Basil and the Library Ghost

by Eve Titus

  “I think I heard it too,” Rupert said. “Like a distant crash from somewhere in the stacks.”

  “We’d better go see,” I said. I hurried toward the arch with Basil and the others at my heels.

  When we got a look into the stacks, I gasped. A large bookcase was tipped over, and a mouse was sprawled on the floor nearby, unconscious!

  5 A CLOSE CALL

  “OH NO!” RUPERT CRIED, PUSHING past me. “That’s Lewis, the head librarian!”

  We all rushed to the fallen librarian’s aid. “Stand back,” Basil ordered. “Give him air and let Dawson have a look at him.”

  I knelt by the mouse’s side, glad for my medical training at such a critical moment. Fortunately I could see immediately that Lewis’s breath was strong and steady, and there was no sign of blood.

  “Sir, can you hear me?” I asked, carefully reaching to feel his pulse.

  Lewis let out a groan, and his eyes fluttered open. “Wha—what happened?” he murmured, blinking rapidly several times.

  “Easy—don’t try to sit up until I can determine whether you’ve broken any bones,” I said.

  But the mouse ignored my order, pushing himself to a sitting position. “I think I’m all right,” he said, his voice sounding stronger already. “The fall knocked the breath out of me, that’s all.”

  Basil bent toward him. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “I think so.” Lewis glanced toward the fallen bookshelf. “I was merely walking past this area on my way to return a volume of poetry to its place on the shelves.” His gaze shifted to a book lying nearby. “Suddenly I felt a cold breeze, as if someone had opened a window on an icy winter day—and then I heard an ominous creaking sound. I flung myself out of the way in the nick of time as the bookshelf came crashing down—onto the very spot where I’d been standing!”

  “Oh dear!” Cedric exclaimed.

  “Was it the ghost?” Clive wondered.

  “Doubtful,” Basil retorted. He stepped over to examine the bookshelf, clearly looking for clues.

  I returned my attention to Lewis, checking him over carefully. But it seemed he had truly made a narrow escape and was unharmed, aside from being a bit shaken and pale.

  Only when I was satisfied that my medical skills weren’t needed did I turn to observe Basil. “Any clues?” I called to him.

  Basil was bent over, peering closely at the bookshelf. “I can tell that you take good care of this library,” he said to Lewis. “There’s not a speck of dust on these shelves. Too bad, since that means no evidence of pawprints.”

  Clive looked confused. “What do you mean, ‘pawprints’?”

  “I’m referring, of course, to a new method of scientific crime-solving—one that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has pioneered.” Basil tucked both hands behind his back and paced before us as he explained. “You see, each mouse’s paw leaves its own unique print, just as each human hand leaves unique fingerprints. If a detective can match a print to a suspect…”

  “Ah, I see!” Rupert looked impressed. “Very useful, I’m sure.”

  “I suppose so.” Cyril shrugged. “But ghosts don’t leave pawprints, do they?”

  “Ghosts don’t exist,” Basil snapped. “So your question is moot!”

  Rupert cleared his throat. “Let’s leave poor Lewis to his recovery and move on, shall we?” he suggested tactfully. “I believe there’s a fine meal awaiting us in the Faculty Club.…”

  * * *

  I was happy to tuck into the excellent dinner that was awaiting us in the wood-paneled club. But Basil only picked at his food, seeming lost in thought as the rest of us reminisced about the last time we’d all met within these hallowed halls.

  Finally talk turned to the mystery of the haunted library, and only then did Basil take an interest in our conversation. “There does seem to be something suspicious going on,” I commented.

  “Yes indeed.” Basil picked up a scrap of Emmental cheese, staring at it for a moment before popping it into his mouth. “But I can assure you that ghosts are not behind it.”

  “Can you be sure, Basil?” Rupert sat back in his chair, smiling. “Many scholars might disagree.”

  Cyril nodded eagerly and leaned forward. “Yes, haven’t you heard about the Ghost Club?”

  “What’s that?” I asked, helping myself to another chunk of Wensleydale.

