Clip clop clip clop… A small horse-drawn carriage moved briskly across the old stone path, which seemed like the only road as far as the eye could see (which isn’t saying much, since most of the moor was covered in thick fog). It was no longer raining, but still very wet and cold.
“How much further until we’re there?” James Ratatouille asked, sticking his head out the carriage window to speak to the driver. “I don’t fancy what this weather is doing to my hair.”
“It’s ‘ard to tell, frankly.” the driver said solemnly, turning his head towards Ratatouille slightly. “Everythin’ fer miles looks ‘bout the same out ‘ere.”
“Oh.” Ratatouille said. “Thank you.” He withdrew back into the carriage and shut the window. “Henry, what time is it? Henry…? Henry!”
“Huh? What? Are we there, sir?” Henry said, waking quickly.
“No. I asked to see your watch.”
“Sir… don’t you have your own?” Henry yawned. He was accustomed to being pestered by Ratatouille for silly reasons, so this was just regulatory.
“I packed it.” Ratatouille leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. He was in a particularly grumpy mood since breakfast, when he found out that his favourite shoes had been stolen (he wasn’t so mad about the missing shoes, rather puzzled by the fact that anyone would want to steal them).
“It’s… seven twenty-eight.” Henry yawned.
“Thank you, Henry. You may go back to sleep now.” Ratatouille turned to look out the window closest to him. Not much to look at, though. Henry turned a piece of folded parchment over in his hands and opened it. He stared at it for a while.
“I do wonder what Mr. Baker has been up to since I last saw him…” Henry said, without taking his eyes from the paper. “It’s been so long… Why, the last time we met, you weren’t even born, sir!”
“Hm.” Ratatouille continued staring out the window. “I presume he doesn’t have many connections, seeing how he sends for us to help him with his whatever-it-was.”
“Well, in some of my letters to him, I mentioned a few of those cases you had worked on. He was impressed.” Henry looked over at Ratatouille.
“Hm.”
Through the fog, the dark outline of a large house came into view. It wasn’t very tall- since it was built upon wet land- but it was very large all the same. Drawing closer, the carriage passengers could make out some of the details. It was very old and worn-down, and looked like it hadn’t had any upkeep in decades. The front gates were very gothic in style, and the two gargoyles at either side were broken and covered in moss.
“We’re not staying here, are we?” Ratatouille asked, worried. “It hardly looks livable…” Henry didn’t reply.
The carriage drew up past the gate and on to the roundabout in front of the doors. Henry and Ratatouille silently emerged from the carriage as the driver unloaded their belongings.
“Go on ahead.” the driver said. “I’ll take yer things.”
“All right.” Ratatouille said, nodding to him. “Thank you.” The two walked up the wet, mossy steps to the front doors, Ratatouille in the lead. “Hello?” he called, slamming the rusted knocker. After a moment, someone opened the door- a man so tall and thin, he made Ratatouille look short and squat (well, almost). He was pale and bald with a droopy white mustache.
“Welcome.” he said. “You are James Ratatouille, yes?”
“Yes.” Ratatouille said smugly. “And Henry Reirret, as well, of course.”
“Come this way. Mr. Baker will see you in the other room.” They followed the man through a few dark, dusty hallways to a large sitting room. In it, was an old man, white as a sheet, with a few threadlike white hairs pulled back into a ponytail. He was dressed in a simple black suit and sitting in a grand (but very old) chair.
“Mr. Ratatouille?” he asked, smiling. He nodded to the bald man to dismiss him.
“Indeed.” Ratatouille stepped forward. “And you must be Stanley Baker.” He extended a hand.”
“I must be.” Baker said, shaking Ratatouille’s hand feebly. “Is that pathetic pile of rags over there Henry?”
“Err… Naturally.” Henry said, shaking Baker’s hand as well. “It’s good to see you. Have… you really been living alone here all this time?”
“No, no.” Baker shook his head slowly. “I have Edmund- you met Edmund- and my granddaughter, Alice is living here with me, too. Plus, I have many servants as well as my next-door neighbours.”
“Um… ‘Neighbours’?” Ratatouille glanced out a small window to the endless moor.
“They’re… a few miles apart…” Baker frowned. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re both exhausted from the journey. Let Edmund show you to your rooms. He has already moved your luggage there.” Henry glanced behind him to see Edmund, standing there, unwavering. “I will see you both at dinner in a half an hour. I’m sorry you have to eat so late.”
“It’s fine.” Henry said, starting to follow Ratatouille and Edmund out the door. “Thank you for your hospitality, old friend.”
The three men made their way up one flight of creaky old stairs. There were only two other levels to the house besides the first and second- the attic and the basement. Neither of which were used as living space.
“Your room, Mr. Ratatouille.” Edmund motioned towards the door of an old bedroom.
“Thank you, Edmund.” Ratatouille pushed the door pen. “Be seeing you at dinner, Henry.” He closed the door behind him. Edmund stepped a few doors down and stopped in front of a similar door.
“These are your quarters,” he said, pointing to the door. “Do not enter any other rooms besides your own. Do not enter any hallways besides those to and from the main part of the house. Make sure your friend hears these instructions as well.”
“Yes… I will. Thank you.” Henry opened the door to the smell of mildew and dust. He switched the light on to see that parts of the room were rotting away. He turned to mention it to Edmund, but he had gone. “…Strange…” Henry thought to himself.
~*~
At eight thirty, Ratatouille and Henry both made their way to the dining hall. Henry came a little later, and found Ratatouille chatting with Mr. Baker and another woman when he got there.
“Good evening, Henry.” Ratatouille said rather cheerfully (a creepy Ratatouille sort of cheerful) as he entered. Mr. Baker was sitting in an old wheelchair, holding a glass of wine.
“Henry, old friend, this is my granddaughter, Alice. Alice, my old friend, Henry.” Baker said as Henry drew near. “She lives here with me. “ Henry shook hands with her.
Alice was, like her grandfather, very pale and had thin blonde hair about shoulder length. She looked like she was in her late teens or early twenties, but very small for her age. She smiled nervously.
“Well, now that we’re all here, we might as well eat.” Baker said. Edmund pushed his wheelchair along to the head of the large dining table. “And we shall discuss why I called you both here.” Ratatouille took the seat to Baker’s right and Henry to his left. Alice sat down about five chairs away from everyone.
“Don’t mind her- she’s always like that.” Baker said, nodding at the girl, who was quietly looking down at her plate. “She’s rather antisocial, you see. I keep telling her that she would be much happier moving out to the city where there are people… but she insists on living out here… Poor girl. It’s probably because of her mother.”
“Her mother?” Ratatouille asked. Just then, the kitchen door swung open and an apron-clad woman came out, carrying dishes of food.
“Here you go.” she said, setting the food in the middle of the area everyone was eating at. After she set the food down she stepped closer to Alice. “Going to eat later, dear?” Alice nodded without looking up. “A’right. If you say so…” The woman walked back into the kitchen.
“So… what were you saying?” Ratatouille asked Baker. The old man took a small amount of food, as did Henry.
“Are you going to eat?” Baker asked, looking at Ratatouille’s bare plate.
“No… Thank you.” Ratatouille said, playing with his cutlery. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Very well.” Baker chewed a bite full of food and swallowed. “You asked about Alice’s mother, did you not?” Alice glanced over, keeping her head down.
“I did.” Ratatouille said, Meeting Alice’s stare. “But perhaps we shouldn’t…?”
“No, no, I don’t think she minds.” Mr. Baker looked at his granddaughter, who had returned to staring at her plate. “Anyway, her mother was my daughter, Johanna. She lived here too, once, with her husband. That was about… fifteen years ago? Yes, that sounds right. Alice was six.” He poured some more wine into his glass.
“You see,” Baker said, taking a sip. “One night, Johanna’s husband, Charles, got lost on the moor. He wandered around in the dark and gloom, trying to find his way back to the house for hours. Then, he saw the figure of a large dog approach him, its eyes glowing.”
