, Italy.
“At least he won’t be able to sneak back and try to carry out his plot,” Basil said, studying the posted timetable. “It’s a direct train. By the time he could catch another back to Paris, the cook-off will be but crumbs.”
We told the police the entire tale, then returned to the cooking school to inform Alain. We tracked him down in the kitchen, where I was surprised to see him glaring at young Adelard.
“I demand to know who you are and what you’re doing here!” he was saying when we walked in.
14
ONE LAST MYSTERY
“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” I asked, hurrying forward. “What has Adelard done?”
“You know this mouse?” Alain spun to face me and Basil. “Because I’ve never seen him before in my life!”
“But you hired him,” I said, confused.
Alain shook his head. “I told you, I have never before laid eyes on him. I just caught him sneaking a taste of one of my special pastries for the cook-off!”
My ears perked up at that. “Do you mean the cook-off is still on?”
“I don’t know.” Alain glanced at Basil. “Is it?”
“Indeed, it is.” Basil nodded with great certainty. “Ratigan can’t possibly make it back to Paris in time to interfere—even if the police hadn’t agreed to provide extra security for the cook-off this year, just in case.” He paused. “That is, if the cheese hasn’t all been poisoned already?”
“It has not—we’ve checked and had to discard only one crate of Camembert.” Alain looked relieved. Then he noticed Adelard trying to sneak away, and his expression darkened again. “But it seems there are still mice about trying to cause trouble, this time by sneaking in and pretending to work here,” he added. “I’m losing patience, lad. Identify yourself and your purpose here!”
Adelard frowned—then whipped off his cap. Or, rather, her cap—for I immediately recognized the young mouse as none other than Adeline!
“You!” Basil cried. “Of course. Why didn’t I see it before? I knew there was something suspicious about you two but wasn’t quite able to work out exactly what. But now I see—there was never a brother, was there? It was you all along!”
I chuckled. “It seems you’re not the only master of disguise around here, Basil.”
He ignored me. “But why?” he demanded. “What made you disguise yourself as a boy?”
“Because I love to cook—and I’m good at it.” Adeline
jutted out her whiskers defiantly. “This was the only way I could think of that I might be able to enter the cook-off.”
“A female chef?” Alain looked scandalized. “I’ve never heard of such a thing! It simply isn’t done!”
But Basil was thoughtful. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But times are changing, old friend. Why, back in London human women are working in libraries, in hospitals—even as lawyers! Why should we mice be left behind? Why not a female chef?”
“Basil!” I was a little shocked to hear him say such things, him being in many ways such an old-fashioned mouse. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course.” He waved a paw. “Consider Mrs. Dunlop back home, who works just as hard as her husband running the Holmestead Bakery. Alain, my old friend, I really think you should give this lass a chance.”
Alain gasped. “You do?”
“Of course. I am eager to taste your entry myself,” Basil told Adeline with a smile.
Alain didn’t speak for a moment. Finally, he sighed and shrugged. “Is this really what you want, Basil?” he said. “I certainly owe you a favor for stopping Ratigan. If you really think I should let her cook . . .”
“I do,” Basil assured him.
Alain nodded. “Then let it be so.” He shook a paw in Adeline’s face. “But no more lying, you hear me?”
“Oh, thank you!” Adeline looked so excited, she wasn’t sure what to do. Then she let out a squeak. “Oh dear, the contest is tomorrow! I’d better start my dough rising tout de suite. . . .”
I chuckled as she raced away, muttering about flour and sugar and various other ingredients. “That’s another case closed, eh, Basil?” I commented.
Alain clapped us both on the shoulder. “Perhaps. But I’ve another most difficult case for you.”
“You do?” I said.
Our old friend nodded. “There’s a lot to do before tomorrow,” he said. “Especially since we have to bring in more cheese to replace that poisoned Camembert. It’s all paws on deck between now and sunrise tomorrow—and that means I’ll need to put you two to work as well. The next case you’ll need to tackle is a heavy case of cheese!”
15
THE INTERNATIONAL CHEESE COOK-OFF
THE INTERNATIONAL CHEESE COOK-OFF WAS a resounding success. Mice poured into the school from all over Paris and beyond. Many were there to enter, and many more to taste. From dawn until well after dusk, the judges were kept busy arguing over the merits of this quiche versus that tart, one creamy fondue versus another nearly as tasty—along with countless other delicious recipes too numerous to mention.
