Basil and the Library Ghost

  Cast of Characters

  BASIL

  English mouse detective

  DR. DAWSON

  his friend and associate

  ALFIE

  a shabby but friendly young mouse

  DR. RUPERT KERR

  Ratcliffe professor and dear old friend

  CLIVE

  a member of the C for Cheese Gang

  CEDRIC

  a member of the C for Cheese Gang

  CYRIL

  a member of the C for Cheese Gang

  LEWIS

  librarian

  PROFESSOR RATIGAN

  a much-discussed prison escapee

  Various students, professors, alumni, and others

  1 AWAY TO OXFORD

  WHEN MY DEAR FRIEND BASIL of Baker street and I set off for our university reunion, who could have guessed what adventure would greet us at dear old Ratcliffe College along with our old chums? Then again, when one is the most famous detective in all of mousedom, as Basil undeniably is, mysteries seem to follow one everywhere.…

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. It all began one pleasant, sunny day.…

  “Ah, the train,” Basil commented, leaning forward to gaze out the top part of the window, which we could just see from our comfortable perch atop the luggage rack, well out of sight of the human passengers below. “It’s certainly the most modern and comfortable way to travel, is it not, Dawson?”

  “Better than slow and smelly carriages indeed,” I agreed, helping myself to another bite of the cheddar I’d brought as a snack. “And far better than going afoot, especially for such a great distance!”

  “It’s no wonder Mr. Sherlock Holmes travels so frequently by way of the Great Iron Horse,” Basil mused, shaking his head in an admiring way.

  I merely smiled at that. Sherlock Holmes is Basil’s hero. In fact, he might well be considered the true founder of the mouse town of Holmestead, located in the basement of Basil’s home at 221B Baker Street, despite the fact that the man had no idea the place existed! You see, many years earlier, Basil had dragged me along with some frequency to hide in Mr. Holmes’s study and listen to his discussions with his friend Dr. Watson. However, getting there made for quite a harrowing journey across London from where we were then living.

  But that seems ancient history by now. At the time of our current adventure, Basil and I had long since been settled in Holmestead, able to scurry upstairs to visit the great man’s study as frequently as we desired. In that way, Basil had picked up even more tips and tricks of scientific sleuthing, which he had used to solve many crimes and become renowned throughout mousedom.

  Little did we know as we rode across the countryside in comfort, heading to our reunion, that he would need to make use of his skills again so soon.…

  “How much longer until we arrive in Oxford, Basil?” I asked, peering out the window. Outside, the crowded streets of London had long since given way to bucolic country vistas.

  “Not long.” Basil sounded distracted. He had just pulled out the copy of the Mouse Times he’d picked up at Paddington Station. “I do still wonder if I shouldn’t have stayed in London, given the latest news.”

  I peered over his shoulder at the newspaper’s headline: RATIGAN AND ACCOMPLICE ESCAPE NEWGATE PRISON.

  It was troubling news indeed. Professor Ratigan was the most infamous criminal in mousedom—and Basil’s archnemesis. He had been locked away in the mouse prison located within the walls of the notorious Newgate ever since the last time Basil had foiled his nefarious plans and turned him over to the authorities.

  “If Ratigan has any sense, he’ll leave London immediately,” I pointed out. “After all, you were the one who sent him to prison—again. Why would he remain in your home city, knowing you would be sure to come after him at once?”

  Basil shrugged one thin shoulder. “Why do criminals commit any of their dastardly deeds?” he commented philosophically. Then he sighed and rubbed his whiskers. “Perhaps it’s not too late to catch the next train back to London.…”

  “Basil, you cannot!” I exclaimed. “Rupert asked specially for you to attend this reunion, did he not?”

  “He did.” Basil nodded thoughtfully. “He said he had something important and fascinating to discuss with me.”

  Dr. Rupert Kerr was an old school chum, a classmate of Basil’s and mine at Ratcliffe. These days, he was a well-respected professor of mouse history and philosophy at that same esteemed institution.