  “It’s a human group, formed at Trinity College, Cambridge,” Rupert said. He automatically wrinkled his nose at the mention of the competing university, as did the rest of us. “It’s a place to discuss ghosts and other supernatural incidents. The late Charles Dickens himself was said to be a member.”

  “See, Basil?” Cedric said with a slight smirk. “That proves that even the most intelligent and learned people—and mice—can believe in the possibility of the supernatural.”

  “It proves only that even the most intelligent and learned can be fools,” Basil retorted. “Whatever has been happening in the library, it has nothing to do with the supernatural. And I’ll prove it—if only to show you that mortal paws are surely behind it all!”

  6 AFTER-DINNER SURPRISES

  OUR WELCOME DINNER LASTED LATE into the night as the six of us told stories, raised toasts, and ate endless quantities of fine cheese and other delicacies. As the clock struck midnight, Cedric pushed back from the table with a groan.

  “I think I overdid it on the cheddar, chaps,” he announced. “I’d best leave you to it and head off to bed.”

  I prepared to rise. “If you’re not feeling well, someone should walk you home.”

  “No, no, please stay.” Cedric put a paw on my shoulder to keep me in my chair. “It’s just a touch of indigestion—a common malady for one like me, who likes a bit too much of good food and drink!” He chuckled. “Don’t fret. I’ll be ready to join you for a hearty breakfast after a good night’s sleep!”

  With a wave, he took his leave. Rupert stood to serve us each a bite of cheese. “We’ve just received this excellent Halloumi from Cyprus—you all must try it.…”

  And thus we returned to our revelry. But all parties must end eventually, and half an hour later Cyril let out a prodigious yawn. “Oh dear,” he said. “The journey to get here is catching up with me, I’m afraid. Shall we call it an evening?”

  “Yes, I’m tired as well,” Rupert said. “But I look forward to more of this fine company tomorrow!”

  After a round of farewells, we parted ways outside the Faculty Club. Basil and I were staying in a spare apartment at the west end of campus beyond the library, while the C for Cheese Gang had lodgings near Rupert’s regular quarters, which were only a block away.

  It was quite late by then, with not a creature stirring as Basil and I strolled toward our temporary home. “That was fun, wasn’t it?” I commented, stifling a slight burp. “It’s good to have the old gang together again.”

  “Hmm.” Basil didn’t seem to be listening. He was walking along with his hands behind his back, eyes cast slightly upward and with a distant expression. I recognized the look well—he was deep in thought.

  “Has your mind returned to our ghost?” I asked lightly.

  Basil shot me an impatient look. “I am thinking about the case, yes,” he said. “But please do not pretend you have the slightest belief in the ghost theory. You have more sense than that, Dawson.”

  I merely shrugged, not bothering to say that he was right—I had little belief in ghosts and other spirits. But it was rather fun to allow him to think I might!

  We had nearly reached the Ratcliffe Museum by then. A guard stood outside, dressed in a smart uniform. When I took a closer look at him, I gasped.

  “Why, look here,” I exclaimed. “It’s young Alfie from the train!”

  Basil looked surprised. But there was no arguing with my comment, for it was indeed our young acquaintance. He smiled at us bashfully, tipping his cap.

  “Hello again, Mr. Basil, Dr. Dawson,” he said. “What are you two doing out and about at this hou
r, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “We’ve just come from dinner,” I said. “But what are you doing here? Have you found a job already?”

  Alfie smiled and squared his shoulders. “As luck would have it, two of the regular guards just quit, so I was hired on immediately!”

  “How nice!” I said.

  “Indeed,” Basil agreed, though he still seemed a bit distracted.

  Remembering how I’d been needling Basil about ghosts, I couldn’t help winking and adding, “But be careful working so late at night, Alfie. Rumor has it there are ghosts about!”

  Basil shot me an irritated look. But Alfie’s eyes widened. “Ghosts? What do you mean, sir?”

  “It’s Basil’s latest case,” I told him with a smile. “There’s been some minor mischief at the library, and our friends have been hearing stories about a ghostly librarian haunting the place.…”

  “But you needn’t worry,” Basil told the young mouse, who was looking rather alarmed. “Ghosts don’t exist—that’s scientific fact. And now that I’m on the case, we’ll soon discover who’s really behind the trouble.”