“A ‘Black Dog’ legend, huh?” Ratatouille interrupted, raising his eyebrow. “It’s going to be a Black Dog isn’t it? Sir, I’d rather not be told a ghost story in substitution for factual information.”
“Let me finish.” Baker said calmly. “The dog approached him slowly, like it was going to attack. Charles begged for mercy, since he knew this was a Devil Dog. The dog told him that he could be spared if he promises to send his wife and child out into the moor one night to get lost so that it could take them.
“Out of terror and panic, Charles agreed. The dog disappeared and the fog lifted a little, revealing the house’s location. Charles stumbled home, to a relieved Johanna, who had been worrying about him for hours. He told her what had happened, but assured her that he wouldn’t let the dog take either her or Alice. She believed him.
“For months, everything was fine. Johanna and Alice were forbidden from leaving the house alone at night. Charles was beginning to think the events of that night were all just a dream. But, one night, Johanna went out. Nobody quite figured out what her motives were, but she went outside and wandered into the moor in the middle of the night.
“The next morning, Charles announced that she was gone. We called the police and had a party search the entire moor. A few days later, they found her.”
“…Found her?” Ratatouille asked, grimacing.
“Dead. Autopsy showed that some sort of beast went at her neck- her body was in pretty bad shape, really. It was assumed that her killer was a large canine, probably one of the wild ones that wander the moor. The only funny part was that she wasn’t eaten. You see, wild dogs generally kill for food.” Henry looked over to where Alice was sitting to see that she had gotten up and was leaving the room.
“Anyway,” Baker continued, after watching Alice leave. “Charles was completely stricken with grief and guilt when he heard the news. He told the police about what had happened with the Black Dog. They told him that it was probably a coincidence, but he couldn’t take it. The next day, he disappeared.”
“To where?” Ratatouille asked, leaning on his elbow.
“Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him since.” Charles shook his head sadly. “One theory was that he was so overcome by guilt, that he went into the moor to look for the dog. That he sacrificed himself to make sure Alice wasn’t harmed. Another theory- more widely accepted- is that the Bastard fled to Sealite. He ran away to start a new life somewhere.”
“Interesting…” Ratatouille said, thinking it over. “If that really is true, then it’s quite the interesting case.”
“It is indeed.” Baker sipped his wine. “I want you to try and solve it. Every puzzle has an answer, and this one is no exception. And I’ve so heard that you only take cases that you find interesting?”
“You’ve heard the truth… But what good will it do for you if I solve it?” Ratatouille said, leaning his chin on his hand. Baker stared down at his glass, pensive.
“I want to know,” he said, looking Ratatouille square in the eye. “And I’m sure Alice wants to know too.”
“I’ll see what I can make of it.” Ratatouille stood up. “You have my word.”
“Very well.” Baker set his wine glass down on the table as Edmund came to take his wheelchair. “Would either of you like to smoke in the other room with me? I have only the highest quality cigars imported from the smoky city of Sunfish.”
“Um… No, thank you.” Ratatouille said politely. “As… Lovely as that sounds, I must retire to my room now. But, Henry here would love to smoke fishy cigars with you!” He quickly made an exit, leaving Henry with Baker. Henry had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he forgot to tell Ratatouille something.
Ratatouille made his way up to his bedroom and quarters, where he spent an hour or so reading some books that had been left in the room- seemingly for ages. He read a book about some of the local superstitions, including the Black Dog legends, as well as skimming a few others, such as one about insects that eat peoples’ brains.
At about midnight, he went to bed. Or, he at least tried to. He was disturbed by a sound coming from down the hall. It sounded like some sort of moaning or crying, but he couldn’t make it out exactly. Intrigued, he grabbed a lantern and headed out, still in his nightgown.
Outside his door, the sound was much clearer. It sounded like it was either a woman or a child sobbing uncontrollably. It was coming from further down the hall than he had been before. Carefully, he made his way along the corridor, the crying growing louder and louder. He wondered what was down this way- it didn’t seem like it was used as living space.
The sobbing was close-by now. The source must have been right around the corner. Ratatouille could hear it wailing pitifully. He was cautious to turn the corner, afraid of what he might find. He took a deep breath and started to step.
“Who’s there!?” an angry whisper said, from the darkness next to him. Ratatouille quickly whipped the lantern around so that it shone on the speaker, who turned out to be Edmund. The sobbing stopped, as if its source were listening. “What are you doing here? I warned you to keep to your rooms!”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Ratatouille said, his heart starting up again. “I didn’t know- I mean… I heard someone crying over here…?”
“Get back to your quarters.” Edmund snapped. “Whatever you heard is gone now, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“Go.” Ratatouille obeyed. He only glanced back once, to see that Edmund had vanished. As he neared his room, the sobbing started up again.
“I could always wear earplugs, I suppose.” he said under his breath as he let himself in.
~*~
The next morning, Ratatouille woke to the cawing of a crow outside his window.
“Shut up.” he said angrily, throwing a pillow at it. The crow flew away, but now Ratatouille was without his pillow. “Now what?” he said to himself. He lay there collecting his various thoughts (and there really were a lot of them) for a couple minutes before he sat up.
It was just as gloomy and wet as it had been the night before. Thick rain clouds hung in the air, waiting for the perfect moment to release even more rain unto the damp moor. Ratatouille picked up his pocket watch from his bedside table. Nine twelve. A little on the early side, compared to the absurdly late hours he usually woke at.
After washing up and getting dressed (and doing his hair for almost forty-five minutes), Ratatouille headed out of his room and knocked on Henry’s door.
“Henry? It’s me,” he said after knocking twice. “You there?”
“Yes, come in.” Henry called. “The door isn’t locked.” Ratatouille entered to find Henry sitting at a small writing desk covered in books, one of which he was reading.
“How did it go last night, Henry?” Ratatouille asked, taking a dusty seat across from the desk. “Dull and smoky, I presume. I would have joined you, but you know how I can’t tolerate the smell.”
“Yes…” Henry said, dog-earing his book. “Sir, do you think that story was at all true?”
“The one about the dog?” Ratatouille picked at his chair’s ancient fabric with his fingernail. “I doubt it has much credibility. There is no proof that Mr. Charles wasn’t just making all that nonsense up. Not to mention Mr. Stanley.”
“You think he would?” Henry asked, as if he had been thinking about it as well. “I mean… why would he?”
“I don’t know…” Ratatouille said, focusing on the chair fabric. “But he is the most suspicious character we’ve encountered so far- Wait… That reminds me…” He looked up at Henry.
“Yes, sir?” Henry asked, listening intently.
“Last night… at about… a little after midnight, I’d say- I heard a person crying from down the hall. It sounded like it was a woman’s voice, but it could have been a boy as well, I suppose. Anyhow, I got out of bed and wandered down the hall. I’m certain that the person crying was just beyond that right-hand turn all the way at the end of the corridor.”
“You didn’t get that far, sir?” Henry looked worried (as usual).
“No. I was right there, about to round the corner when that creepy butler, Edmund, stopped me. First he reprimanded me for wandering around the estate, then he shooed me away from the sobbing… er… the sobbing corner.”
“Oh… I forgot to tell you that he warned me to… Oh, sorry…” Henry trailed off.
“Well, I’m not too keen on running into Mr. Spooky again under those conditions, so I’ll ask Mr. Baker about what’s over there later.” Ratatouille stood up. “Come on, Henry. I’ve decided that it could be useful to meet the other inhabitants of this moor… thing. We’re to visit the home of a Dr. Morris to gather information. Last night before dinner, Baker told me of him, as well as some other odd fellows living out here.”
“Yes, sir.” Henry stood up and grabbed his old blue coat and top hat. They walked downstairs to the foyer, greeted by Edmund.
“Good day, Edmund.” Ratatouille said, in his usual mock-cheerful tone. “We’ll be going out now. Is Mr. Baker up?”
“Mr. Baker is not yet awake. I will inform him of your momentary departure if need be.” Edmund said, staring Ratatouille down.