As for Basil and me, we ate so much we could hardly move! Best of all was getting the chance to taste the dishes of various mice we’d met on our visit to Paris. Alain’s assistant chef Henri produced a stupendous truffade, and Gustave baked a goat cheese profiterole that was lighter than air. The visitor from Italy, Chef Topo, made the most luscious ricotta cannelloni I could imagine, and there were foods provided by the many other foreign chefs from faraway lands—Switzerland, Norway, Morocco, and beyond.
But two entries were even more special than the others, at least to Basil and me. One belonged to Adeline, who concocted a croquembouche—a tower of pastry higher than her head—that made every visitor ooh and aah when they merely glimpsed it. And it tasted just as good as it looked!
The second special entry belonged to none other than Theo! When Alain heard about the young mouse’s assistance in bringing Ratigan to justice—or at least chasing him out of Paris—he insisted on letting the lad enter as well. Basil and I were proud to taste the result, a savory French onion soup oozing with melted Gruyère.
“I daresay, Dawson,” Basil declared as we awaited the judges’ final rulings. “This just might be the tastiest case we’ve yet solved.”
“I think you’re right.” I stifled a soft burp. “We might wish to investigate the International Cheese Cook-Off every year, eh?”
Basil chuckled. “Better safe than sorry, my friend.”
We were both still laughing when Alain called for attention. “The results are in,” he announced, waving the sheaf of papers he’d just been handed by the panel of judges. “And here they are. . . .”
He read off a list of the chefs who had won each of various categories—Best New Dish, Cheesiest Dish, Best Foreign Dish, and so on. We clapped politely for each name, adding some polite whoops when Henri won the Best Rustic Dish category.
Finally Alain paused. “And now, for the top prize of the day—Best Overall Dish,” he said. He glanced at the paper again and his eyes widened. “Oh, I say! The winner is—Mademoiselle Adeline Chaumes!”
A roar of surprise went up from the crowd. A few of the chefs looked disapproving when they realized they’d been bested by a girl.
But what matters most to mouse chefs is food—and most in the room had to admit that Adeline’s dish had indeed been outstanding. Chef Klein, the visiting chef from Germany, was the first to congratulate her.
“Well done, fräulein,” he said. “I look forward to tasting whatever dish you make next year.”
“N-next year?” Adeline smiled uncertainly.
“Of course.” Alain came over to clap her on the back. “You must defend your title, after all!” He winked and smiled. “A chef is only as good as his—or her—last dish, eh?”
“And a detective is only as good as his last case,” Basil said. “Come, Dawson—it’s time to return to London and alert the authorities at Mouseland Yard that Ratigan is running rampant again. Because I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him sooner or later.”
“I hope it’s later,” I said. “And we can leave soon, Basil. But first one more taste of that cheese profiterole. Look, there’s one left for you as well. Bon appétit!”
About the Authors
Eve Titus (1908–2002) was the author of many children’s books, including those about the French cheese-tasting mouse Anatole. Of Basil of Baker Street, Adrian M. Conan Doyle, son of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, wrote to the author, “It is simply a wonderful creation, and I can assure you that my father would have revelled in every page.” The book was also made into a Disney movie, The Great Mouse Detective, in 1986. Numerous Sherlockian collectors prize the Basil mysteries, which include Basil of Baker Street, Basil and the Cave of Cats (originally published as Basil and the Pygmy Cats), Basil in Mexico, Basil in the Wild West, and Basil and the Lost Colony.
Cathy Hapka has written many books for young readers. She lives on a small farm in Lincoln University, Pennsylvania.
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Basil’s adventures!
Basil of Baker Street
Basil and the Cave of Cats
Basil in Mexico
Basil in the Wild West
Basil and the Lost Colony
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Aladdin hardcover edition October 2018
Text copyright © 2018 by Estate of Eve Titus
Illustrations copyright © 2018 by David Mottram
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Cover designed by Karin Paprocki
Interior designed by Hilary Zarycky
The text of this book was set in Perpetua.
This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-5344-1860-8 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-5344-1859-2 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-5344-1861-5 (eBook)