  Basil still looked thoughtful. “However, I expect Rupert would understand if I didn’t make it,” he said. “As you mentioned, I was the one who captured Ratigan, and I should be there now that he has broken free to create more mayhem.”

  Suddenly a whiskered face popped into view from behind a leather valise. “Begging your pardon, sirs,” the stranger said with a respectful head bob. “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion.” His curious black eyes turned toward Basil. “Could you really be the famous Basil of Baker Street?”

  2 TRAVELING COMPANIONSHIP

  I WAS SO STARTLED BY the young mouse’s sudden appearance that I was unable to respond for a moment. Ever since boarding, I’d assumed that Basil and I had the luggage rack to ourselves. But it seemed another mouse had been hidden there all along!

  Basil, luckily, retained his composure as usual. “At your service, young sir,” he said, bowing to the younger mouse. “I am indeed Basil of Baker Street. As to my fame, I shall leave that for others to determine.”

  “Oh, what an honor!” the stranger exclaimed, climbing over the valise to shake Basil’s paw. “My name is Alfie. I’m a big fan of your work, sir! Why, the way you nabbed that scoundrel Ratigan recently—unfortunate about his escape, eh? Why, I heard he’d been gone three hours before the guards noticed!”

  “Did you?” Basil cocked a curious ear at him. “Where did you hear such a thing? It’s not mentioned in the newspaper.”

  “Isn’t it?” Alfie shrugged. “I overheard a pair of mice discussing it at the station while waiting to board. Perhaps it’s merely a rumor. But never mind—the important thing is the masterful way you toppled Ratigan from his reign as the terror of mousedom.…”

  He babbled on for another several moments, seeming quite familiar with Basil’s exploits. Finally I interrupted by reaching out and taking his paw myself, giving it a hearty shake.

  “And I am Dr. David Q. Dawson, Basil’s friend and travel companion,” I said. “Young Alfie, what carries you to Oxford this fine day?”

  Alfie bowed to me as well. “I’m hoping to find work there, sir,” he explained. “And perhaps, one day…” He allowed his voice to trail off, his expression suddenly bashful.

  “Perhaps one day what?” I asked.

  Basil cocked his head. “Unless I miss my guess, you hope to study at Ratcliffe College—is that correct, Alfie?”

  Alfie’s eyes widened. “You guess correctly, sir,” he exclaimed. Then he ducked his head. “But it might never happen.”

  “I’m impressed by your courage, young sir,” I told him. “Not many mice would be brave enough to move to a new city with no job and nowhere to stay.…”

  “Ah, but there I am lucky, for I have cousins in Oxford,” Alfie said. Then he shook his head. “But enough about me! Please, if I might be so bold, what brings the great detective and his fine friend to Oxford? Could it be a fascinating and difficult mystery needing to be solved?”

  “Nothing like that,” I said with a chuckle. “Basil and I are on a pleasure trip for once—on our way to a reunion with some university chums.”

  “That is correct.” Basil blinked at the lad. “Surely you overheard us discussing that along with the rest of our conversation, young Alfie?”


  Alfie looked sheepish, turning away and picking at a loose thread on the valise behind him. “I was not listening for very long,” he said. “I fell asleep promptly upon boarding the train, and only awoke to hear your conversation for a few moments before I emerged just now. A reunion, you say?”

  I sensed that the lad was trying to change the subject, perhaps embarrassed by the implication of eavesdropping. “Yes indeed,” I responded before Basil could say another word. As the world’s greatest detective, he sometimes forgets that there is no need to interrogate every mouse one meets! “It will be a pleasure to revisit our halcyon days of exams and exploits, eh, Basil?”

  “I suppose so.” Basil’s gaze drifted momentarily to the newspaper, but then he shrugged. “It will be good to see our old school chums again, in any case.”

  “I’ve never been to Ratcliffe—or Oxford, for that matter,” Alfie said. “Is it as big as London?”