“Well… Alrighty, then.” Ratatouille said, walking past Edmund to the front doors. “We will return by sundown. Unless we get lost and run into a hellish hound that tries to buy our souls. Aha. Ahahaha.” Edmund’s expression didn’t change. “Ahem…”
Ratatouille and Henry left the building to find the carriage from the other day waiting for them. The driver was the same one, a bearded man with a dark coat. The horse had been exchanged, though, to a smaller one.
“Mornin’.” the driver said, fastening the horse’s harness. “Ye want to head out towards the Morris place, aye?”
“Yes.” Ratatouille said, opening the carriage door. “Will you be taking us all the way there?”
“Nay.” the driver climbed up and took the reins. “A way in, the moor starts to get too wet to travel by vehicle. That’s where I leave ya to walk the rest of the way. It’s not far and th’ fog isn’t thick enough to get lost.”
“Very well.” Ratatouille climbed into the carriage, followed by Henry. The car headed past the front gates and on to the expansive moor. The fog had lifted a little, revealing a thick swamp a ways from Baker Estate.
After about ten minutes, the cab stopped. Ratatouille could see a small house in the distance.
He watched as the two got out and stepped into the mud. “Mind you don’t stand still to long. Yer shoes start to sink and ya get stuck. And this isn’t even the bad part.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ratatouille said, pulling up his pant legs in vain attempt to keep them clean and dry. “You will be waiting here when we return?”
“Aye.” the driver said, nodding. Ratatouille and Henry headed out further into the moor. Upon each step, their feet would sink at least to their ankles. Upon each step, Ratatouille cringed a little.
As they made their way across, the carriage started to wane from view.
“The fog must be getting thicker…” Ratatouille said, half to himself. Soon, they reached the house, an old place covered in moss. Ratatouille knocked on the door.
“Coming!” a voice called from inside. A woman with messy light brown hair opened the door. “Oh, hello there. May I help you?”
“We are friends of Mr. Stanley Baker,” Ratatouille said “and he hired us to solve a case for him. We’re looking for as much information on the moor as possible.”
“Ahhh…” the woman nodded knowingly. “The old Hound of Baker Estate story, right?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, the both of you can come on in. My brother, Eric, will be down in a moment. He knows some things about the moor that could be of use.” She stepped aside, letting Ratatouille and Henry enter. “I’m Christine.”
“James.” Ratatouille said, kicking some mud off his shoes. “This is Henry.” They both walked into the small house’s kitchen, which was cluttered with dishes and jars, as well as books and papers. “You are Dr. Morris’ sister, then, I take it?”
“Yes. We have been living out here since we were children. He went to live abroad for a few years, but returned to the moor.” Christine piled a few loose papers that were sitting on the table. “Myself, I just couldn’t bear to leave this place. Funny as it sounds… I love it here. The swamp, the mist, the mud and rain and cold… It’s an acquired taste, I suppose.”
“Hm.” While she had been talking, Ratatouille’s eyes wandered about the room. The books lying about were all on supernatural science. Some looked centuries old, while others only decades. “What kind of ‘research’ does Dr. Morris do?”
“He’s…” Christine stared into space for a moment, searching for words. “He’s very into ghosts and demons. He originally studied Entomology, but…”
“Is someone here, Christine?” a man’s voice boomed from upstairs.
“Yes, Eric.” Christine yelled back up. “Friends of Mr. Baker. They’re here to gather information. Trying to solve the Hound case.” Stairs creaked and heavy footsteps were heard from upstairs. Soon, a short man with a little mustache came down, carrying a couple books.
“Oh! Welcome! I’m Dr. Eric Morris,” he said cheerfully, shaking both of them by the hand.
“This is James and Henry.” Christine said, continuing to pile books and papers in attempt to make the kitchen look presentable.
“Well met.” Ratatouille said, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Would either of you like some tea?” Dr. Morris set his books down on a countertop that Christine had just cleared. “It’s a little early, I suppose… I also have coffee, but it’s rather stale and some moths have laid eggs in it, but-”
“No… Thank you.” Ratatouille said, as politely as Ratatouille could. “I was actually curious about your line of work…”
“Well…” Morris sat down at the table, and motioned for Ratatouille and Henry to take a seat as well. They both sat down, Ratatouille dusting his seat off first. “I’ve recently gotten very into… supernatural sciences.”
“Ghosts.” Ratatouille raised an eyebrow.
“Yes… Things of that sort.” Dr. Morris looked slightly uncomfortable about the subject.
“What do you know about this alleged ‘Ghost Hound’?” Ratatouille asked frankly. “I assume you know the one.”
“I do…” Morris said, staring at the table. “I’ve seen a large dog moving about in the mist. I’ve heard its hellish howl in the middle of the night. I’ve found canine footprints bigger than I ever thought a dog could get.”
“So you believe that story?” Ratatouille sighed.
“I have doubts about it.” Morris still didn’t look Ratatouille in the eye, and continued to stare at the table. “For instance, I’ve never heard tell of a Black Dog speaking to a human, let alone confronting one on such terms.”
“So these creatures act as normal hounds, hmm?”
“No… They’re smart. And they’re manipulative. But I just can’t see one letting a victim go like that. They would simply go in for the kill.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I’ve read books… and heard stories from primary sources. I tried taking a moving picture of the beast, but it wouldn’t be captured.”
“I see.” Ratatouille stared at the doctor, who didn’t meet his gaze. “Is there anything else about the story that you find inconsistent?”
“Well…” Dr. Morris finally looked Ratatouille in the eyes, almost as if by mistake. Something about Ratatouille made him nervous, and he didn’t know why. “Well… I would think that if Mr. Charles… Damien, was it? Yes… I think if he was really wandering about the moor like that… he… No… Never mind.”
“What?” Ratatouille’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“It’s… It’s nothing.” Dr. Morris said quickly, standing up. “That’s all I know.” Ratatouille stood up slowly, without taking his eyes off Morris.
“Well, thank you for your time…” Henry said, when he realised that Ratatouille was busy having a one-sided staring contest with the doctor. They both headed for the door.
“Good luck with your case.” Christine said, following behind. Her brother had retreated back upstairs.
“Thank you.” Henry said, smiling. “Please excuse Mr. Ratatouille… He has… moments…” Ratatouille’s eyes were narrow and his face was twisted into a suspicious look.
“Oh, it’s fine.” Christine said jovially. “Eric gets the same way.” Ratatouille and Henry stepped outside while she stood at the doorway. “Take care, now. Especially out on the moor.” They waved goodbye and started for the carriage, which was now visible again through the fog.
“You just had to do that.” Henry whimpered, looking up at Ratatouille pathetically.
“Do what?” Ratatouille tried to act genuinely surprised. He had returned to his usual calm expression.
~*~
As they let themselves into Baker Estate, Ratatouille and Henry heard a high-pitched scream from somewhere upstairs.
“Holy crepes…” Henry exclaimed. “Wh-What was that!?”
“Oh damn it.” Ratatouille sighed. “Not again.” The both jolted up the stairs to the main hallway.
“Hello?” Henry called out meekly. “Anyone there?” There was no reply.
“You check out the West wing, Henry, and I’ll check the East.” Ratatouille said in a sort of way that suggests that this is a routine procedure.
“But… what if there’s something dangerous?” Henry said, grabbing Ratatouille’s sleeve. “There’s power in numbers, sir!”
“You’ll manage, Henry.” Ratatouille said, shaking the little man off him. The two parted ways. Henry knocked on and opened each of the doors he passed. Each one opened into an empty room covered in dust and cobwebs.
A ways down the hallway, Henry pushed open a door that looked like it had actually been used in the past century- it was halfway opened already. He gasped and whimpered a little to himself as he saw what was inside.
“Mr… Mr. Ratatouille!” he shrieked. “I-I found… I found something!” The room he entered seemed to be a study. And a well-used one it seemed. On the floor was Alice, who had collapsed into an unconscious heap. But more disturbing was a dead Mr. Baker, stabbed in the chest with a knife. His body was leaning back in its wheelchair, which was parked at a desk.