  We bade good night to Alfie and continued on our way. The library stood just ahead, its narrow windows darkened and empty. This late at night, the grand old place certainly looked spooky enough to be haunted!

  “Perhaps we should stop, Dawson,” Basil said as he neared the library. “I’ve been thinking about that fallen bookcase, and I’d like to check on something.”

  “Can’t your sleuthing wait until morning, Basil?” I complained with a yawn. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue. But at that moment both of us were silenced by a sudden loud, otherworldly howl coming from inside the library!

  7 INVESTIGATING A GHOST

  BASIL RUSHED FORWARD, REACHING THE doors before the howl had fully faded. I hesitated, chilled despite myself by the unearthly sound. When I glanced once more at the library windows, I gasped—for a pale face was peering out of one of them!

  “Basil!” I cried. But when I blinked, the face disappeared! Had I really seen it? Or was it a side effect of too much rich food and too little sleep?

  Basil didn’t hear me. He was pushing into the library, which stood unlocked at all hours for students who might need it. “Show yourself!” he shouted, his voice echoing back to me from the cavernous front room. “Who is here? Step forward at once!”

  I shivered, feeling a cool breeze tickle my whiskers, even though there were few drafts this far inside the Radcliffe Camera’s sturdy stone walls. “Basil!” I called. “Do you see anyone?”

  Basil stepped outside. “Get in here and help me search, Dawson,” he ordered. “This could be our chance to catch our culprit red-pawed!”

  I was in no hurry to rush into the darkened library in search of the source of that howl, though I wasn’t eager to admit as much to Basil. Luckily, at that moment a much more ordinary shout went up from behind us. I turned and saw Rupert, Cyril, and Clive hurrying toward us.

  “Basil! Dawson!” Rupert cried as he drew near, huffing and puffing from exertion. “What the dickens is all the hubbub?”

  I was surprised to see them, though certainly not unhappy to have reinforcements arrive. “We heard a noise from inside,” I said, waving a paw at the library.

  “What sort of noise?” Clive asked.

  Basil peered at him. “But surely you heard it yourselves?” he asked rather sharply. “Otherwise, why would you be rushing this way instead of tucked into your beds?”

  The trio exchanged a confused look. “The only noise we heard was you shouting, Basil,” Rupert said.

  Clive nodded. “We’d stopped to continue our conversation outside Rupert’s place,” Cyril explained. “In the quiet night, we heard you cry out…”

  “…and naturally, we rushed to see what was the matter,” Clive finished with a shrug.

  “But didn’t you hear the—the howl before that?” I queried. “It sounded like… like…” I paused, my powers of description failing me.

  “Like a ghost?” Cyril widened his eyes.

  “Not at all,” Basil snapped. “It sounded much like someone pretending to be a ghost, however.”

  Clive shivered visibly. “Are you certain of that?” he asked, casting a nervous look at the library. “What if the ghost librarian knows that you’re investigating—and he doesn’t like it?”

  Rupert was staring at the library, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should take a look inside? The scoundrel might still be lurking about,” he suggested.

  “Doubtful.” Basil shook his head, seeming to have lost all interest in rushing inside to investigate. “Whoever made that noise has surely escaped by now while we stand here engaged in endless silly chitchat.”

  He sounded irritated, and I hoped our friends wouldn’t take offense. “Never mind,” I said with forced cheer. “It’s late, eh? Let’s discuss it further in the morning.”

  8 AT THE MUSEUM

  WHEN I OPENED MY EYES the next morning, still weary from the night of revelry, Basil was fully awake, fully dressed, and bustling around our quarters.

  “Hop to, Dawson,” he said when he saw I was awake. “I was thinking this morning is the perfect time to visit the exhibit.”

  “The exhibit?” I echoed with a yawn.

  “The visiting exhibit of Far Eastern Treasures at the museum, Dawson,” Basil said. “Have you forgotten already? I said I hoped to take it in during this visit.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes with both paws. “All right, Basil.” I was surprised that he wasn’t eager to get started immediately on the library mystery, but I was too tired to ask why.

