Basil in the Wild West by Eve Titus

Author:Eve Titus
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

“Please, sir? My friends won’t believe I’ve met you unless I show them your autograph.”

Smiling, the sleuth signed his name with a flourish. Then, at Gillen’s request, we both signed his copy of Basil and the Cave of Cats.

They were bound for Fort Tillamook, Oregon. Told of our destination, Gillen looked grim.

“We were at the Hathaway Hotel ten days ago. Planned to stay two weeks, but left in two days. Couldn’t stomach what went on there.”

“Tell me about it, Colonel,” said Basil.

At mention of the Hathaway, his daughter’s eyes widened in terror. Bursting into sobs, she buried her head in her mother’s lap.

“Fran, do comfort Alexandra,” said Gillen to his wife. “We’ll go below, out of earshot.”

Standing in the aisle of the swaying train, we listened to Gillen’s strange story.

“My child is terrified, and even I, a down-to-earth soldier, shuddered when I saw the beast that haunts the Hathaway.

“We called it the Thing. It stalks by night on a clifftop opposite the hotel. It’s monstrously tall, with glaring eyes and blood-red lips. A greenish glow always surrounds it. Some mice thought it a ghost or a demon, others said it was an alien from outer space. Which? I don’t honestly know. The weird noises it made! Wild, crazy laughter that sent chills chasing up one’s spine, mournful howls and yowls, bloodcurdling shrieks.

“The Thorbridges opened the hotel a year ago. It was an instant success. We’ve stayed there twice, and enjoyed it. But then the Thing came, two months ago. Business is so bad now that the hotel may close its doors forever.”

Basil said, “It was once Lord Hathaway’s villa. When he became Ambassador to Mexico, he moved away, leaving a caretaker. His lordship wasn’t told that the caretaker died. Outlaws made the villa a hideout, let it go to rack and ruin. He finally found out. The Thorbridges, his cook and butler, longed to run a hotel. He sold them the villa for one dollar, provided they restore it to its former beauty.”

Gillen nodded. “And they did, spent their life savings on plumbers, painters, carpenters, gardeners. They put in new doors, floors, windows, tiled the walls, bought costly furnishings. Now, alas, because of the Thing—”

“FLAGSTAFF!” called the conductor.

We grabbed our bags and left the train. Local mice led us to a CLOPS pony called Keats. It was eighty miles out to the Grand Canyon.

At the hotel, all was chaos and confusion. Crowds of grumpy guests clutching their bags paced the front veranda, waiting for a pony to carry them away.

Off to one side stood two dignified mice, unmistakably British. She, in a long black bombazine dress with lace trim, stayed serene amid all the turmoil. He, in tweeds, surveyed the departing mice calmly through his monocle.

Basil doffed his deerstalker cap and bowed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thorbridge, I presume?”

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