“Oh my.” Henry heard Ratatouille’s voice behind him. Ratatouille stepped into the room casually and looked the scene over. He appeared slightly amused. “It looks like things have gotten rather interesting, haven’t they?”
“Mr. Baker’s dead!” Henry exclaimed, shaken. “And… Is Alice…?” Ratatouille knelt beside the unconscious girl and checked her pulse.
“No. Just out cold.” he said. “We should probably revive the little lady before checking on Mr. Baker- he’s not going anywhere, after all.” Ratatouille chuckled to himself as he stood up and started walking towards the corpse across the way.
“Shouldn’t we call the police? Or an ambulance?” Henry twitched a little. Ratatouille rolled his eyes.
“We should call the police, but there aren’t any emergency services out here.” Ratatouille said, turning his head. “Besides, all we need to wake her up is a bucket of cold water and some heavy liquor.”
“Sir, is that the most medically efficient way…?” Henry started biting his thumbnail.
“No, but it sounds like a hell of a good time, doesn’t it?” Ratatouille said, smiling brightly. Henry just looked at him pathetically. “Okay, fine. Sheesh. I was kidding. Go find Edmund or that cook to help carry her to her room. And wait until she comes to. I’m going to take a look at our lovely host.”
Henry scurried away, and Ratatouille walked over to where the body was. The knife was buried all the way to the handle, and there wasn’t much blood at all around the wound. Mr. Baker was cold as ice, and stiff as well. Ratatouille started examining the area for any interesting clues.
“Huuuunnnhhh?” a voice whimpered from the other side of the room. Ratatouille looked up to see that Alice was waking up. She sat up on her heels, but cringed dramatically when she saw her grandfather’s body.
“Um… how are you feeling?” Ratatouille said awkwardly. He wasn’t very good at being nice to people. Alice lowered her head and buried her face in her hands. “I’ll take that as ‘fine, thanks,’ all right?” She sobbed a little.
“I… saw…” she mumbled through tears. “He… I was…”
“Could you repeat that, love?” Ratatouille said, now genuinely interested in finding a possible eyewitness. He walked over to her and knelt on the floor. “What did you see?”
“I… I… I saw somebody…” Alice said in a small, far away voice. Ratatouille frowned impatiently.
“Yes…?”
“They… they ran away…” she doubled over, sobbing and whimpering.
“Who was it?” Ratatouille was listening intently.
“I saw… They… they-”
“Oh, sweet merciful heavens!” the lady cook from the other night rushed in. She knelt next to Alice and put her arm around her. Henry followed slowly behind. “Poor dear! I hope she didn’t wake up to you looking at her like that, Mr. Ratatouille!”
“Oh, no. Of course not.” Ratatouille said sarcastically, standing up. “She woke to see her grandfather’s body over there. So don’t worry.” Ratatouille’s words made the girl start to sob louder.
“Sir!” the cook snapped angrily. “Don’t you know not to say such things to a lady?”
“My apologies.” Ratatouille said, looking slightly annoyed. “Do you have a telephone?” He wanted to change the subject. “We should probably get the police here.”
“Yes. There’s one downstairs in the sitting room.” the cook sighed.
“Henry, go call the police.” Ratatouille ordered.
“Yes, sir.” Henry sighed as he scrambled downstairs once again. The cook held a sobbing Alice in her arms while Ratatouille returned to looking over the crime scene.
“Shouldn’t you leave that for the police?” she said suspiciously. “They don’t like it when people mess with crime scenes.”
“Relax.” Ratatouille said calmly. “I’m not touching anything. I just want a good once-over before the cops start screwing with it.”
“…Fine.” the lady snapped, stroking Alice’s hair. Ratatouille looked over at them in slight disgust. “My name is Hyde, by the way. Bella Hyde.”
“James Ratatouille… Don’t you think you should take her away from here?” he suggested, leaning his hand on the desk. “Not that I especially care for her well-being. It’s just that sobbing sound is really getting to me.”
“No.” Hyde said, staring daggers at him. “I don’t trust you alone in here.”
“What…? Why on earth not?”
“I just don’t.” she said stubbornly. “Besides, you made Alice cry.”
“I make a lot of people cry, you know.” Ratatouille smiled to himself. “Including Henry… Well, usually Henry.”
~*~
Henry had called the police and they arrived a little over an hour later. They closed off the crime scene, took some evidence, and removed the body. Alice was moved to her bedroom, still in a mildly traumatised state. Ratatouille and Henry hung around outside the study, since Ratatouille was impatient to get in on some of the detective action, and Henry had nobody else to hang out with.
“Sir… Mr. Rat-tah-ooh-lee, was it?” a detective said, moving from the crime scene to where the two were camped out. He was a balding man with thick, dark eyebrows and wore a very worn-looking trench coat.
“That would be Ratatouille, pal.” Ratatouille said. He was sitting cross-legged on the dusty old floor, his chin resting on his folded hands. “The L’s are silent. It’s French.”
“Um. Sorry sir.” the detective said, scratching his bare head. “I’m Detective Jean Watsley. In charge of this case here.”
“Oh, well aren’t you just the bee’s knees.” Ratatouille snapped.
“Uhmmm… Pardon?” Watsley frowned, confused.
“D-Don’t mind him, officer.” Henry said. “He gets… a little edgy when he isn’t allowed on crime scenes.”
“Ah…” the detective said, halfheartedly pretending to understand. “Well, I’ve asked permission from the help here- lovely people, if not a little strange- and I’m going to be staying here in a guest room during the duration of this case. Just down the hall there if the either of you need me.”
“We’ll keep that in mind, Detective.” Ratatouille said, obviously not paying attention. He stood up and stretched. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about when Baker’s autopsy is scheduled, would you? I always find those marvelous fun to attend.”
“Dogwood Morgue.” Watsley murmured as he flipped through some papers tacked to an old clipboard. “Just West of here. Performing the autopsy later tonight.”
“Do you think the doctors would let me and my friend have a look at the body? Like I said, autopsies are marvelous fun.”
“I don’t know…” The detective paused for a moment before looking through papers again. “You could try and ask them for permission.”
“Thank you, Detective.” Ratatouille said, starting down the hall. Henry quickly got up and followed. “Oh, and by the way…”
“Yes?” Watsley looked up from his papers.
“Tell me if you hear anything strange tonight. Y’know? Y’know.”
~*~
Dogwood Mortuary stood at the top of a gloomy hill, its dreary silhouette visible from quite a ways away. It was old and moss-covered, like the other buildings around the moor, and had that over-all pathetic and dismal appearance that is required of such an establishment.
“This one isn’t nearly as nice as the one in Sealite.” Ratatouille criticised. The bearded driver had let them out here.
“But look on the bright side, Sir…” Henry reasoned as they stepped towards the building, “at least they don’t know you here.” Ratatouille, ignoring his friend’s remark, knocked on the building’s front door. It was opened by a doctor that they new all too well.
“Why can’t you people leave me alone!?” the frantic Dr. Vogel cried, shocked and disturbed to see Ratatouille and Henry (especially Ratatouille). Dr. Gregory Vogel was a tall person with a very big, beak-like nose and one large tuft of grey hair on either side of his head. He wore gigantic spectacles that seemed to magnify his beady little eyes.
“Ah!” Ratatouille didn’t know what to think. “So good to see you, Dr. Vogel… What the hell brings you here this fine evening?”
“I… I was going to ask you lot the same question.” The doctor composed himself. “I’m here on business.”
“I can tell you’re lying.” Ratatouille said, looking at Vogel warningly. “I’ve played poker with you. I notice things.”
“Well, actually…” Vogel stammered, “I transferred over here to get away from someone…”
“…Me? What could-”
“So!” Vogel interrupted, clasping his hands. “What can I do for you fine fellows?”