  When we entered the exhibit hall a short while later, I felt more awake at once. The Far Eastern Treasures were spectacular! Porcelain vases and silk tapestries, glittering jewels and painted fans and intricately etched teapots—everywhere I looked, I saw the most exotic objects imaginable.

  “I’m glad we came, Basil!” I exclaimed, pausing to examine a platter painted with peacocks and palm fronds. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing such a collection of valuables! It almost makes me forget about the ghost.”

  I expected him to object, as usual, to my implication that the ghost might be real. Instead, he merely looked thoughtful. “I’ve been pondering the case, Dawson,” he said, strolling on toward the next display. “Clearly there’s a living mouse—or mice—behind the shenanigans at the library. But what is the motive?”

  “Are you absolutely sure it’s a living mouse?” I countered. “What if there really is a ghost? The occurrences seem to match with what I’ve read of hauntings—the cold breezes coming seemingly from nowhere, the minor damage and unearthly sounds and sights.…”

  Basil sighed loudly. “Dawson, please do not waste my time with that nonsense,” he said. “Surely you’ve been observing me—and Mr. Holmes—for long enough to know that there’s always a logical explanation for mysterious happenings. The spooky sounds could easily be made by a living mouse. And the damage is nothing that mortal paws couldn’t manage.”

  “Are you sure? That bookcase looked quite heavy. And the cold spots…”

  But Basil was no longer listening. He stared at a display of glazed bowls, though he hardly seemed to see them. “Perhaps a mouse intent on thievery is trying to frighten away the gullible,” he mused aloud. “The culprit could be after the library’s rare-book collection, perhaps, or some of its more valuable statuary.…”

  “Really, Basil?” Now it was my turn to sound dubious. “Who would bother putting so much effort into pilfering that sort of thing when this lies right beneath their whiskers?” I swept an arm around to indicate the museum exhibit.

  Basil shrugged. “This museum is well guarded, and locked up tightly at night,” he reminded me. “The library, on the other paw, is open night and day—and often quite deserted in the wee hours.”

  We continued to discuss the case as we wandered through the rest
of the exhibit. Finally having satisfied our taste for eastern treasures, we left the museum. Just outside, we found Alfie on duty once again.

  “Working hard, I see, eh, lad?” I said with a friendly clap on his shoulder.

  “Yes. I went home shortly after I saw you last and resumed duty again just now. I’m glad for as many hours as possible, Dr. Dawson,” Alfie replied with his customary tip of the cap.

  “You’ll be able to afford Ratcliffe’s tuition sooner than expected at this rate, I’ll wager,” I commented.

  Alfie smiled and glanced bashfully at the ground. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Look, Dawson.” Basil nodded at something behind me. “Here comes Rupert.”

  When I turned, our friend had nearly reached us. He had a smile on his face and a newspaper tucked beneath his arm.

  “May I see that, please?” Basil snatched the paper without awaiting an answer. “I’ve been wondering if there’s any progress in recapturing Ratigan.”

  “Not yet I’m afraid, old chum,” Rupert said. “The police in London are stumped.”

  “Begging your pardon, sirs,” Alfie spoke up. “Some of the other museum employees were talking about Professor Ratigan when I arrived this morning. The rumor is that he has already left London bound for Amsterdam—one of the fellows has a cousin who saw him at the channel crossing!”

  “Really? That’s good news, eh, Basil?” I elbowed my friend.

  Basil shrugged. “Not for the mice of Amsterdam,” he said. “But I suppose it does give me enough time to solve our little Ratcliffe mystery before I set off to Amsterdam to track him down.”

  9 MORE MYSTERIOUS MATTERS

  AFTER A PLEASANT LUNCH WITH our friends, Basil and I headed to the library to look for clues. A handful of students were gathered in the front room, reading or scribbling notes or chatting softly. We paid them little mind, continuing straight on into the main room. Lewis was at the librarian’s desk, though he hurried to greet us the moment we crossed the threshold.