  The question made Basil chuckle. “Not nearly so,” he replied. “But it is quite a bustling place in its own right. Of course, the university is at the center of life there—that would be the University of Oxford, founded at the dawn of this millennium and attended by many great and learned men since, from the great explorer Sir Walter Raleigh to the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.”

  I nodded. “Ratcliffe College has a long and storied history as well,” I told the younger mouse. “It seems natural that a fine mouse institution should rise up in the walls and baseboards of such an acclaimed human one. But it was only in the last century that Ratcliffe moved to its current location within the curious round building known as the Radcliffe Camera.”

  From there, we passed the rest of the time in companionable talk. Basil and I reminisced about our old school adventures, while Alfie asked numerous questions about our time at Ratcliffe, the layout of the town and the university, and lastly, about the friends we would be visiting there this week.

  “That gives me a thought, Alfie,” I said, interrupting my own description of our friend Rupert. “Dr. Rupert Kerr has been at Ratcliffe for many years and is well connected there. If Basil and I put in a word for you with him, he can surely help you find work.”

  “Thank you, sir. That would be most generous.” Alfie gestured toward the window. “But look—it appears we’re nearly there!”

  3 BACK TO SCHOOL

  YOUNG ALFIE WAS RIGHT. WHEN I glanced out the window, I saw that the train was approaching our destination. Moments later Basil, Alfie, and I were scurrying across the platform to the shadow of a bench. There, we found a familiar figure awaiting us.

  “Basil! Dawson!” came the cry from our friend Dr. Rupert Kerr. “You made it! When I saw the news about Ratigan in the morning paper, I was afraid… well, never mind!” He chuckled. “Even a great detective needs a day off now and then, eh, Basil?”

  He elbowed Basil, who looked slightly sour. “I’m not so sure about that, old friend,” Basil said. “But I suppose there’s no turning back now.” He glanced toward the train, which was slowly moving off again.

  “That’s right.” I patted Basil on the arm, then smiled at Rupert. “We’re glad to be here! Where are the others?”

  “Do you mean the C for Cheese Gang?” Rupert chuckled. “They’re waiting for us back at Ratcliffe with cheese and drink.”

  “Wonderful.” My stomach grumbled at the thought of cheese, for that cheddar snack seemed very long ago by then. “Ah, but before we go, allow me to introduce…”

  My words trailed off as I glanced around and noticed that young Alfie was nowhere to be seen. Basil looked around too.

  “Where did that lad go?” he said. “Odd for him to disappear just like that.”

  I shrugged. “Never mind. He probably became separated in the hubbub. I’m sure he’ll turn up later.”

  “Who?” Rupert looked mystified. “Did you bring along another schoolmate to join our reunion?”

  “Nothing like that,” Basil said. With my help, he quickly explained the Alfie situation to Rupert. Then the three of us set out toward Ratcliffe.

  Even being away for so long, my paws remembered the way to the sites of some of my fondest memories. Oxford had changed over the years, but not much. When we reached the circular Radcliffe Camera, Rupert led the way in through a crack in the stone exterior. Ratcliffe College looked much the same as I remembered. We passed the chapel and the Faculty Club, the English department and the student lounge. Young scholarly looking mice scurried here and there, from classroom to dormitory, several of them bowing respectfully when they spotted Professor Kerr. For once, Basil attracted no attention. I found myself wondering if these high-minded mice, so focused on their studies of natural science or classical literature, even knew of the crime and mayhem that went on outside these hallowed halls!

  I forgot about such questions when we passed the Ratcliffe Museum of Art and Antiquities—and Basil stopped short at its doors, nearly causing me to bump into him. “Ah, the museum!” Basil exclaimed. “I’ve heard about the visiting exhibit of Far Eastern Treasures currently on display. Perhaps we can find time to view it while we’re here, Dawson.”

  “That sounds fine,” I said. “But at the moment I’m more interested in seeing our chums—and perhaps a nice platter of cheese—than any antiquities!”

  That made Rupert chuckle. “You always were a practical sort of fellow, Dawson,” he said with a hearty clap on my shoulder. “Now let’s continue—the others are eager to see you two as well!”