“We are investigating Mr. Stanley Baker’s murder.” Ratatouille pushed Vogel aside and let himself in. “I want to see the body, as to input my own medical opinion-”
“You don’t have a medical opinion.” Vogel waited for Henry to follow Ratatouille in before shutting the door. “James, why can’t you just trust authorities to get things done right? If we needed your help, we would ask you. And we don’t.”
“Well sheesh.” Ratatouille sounded offended. “We’ll just wait here for the report, I suppose.”
“You’re thinking about sneaking in after hours and looking at the body yourself, aren’t you…?”
“Damn!” Ratatouille exclaimed. “You know me too well. You know what that means, right?”
“Yes, yes. You’re going to have to kill me.” Vogel sighed, clearly not amused. “If you promise to keep your comments to yourself, and to not get on anyone’s nerves, you may quietly observe the autopsy.”
“No…” Ratatouille turned on heel and headed for the door. “That doesn’t sound like fun. I’d rather just get the report through that Watsley fellow.”
“Fun?” Vogel asked in disbelief. “Is that why you pursue crimes like this? You find it fun?”
“Well, duh. You didn’t think it was because I wanted to help people or something silly like that, did you? I take cases that seem interesting to me. I’m a hobbyist. It’s fun.”
“You’re truly a terrible person.” Vogel commented. “But I already knew that. And you did too.”
“I get told quite often, actually…” Ratatouille looked like he had remembered something and turned back around. “Vogel, would it be possible to let us see some past autopsy reports? I have one in particular that I would like to read.”
“Possible, yes.” Vogel eyed Ratatouille suspiciously. “…Why?”
“It’s a terribly long explanation, but I need to see the report of Johanna… Damien I think was her married name. She died fifteen years ago. It was an unsolved case. Would its file still be around?”
“Well, we do keep unsolved case files in the back… It could be back there… I have work to do, so I give you my permission to look into those files. If anything goes ‘missing’ I’ll know it was you who took it.”
“Obviously.” Ratatouille retorted. Vogel sighed and went through a door, leaving Ratatouille and Henry alone. They went through the door at the back of the lobby, which led into a room filled with filing cabinets. “First, let’s find the ‘unsolved cases’ file. Places like these usually keep a file like that somewhere… Aha! Here it is.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking…” Henry said meekly, “What are you hoping to find out from that autopsy report?”
“Anything.” Ratatouille said, pulling open a rusty drawer. “Since it doesn’t look like they need me for the murder case, or at least not yet, we might as well get the Ghost Pooch thing out of the way. All we need to pull apart Charles’ little story at the seams is any one hole… We’ll start with that and- Ah! Johanna Damien! Here’s her report!” Ratatouille took out a file. He opened it up and scanned over the papers and photographs, squinting in the dim light. Then he scanned over it again
“A penny for your thoughts, Sir?” Henry asked, trying to see the file.
“It’s interesting…” Ratatouille said, half to himself. “This autopsy shows that she died just a few hours- a day at the most- before her body was recovered. That begs the question; ‘what was she doing in that three-day period between when she went missing and when she died?’”
“She could have just been wandering about the moor…?”
“It’s possible, but unlikely. The dogs around here are known for attacking and eating anyone that they think they could take on alone. A lost young woman could easily be doggie chow. That means that she was safe for one reason or another for three days before being killed by a wild beast. Also, it wasn’t noted that she had been suffering from any starvation at the time of her death, so she had eaten something…”
“Why were points as obvious as these missed by the police?” Henry asked. “It’s almost as if…”
“As if the police didn’t try to solve this? Maybe. It’s possible that Charles Baker was responsible, and paid the police off to keep out of it. He had access to all of that money, after all.”
“Anything else of interest in the report?”
“A lot, actually.” Ratatouille said. “Which is why we’re taking it. Amidst all of the obvious contradictions here, there’s bound to be something that a normal person would miss.”
“That’s against the law, Sir…”
“Since when have I obeyed the law?” Ratatouille put the file in his jacket. “Now let’s get out of here.”
~*~
The next morning, Baker’s autopsy report had gotten to Watsley, as well as a forensics report from the police. So, naturally, Ratatouille had come to chat with the detective himself.
“I guess you can have a copy of these…” Watsley said, scratching his head. “But I don’t know if we need any help…”
“Maybe so.” Ratatouille snatched the files from Watsley’s hands. “How have you been doing without me?”
“Well,” Watsley began, “there weren’t any fingerprints found… The witness- Ms. Alice- said she remembered someone else being in the room, but didn’t remember anything about them, for she had blacked out as soon as she saw the body… And the time of death was about 12:00, so less than an hour before you heard Alice scream and pass out…”
“Who are the suspects?”
“The butler, as well as any other servant present at that time.” Watsley paused. “And the two of you.”
“You can ask Dr. Morris about our alibi. We were at his house across the moor.”
“I’ll look into that…”
“You know,” Ratatouille reasoned, “if you were to ask for my help, I could probably solve this little murder case for you in a heartbeat.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Watsley wasn’t in the mood to deal with adamant civilians. “I’ll let you know if the police change their mind…”
“WELL FINE.” Ratatouille stated persistently. “Come on, Henry, let’s look over OUR OWN CASE that we were REQUESTED TO SOLVE.” He took the little man’s arm and dragged him down the hall to his own suite. Ratatouille closed the door and released Henry from his tight grip. Then he walked to a table covered in papers, most of which were from Johanna’s autopsy.
“Mr. Ratatouille, Sir…” Henry picked up some papers and looked at them. “Have you analyzed these?”
“Well… sort of.” Ratatouille admitted, shrugging. “We can’t use forensics with this case, since all the physical evidence is gone. All I have to work with is the somewhat-vague autopsy report and any related papers I found. That makes it much harder for me. You know how I enjoy forensics.”
“Yes you do, Sir.”
“So anyway… My theory is that Ms. Johanna was kidnapped and held captive somewhere. Then, she escaped, but couldn’t find her way on the moor. Then a dog attacked her… The end.”
“That would be the obvious assumption, Sir…”
“I still would like to know why the dog didn’t eat her…” Ratatouille started pacing across the room. “It’s almost as if it was a planned attack. As if someone had a trained dog attack her…” He continued to pace. “The autopsy showed that the beast responsible simply went at her neck and left the rest of her virtually unscarred. That’s something attack dogs are trained to do, right? You’re the dog person between us.”
“So you’re saying that her captor went after her with his dog?” Henry tried to shrug off the “dog person” comment. “And you have no idea what the conditions of the kidnapping are, do you?”
“Hm.” Ratatouille made a beeline to the papers on the table. He took out a map of the entire moor that he had found. Every known location on the moor had been marked in pen. Ratatouille picked up a quill and drew an X. “That’s where the body was found. If she was being pursued, she could only run so far before being caught. Assuming that she was under the influence of quite a bit of adrenaline, she probably would have given out at… about this distance.” He circled the area around the X with a compass. “That’s considering her build and weight and all that crap, so it’s quite accurate.”
“What if the dog caught up to her first?”
“If the dog had caught her, there would be more of a sign of struggle. But, it’s just one attack to the throat. She must have been out of energy and unable to get away when the dog came after her.”
“But-”
“I said she MUST HAVE BEEN OUT OF ENERGY.” Ratatouille said aggressively.
“Uh- Right, Sir.”
“So, assuming I’m right- and I’m always right- the area where she was imprisoned should be around this circle I drew.”
“Assuming you’re right,” Henry began, looking up at Ratatouille suspiciously, “it looks like it was Mr. and Ms. Morris’ house that she was held captive in…” Stupidly, yet characteristically unable to admit his own stupidity, Ratatouille looked back at the map.
“Well… Yeah, basically.”
“Have you considered the fact that she may have taken a route that wasn’t completely straight?”
“If the direction that she was running in was away from Morris’ house, it would also be heading farther away from the Manor. If she was indeed running in that direction, she must not have known her way, so it would be foolish if she went anywhere but as far from the captor’s house as possible. Savvy?”
“Uh… Savvy, Sir.”
“The Morris’s said that they have lived on the moor since they were children, so it must have been them or their family occupying that house at the time… I’ll go look into this Morris family. Henry, I want you to find out anything the servants know. Particularly Edmund.”
“Why Edmund?”
“He’s creepy.” Ratatouille winced. Suddenly, there was an aggressive knock on the door. “Yes? Come in.” A maid walked in.
“You have a telegraph,” she said, handing him a note that had TT&T (Tathian Telephone and Telegraph) printed at the top.
“Thanks, Love.” He snatched the telegraph and read it to himself. He frowned as his eyes scanned the message. “Oh dear…”
“What is it, Sir?” Henry asked, trying to look at the paper.
“Oh… Nothing…” Ratatouille said, stuffing the note into his pocket. “Um, let’s start that investigation, shall we?” Henry looked at him skeptically, but agreed.
Ratatouille headed out to the moor, leaving Henry to question the estate’s residents. Henry first decided to interrogate Mrs. Hyde, who was in the kitchen.
“Yeah, I remember.” Hyde said, scrubbing a steel pot in the sink. “I was about twenty at the time. Just started working here.”
“I’d like to hear everything that you know.” Henry requested.
“Well,” Hyde began, “I remember the night that Mr. Damien supposedly encountered the beast. Mrs. Damien was terribly worried, and kept watching for him out the window. He had supposedly gone out to take a walk on the moor, as he often did, and to visit a friend’s house.”
“What friend was this?” Henry’s eyebrows perked.
“A man… whose name I can’t remember right now…” Hyde stopped scrubbing to think. “He was a lawyer who lived on the moor’s edge. Right near Gherkin Mire…”
“Gherkin Mire?”
“A little swamp on the edge of the moor. Directly east of here.” Hyde said. Henry took Ratatouille’s map of the moor out of his pocket and unfolded it. Gherkin Mire was indeed marked there, in small print. Henry jotted down a note there that said “Lawyer’s House”.
“Thank you…” Henry looked up from the map. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“Of course.” Hyde wiped the pot dry. “Mr. Damien left for that house a little after breakfast. It takes about an hour to get there by foot, and another hour to get back. He was expected back at the house a little after noon, and by dinner, Mrs. Damien began to worry.”
“When did he return?”
“Not before midnight, I reckon. When he came back, he was pale as a sheet and thoroughly spooked. And the next few nights I could have sworn I heard the howl of a supernatural hound. But I suppose it could have been a wild dog too…”
“Do you remember anything the night Johanna disappeared?”
“Yes, actually. She seemed unusually quiet at dinner that night, I remember. Like she was thinking something over.”
“Hm.” Henry didn’t quite know what to make of this new information. He continued his investigation throughout the house, even taking it upon himself to search an old room that was used as Johanna’s sitting room years ago. There, he found several possible clues.
By far the most striking clue was a letter addressed to Johanna telling her to meet the writer of the note outside the house on the night she vanished. It was signed by an M.M., and was followed by a post-script stating, “You know it’s in your best interest to comply.”
Another piece of evidence uncovered was a small tin filled with a salt-like substance, and yet another was a balled-up letter Johanna had started a few days before she disappeared. It looked like it was to a pen pal of hers, since it was addressed to Cecilia Morgan in Sealite Port. The letter was just friendly and chatty, with nothing particularly strange about it:
Dear Cecilia,
I have been doing well the past few weeks, and I’m so glad you
wrote to me. It would be lovely for us to maybe get together to have
tea sometime. But I know how rough the trip over here is. It’s hard to
get a cab most days. Alice is still painfully sweet; she always likes to help
out Ms. Hyde with the cooking. And when I’m sewing, she tells me
she would like to learn too. Anyway, there isn’t anything going on right
now. Charles came back from his trip- oh, how I hate when he goes away!
It gets so lonely. But at least I have Alice.
The letter wasn’t finished. Henry found the letter sort of awkward, but couldn’t think much of it. He continued to investigate at the house, and found out some useful things. All he had to do now was report back to Ratatouille and she what he made of it all.
~*~
“He’s just gone?” Henry asked in disbelief.
“I don’t understand it neither,” the cab driver said. They were all standing in the house’s foyer. “I watched ‘im walk over to the Morris house, an’ disappear from view in th’ fog. I asked the Morrises though, an’ they never saw ‘im. They said ‘e never showed up. ‘E’s just gone…”
“I’ll call the police if he doesn’t turn up by tomorrow.” Edmund offered. “Though, finding missing people on the moor can be next to impossible.”
“Oh dear…” Henry was shaking from nervousness.
~*~
That night, Henry couldn’t sleep at all, so he was alert to every noise in the house. At a very late hour, he heard the creak of someone walking down the hall, and saw the light of a candle shine past his door. Out of intense curiosity, Henry decided to get up and try to follow the person.
Peeking from behind his door, Henry saw a man round the corner to his right, and open some sort of door. Henry waited a few minutes, and then followed with his lantern. Around the corner, there was a sort of alcove. There weren’t any doors to be seen. Henry examined the wall closely, and felt that one of the walls was thin and loose. He pulled it away to reveal that it was only a facade, covering a door behind it.
“What would Ratatouille do?” Henry asked himself. Then, he slowly turned the doorknob and opened up the door. It opened to a dark staircase, which Henry reluctantly ascended. At the top, it was dark, except for one candle, which a man was holding to the window.
“Huh!?” the man gasped, turning towards Henry. In the light of Henry’s lantern, the man was revealed to be Edmund “What are you doing here!? Did you follow me!?”
“Wh-what are you doing?” Henry asked nervously. But he tried to be assertive. “N-not that I think it’s il-illegal or anything…”
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” Edmund whispered, “as long as you swear not to tell a soul.”
“Um, okay…” Henry wouldn’t have tattled anyway.
“Have you heard about the escaped convict named Harold Seldon?”
“Yes… I have…” Henry recalled a newspaper article Ratatouille was reading.
“He is my cousin.” Edmund looked out the window. “He’s been hiding out on the moor, and at night I let him come into the house to get food and clothing.”
“Is that what the candle is for?” Henry asked. He didn’t like the idea of a convict sneaking around the moor, but wasn’t going to say anything.
“Yes. I put up this candle to the window at night after everyone is asleep. When he sees it, he knows that it’s safe to come in.” There was a faint noise from one floor down. It sounded like someone was coming out of Ratatouille’s room. Hoping that it was Ratatouille, Henry clambered down the steps and jogged into the hallway.
“Mr. Ratatouille?” Henry whispered, shining his light in the general direction of Ratatouille’s door. Alas, it wasn’t Ratatouille, but a tall, raggedy man who looked a lot like Edmund. He was clutching a handful of clothes, and his eyes grew wide in fear when he saw Henry.
“It’s okay, Harold.” Edmund said from behind Henry. “This man won’t expose your cover. Now hurry out of here.” Seldon nodded several times and then jolted down the hallway and out of sight.
~*~
Another day passed with still no leads on where Ratatouille had gone. The police were on the case early the next morning, and started scanning parts of the moor for any clues. Another mystery to be solved, it seemed to Henry. The poor little man spent the day questioning servants and collected a couple of useful tidbits. He also talked to Watsley, who still didn’t need Ratatouille’s help solving Stanley Baker’s murder case. Which was probably for the best, considering Ratatouille was missing.
The day after that, Henry decided to talk to the Morrises again. In the late evening, he had the cab driver take him to the Morris residence. It was gloomy and foggy again. And wet. There’s nothing much more to say about the moor. But yeah, they traveled over it. After about six minutes, the cab halted.
“What th’ bloody-… What is that?” the cab driver said. Henry looked out of the cab window to see what looked like a mangled body lying facedown a ways away from where they were. It was buried in the thick fog, so it wouldn’t have been noticeable, if it weren’t for the massive canine figure that loomed over it. It was hellish, to say the least. It glowed an almost green colour in the dim light. Its muzzle was dripping blood in a sinister way. The dog looked at the carriage for a moment, and then ran off, leaving the body.