  A few minutes later we reached the Ratcliffe Library, a spacious and sprawling place filled with books, musty smells, classical statuary—and, at the moment, old friends!

  “Basil! Dawson!” a cry went up, and then we were surrounded.

  I laughed as I clasped hands with one old pal after another. “Clive—Cedric—Cyril!” I exclaimed, greeting each in turn. “What a treat to have the C for Cheese Gang back together!”

  That was what we’d called the trio back in our university days, for it was how Cyril, a friendly mouse with a quick sense of humor, had introduced himself upon our very first meeting—“Hullo, chaps. I’m Cyril—that’s Cyril with a c, as in cheese!”

  For a moment, everyone seemed to talk at once as we asked after one another’s health and homes. But then Cedric turned eagerly to Rupert. “Did you tell them yet?” he asked.

  Clive gasped. “Yes, did you?” he cried, while Cyril nodded, his tail twitching with interest.

  “Tell us what?” Basil suddenly stood taller, his ears alert. I could tell he’d noted the gleam in all our friends’ eyes, as had I.

  “Yes, tell us what?” I asked.

  Rupert merely smiled. “Not yet,” he told the gang.

  “Oh, I’ll tell them!” Cyril whirled to face Basil and me. “The Ratcliffe Library is haunted!”

  4 TALES OF THE HAUNTED LIBRARY

  “HAUNTED?” BASIL ECHOED WITH A Smirk. “All right, then. What’s the punch line to this joke, old friends?”

  “No joke, Basil,” Cedric said earnestly.

  I glanced at Rupert, who was never one to believe in wild tales or superstitions, expecting him to laugh off what the C for Cheese Gang had just said. But he was pinching one whisker, looking uncertain.

  “I’m not prepared to go that far,” he told Basil and me. “But there have been several, er, unexplained occurrences recently. That’s one of the reasons I was so eager for you to come, Basil—I thought you might be able to get to the bottom of things.”

  “I see.” Basil nodded shortly. “What do you mean by ‘unexplained occurrences’?”

  “All sorts of terrible things!” Cyril spoke up. “Noises deep in the night…”

  “…broken statues,” Clive continued, gesturing to an alcove in the wall nearby that held a chipped bust of some ancient mouse philosopher or poet. “Books being moved around without any mouse being responsible…”

  “…or disappearing entirely,” Cedric added. His eyes widened. “Some say the place is haunted by the ghost of a past librari
an, Whiskers the Wise.” He pointed to one of several portraits hanging on the wall nearby—specifically one showing a stout, bespectacled older mouse with kind eyes.

  Cyril nodded. “Whiskers is said to have sworn he would never leave his beloved library—not even after death!”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Basil scoffed. “But vandalism is a serious matter. We need to get to the bottom of what’s really going on.”

  “Exactly. Which is why you’re the perfect fellow for the job, Basil,” Rupert told him. “Perhaps your scientific sleuthing methods can uncover the true cause of all the trouble.”

  I chuckled. “At least we can cross Ratigan off the suspect list this time,” I joked to Basil. “After all, he was in prison until last night!”

  Basil ignored my jest, peering around at the library with new interest. We were currently gathered in the front room, which contained mostly tables and seating for study and socializing. An arch at the back of this area led into the larger main room, where the stacks—the tall rows of shelves that held the library’s large collection of books, parchments, and manuscripts—were located.

  “Where has most of the trouble taken place?” Basil asked, stepping closer to the chipped statue and examining it closely.

  Cyril shrugged. “All over, I think,” he said. “Obviously the damaged statue is out here, and there have been reports of strange noises and sudden cold breezes throughout the library.”

  “Yes.” Cedric looked toward the arch. “And of course the issues with the books occurred mostly in the stacks.”

  Clive tilted his head, his round ears swiveling. “Did any of you hear a noise just now?”

  “What sort of noise?” I asked, having heard nothing but the sounds of our own voices.