“What could that have been?” Henry asked the driver, starting to get out of the cab. “And who is that person lying there?” Then his stomach turned inside out as he walked over to the body and recognised the jacket. It was Ratatouille’s jacket.
“That’s not…” The cab driver hurried over as well. “…Is it?”
“Ohhhh…” Henry gasped miserably. “It can’t be! Mr. Ratatouille…”
“Are you kidding?” a voice called from near the carriage. The figure standing there appeared through the fog and shook his head sadly.
“Mr. Ratatouille!” Henry exclaimed, recognising his friend. But for reals this time.
“First of all,” Ratatouille began, stepping over to the body, “my hair is much tidier than this man’s. Even if I was lost on the moor for three days, I’m sure I would have kept my hair tidy. Besides, this fellow here is more of a summer. I am quite obviously a spring.”
“Oh Ratatouille…” Henry smiled widely.
“Furthermore,” Ratatouille kicked the man’s head to the side, exposing his face. “Look at this ugly mug. I’m pretty. He’s not.” Henry recognised the face as Harold Seldon. “Holy cow, Henry… Is that Edmund?” Ratatouille asked, doing a double take.
“No, Sir.” Henry said. “It’s his cousin. This… This is Harold Seldon… Do you remember him from the paper?”
“What’s he doing in my clothes, though, may I ask?” Ratatouille still seemed confused.
“Oh… about that-”
“Excuse me!” the cab driver interrupted. “We should call th’ police shouldn’t we?”
“Ah yes-“ Ratatouille said. “We should probably do that. But we also need to question Mr. Morris and his sister. Do you think we could call from their house?”
“I suppose.” the driver said. “Get in the cab, botha’ you.”
“Ratatouille, where were you all this time?” Henry asked as they climbed into the carriage.
“Frankly, I was in Sealite.” They both took their seats and closed the cab door. “I had some business to take care of. Secret, unrelated business that I don’t think you, nor anyone else should know about. Capice, Henry?”
“Ah, yes, Sir.” Henry nodded. Secret business was something Ratatouille specialised in.
“Anyway,” Ratatouille continued, “I found out some interesting bits of information about those Morrises from some old people who live around here. Apparently, Mr. Melvin Morris lived there fifteen years ago, with his wife and two children. The elder one was Eric, and he was in his late teens at the time. The old people didn’t remember much about the daughter, but that’s probably because they’re old.”
“Uh, probably.”
“So Mr. Morris Senior is a suspect. And a pretty good one, considering his house is where Johanna seems to have been held hostage.”
“Yes, Sir, he is.” Henry agreed. The cab driver stopped near the house so that they could walk over the swampiest bits. Ratatouille knocked at the door. Christine opened it, and looked a little scared.
“Hello,” Ratatouille tried to sound friendly, “can we speak with-“
“No…” Christine spoke quietly and shook her head. “You both need to leave. You need to leave the moor. If you stay- You can’t stay.”
“Why?” Ratatouille frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Please…” Christine begged, “Just… Leave, please…” She looked tearful and closed the door quickly.
“What do you make of that…?” Ratatouille asked Henry slowly, puzzled.
“I… I don’t know Sir.” Henry replied. They both went back to the carriage and left for the Baker Estate.
~*~
At the house, Ratatouille was greeted with much relief, (though not nearly as much as Henry’s). He reported the dead man and the glowing dog to Detective Watsley, and then dragged Henry to his room so they could gossip. Well, talk about the case but I get tired of writing like serious business sometimes.
“What else did you find?” Ratatouille asked, looking through Henry’s collected items. He picked up the letters found in Johanna’s room and read them both. “M.M. could easily be Melvin Morris. In fact, it probably is.” Ratatouille commented about the first letter. Then he looked at the second one.
“Oh, that one was crumpled up in a ball on the floor.” Henry said. “I didn’t know if it was important or not.”
“It’s a very strange letter.” Ratatouille looked interested. “It just sounds so odd… doesn’t it?”
“I suppose it does.” Henry agreed.
“Yes…” Ratatouille read it over several times. “Ah-HA! Look at that. Read the last word in every line. It says ‘You have to help me right away!’ She isn’t a pro at writing a coded message, obviously. She probably figured that out halfway through and stopped writing the letter.”
“I doubt that’s why she stopped writing it.” Henry said.
“Whatever.” Ratatouille looked at the name ‘Cecelia’. “Did you find out who this Cecilia is, Henry?”
“She was Johanna’s only sister. She died about four years ago.”
“Damn, she could have been a witness…” Ratatouille picked up the tin filled with powder and opened it. “This was in her room too?” He took a pinch in his fingers and looked at it. Then sniffed the tin.
“Yes. In her desk drawer.”
“This is… Potassium cyanide?” Ratatouille frowned. “Why would she have this? Very sketchy.”
“Isn’t that very poisonous, Sir?”
“Yes. Which is why I wonder what Miss Johanna was doing with it.”
“Sir, what do you make of that glowing hound?” Henry was reminded of the subject. “And why did it kill the convict, Seldon?”
“Well, the glowing is indeed mysterious, but I have a hunch about why it attacked Seldon.” Ratatouille closed the tin. “He was wearing my clothes, was he not?”
“Oh… Um, yes, he was…”
“Remember how my boot went missing from the hotel we stayed at? Right before we came here? And it was a really old, well-worn boot too.”
“Yes, you weren’t happy about that.”
“I think somebody wants me dead. Somebody with a dog. A glowing one.”
“Oh!” Henry realised what Ratatouille was getting at.
“Yes. And I think they have to do with the case fifteen years ago.” Ratatouille leaned back in his chair. “This person heard that I was going to try and solve said case, which for one reason or another would have been bad for them. They use whatever means to steal a boot covered in my scent, because they have an insane hellhound attack dog. Then they wait for the perfect chance to sic it on me.”
“Right…”
“And what better time, they thought, than when I was supposedly lost on the moor all alone? So they sent the dog out after me, not knowing that I was safe in Sealite Port. This Seldon guy was wearing my clothes, which were undoubtedly covered in my scent. He gets attacked. I don’t. The end.”
“And what about the glowing part?”
“The glow looks like it was caused by some sort of phosphorous chemical being applied to the dog’s fur. I’d suggest we go out and look for glowing paw prints, but considering how faded the glow on the dog’s fur was, I don’t think we’d see any.” There was suddenly a lot of running around and yelling from outside in the hall. Henry opened the door to ask a maid what was going on.
“Alice is gone!” the maid said, before running back off into the panic.
“Ooh. This is good.” Ratatouille mused from where he was seated. “I think we could get ahead here.” Henry stopped Watsley, who was running about and shouting orders at other policemen.
“Nobody can find Miss Alice anywhere.” Watsley said. “She was last in her room by Mrs. Hyde a little after dinner. Do you know anything? Either of you?”
“Nope, not a thing.” Ratatouille said smugly, before Henry could say anything. “We’ll let you know if something comes up.” Watsley wanted to argue, but was in too much of a hurry and run off.
“Sir, what are you planning to do?” Henry asked, not particularly looking forward to his response.
“I think the Morris residence should be paid another visit.” Ratatouille smiled.
~*~
“The door’s locked.” Ratatouille said, trying the Morris’s front door. “And this lock is too secure… Let’s try the cellar.” He ran around the side of the house, followed by Henry.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Henry asked nervously.
“We have probable cause, don’t we?”
“No, we don’t, Sir.” Henry sighed. “Just a hunch of yours.”
“It’s not just a hunch, Henry.” Ratatouille said, fiddling with the padlock on the cellar. “The initials M.M., the map with the X’s, that weird behaviour of Ms. Morris’s- Plus, Mr. Morris is an entomologist.”
“Um, Sir, that doesn’t have anything to do with the case.”
“I’m sure it does.” Ratatouille finally broke the rusty old lock, and opened up the cellar doors. “Let’s go… Do you have your pistol ready- just in case?”
“Yes, sir.” Henry was quaking. Ratatouille climbed down the stairs into the dimly lit cellar. There were struggling sounds coming from a dark corner.
“Turn on your lantern, Henry, and shine it over there…” Ratatouille whispered. Henry did so.
“It’s Christine!” Henry exclaimed. She was bound and gagged in the corner. Henry ran over and removed the tape from around her mouth. “What happened?”
“Eric… He has Alice…” Christine gasped between breaths. “He is going to kill her… Hurry! Hurry! They’re in the house near the Gherkin Mire! Save her…”
“Where is that?” Ratatouille asked.
“It’s on the East edge of the Moor.” Henry said. “I know where it is. We have to hurry!”
“Will you be okay here Christine?” Ratatouille asked, untying her.
“Yes, I’ll be fine.” She said. “Go! Please, hurry!” Henry led the way to the gloomy mire and the little house that rested beside it. The light was on, and Mr. Morris and Alice were inside.
“I think he’s going to send her out, and let the hound chase her down.” Ratatouille said quietly. They were sneaking around a ways into the swamp, with the house still in sight. “That way it won’t look like murder.”
“What are we going to do?” Henry asked.
“Wait.” Ratatouille stared into the tiny window. “And keep a lookout for the hound. If you see it, by all means, shoot the little bugger.” They waited and watched the house for a few minutes. Then, the door opened and a high-pitched dog whistle could be heard. “Get ready…” A shot was fired off into the moor, and Alice bolted out, frantic.
“Help!” she cried at the top of her lungs. “Help! Help, help, help!” The green-glowing hound appeared from behind the house, and spotted the girl running.
“Shoot!” Ratatouille said, and fired at the dog two three times. The first shot hit the hound’s back, stopping it in its tracks, the second hit closer to its shoulder. By then it spotted Ratatouille and Henry, and focused on moving towards them. The third shot missed completely, as did all of Henry’s shots.
“Sir!?” Henry reacted to the dog, who had started running towards their hiding spot.
“I’m out of bullets.” Ratatouille said, his eyes widening. “Shoot, Henry, and for the love of the gods, aim.” Henry’s hands shook and he aimed nervously at the oncoming dog. “Shoot!” Henry fired. The bullet hit right in the hound’s chest, stopping it, and killing it. Both men heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
“Who’s out there?” a voice called from the house. Mr. Morris was standing outside, and was furious to see his dog had been shot down. When he saw Ratatouille stand up, a look of terror spread over his face. Then it turned into anger as he ran away into the swamp.
“Let’s just make sure Alice and Christine are both all right.” Ratatouille sighed, still recovering. He walked over to the dead beast and knelt next to it to get a good look. “Phosphorus.” he said, feeling the dog’s coat. “That’s how he got it to glow.” They both looked up to see Christine coming across the moor to the house.
“Alice got home all right,” she told them. “I waited to make sure. Please come with me back to Baker Estate. Both of us can explain the hound case to everyone. I assume you solved it, or you wouldn’t have come when you did.”
“I think I did solve it.” Ratatouille walked over to greet her. “But what I need to clear up is the part you played in all this. Christine explained everything to Henry and Ratatouille as they all walked back.
Fifteen years ago, Melvin Morris, Eric and Christine’s father, pulled off the murder of Johanna Damien. He had created a hellish costume of a dog creature and used the same phosphors that his son used to make it glow eerily. Then he managed to fool Charles and threaten Johanna into being captured and sent his attack dog to kill her when she tried to escape. Charles really did drown himself out of grief and guilt. I didn’t have to make up some far-fetched explanation for that.
Eleven years later, Cecelia Baker was also murdered for unknown reasons. That was the same year that Eric Morris returned to the moor to live with his sister. Unknown to Christine, he plotted to kill off the remaining Bakers- Alice and Stanley. For four years he plotted, and one day he heard that Stanley Baker had sent for a special PI named James Ratatouille to solve the case that took place all those years ago. Eric was afraid that this Ratatouille fellow would trace the case back to him, and blow his plans to kill the Bakers.
Thinking quickly, he decided that he could use the dog he had been helling-up to kill Ratatouille as well, so he stole a boot to get the scent from it. Then, he also had Mr. Baker murdered, and tried to have Alice killed as well. But the plot to kill Ratatouille as well as that to kill Alice failed, obviously. Christine found out about it after Ratatouille’s first visit to the Morris house. Eric found out that she found out after he caught her warning them during the second (brief) visit. That’s when he tied her up in the cellar to keep her from warning anybody else.
“Three questions.” Ratatouille requested of Christine after she had finished explaining. “Okay a lot of questions, but three that are bugging me now.”
“Yes?” Christine said.
“First, how did Eric manage to kill Stanley Baker? He was with us when the murder took place.”
“No, the murder took place the night before you came to visit our house.” Christine explained. I remember him coming in late at night but thought nothing of it at the time. He must have killed Mr. Baker then. But the body wasn’t discovered until that afternoon, when Alice came in.”
“Fair enough.” Ratatouille said. “Next, I was wondering how he got a hold of my boot. I was staying at a hotel in Sealite Port at the time.”
“That was probably the same days that he left the moor, apparently to look at insects somewhere. He’s smart, even though you outsmarted him. I know he could have tracked down where you were.”
“Creepy.” Ratatouille reasoned. The group walked up to the steps of Baker estate. “My final question is why did your brother and your dad try to kill of the Bakers? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know either.” Christine sighed.
At the estate, Alice told of how she saw her mother outside on the moor, and that’s why she went out. But Eric grabbed her and took her away when she left. Though this was very puzzling to most people, they were all mostly just glad she was safe.
Ratatouille couldn’t quite figure out the motive though. He stood in the dining hall, and the portrait of a young Baker ancestor caught his eye.
“Henry, look at that picture.” Ratatouille said. They hadn’t noticed it before, but this man bore a very striking resemblance to Eric Morris. Ratatouille asked who the person in the painting was, and found out it was Sylvester, Stanley’s father. Upon further investigation that I’m not going to explain the details of because they’re boring, Ratatouille found out that Sylvester had another daughter, who had a son that was Melvin Morris. Yes, you get it.
“So all of the family money went to Stanley upon Sylvester’s death.” Ratatouille said to himself. “And the heirs of that would be Johanna, Charles, and Alice. Or that Cecelia… Which gives Melvin Morris a perfect motive to murder all sorts of people. Well sort of.”
“Did you find out why Johanna had potassium cyanide, Sir?” Henry asked.
“I’d love to connect that somehow to the fact that the Morris men were both entomologists, but I’m too tired.” Ratatouille yawned and fell back in his chair. “Entomologists use potassium cyanide to kill bugs.” Ratatouille said wearily. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that? Maybe it’s relevant. I’m sure it must be relevant. Damn entomologists…”
“Yes, Sir, they’re truly terrible people.” Henry sighed as Ratatouille nodded off. He looked out the window to the moor, where the sun was beginning to rise, making it that much less dark and dismal.
~*~
Eric Morris was never found. Though his boot was discovered deep in Gherkin Mire, suggesting that he may have sunken deep into the swamp. Alice, on the other hand was to inherit the Baker Estate, and told Christine to live there with her, so that neither of them would be as lonely. Ratatouille returned to his own manor in Sealite Port, where he continued to bother his neighbours, play the piano terribly, and shoot at rats with his handgun. He also had the Hound of Baker Estate stuffed and put in one of his many guest rooms. But it matched perfectly with his other strange knickknacks, so don’t worry.
As for Henry, being the more selfless (and considerably less strange) person of the two, was just happy to see everything turn out all right. It also made him feel all warm and special to think that they solved the case that had vexed his old friend Stanley for fifteen years.
As for me, you’re probably not wondering? Well I’m happy too. I’m happy for Ratatouille. I’m happy for Henry. I’m happy for Alice, Christine, and even Detective Watsley. I’m happy that I finally finished writing this helluva short story. The end. ☺
