You find yourselves in a well appointed waiting room at the Natural History Museum awaiting a meeting with one of the Museum’s Senior Curators, Professor James Hawthorne, a person of impeccable qualifications and standing that you have met on previous occasions. You do of course know each other by reputation although not personally.
A hand delivered note had requested your presence at 11 of the clock on the Tuesday morning. But gave no intimation of the nature of meeting other than to say it was of the utmost urgency and may well involve the future of the City of London, if not the entire Empire.
On a small occasional table beside the leather clad chairs upon which you sit, a pile of newspapers wait attention from the professor who waits behind the closed, brass plate bearing door.
Eventually a small ring of a bell indicates that the professor is ready for his guests and you are shown into his office…
“Thank you for attending so quickly,” the professor says warmly, shaking each of you by the hand. “I apologize for not revealing more as to the nature of my summons, but what I have to say should not ... indeed cannot be put to paper.” At this point he looks, pointedly, at Miss Bly as he gestures to comfortable-looking chairs as he takes a seat behind a cluttered desk.
“As you may know, London’s streets are awash with swarms of rats. I feel I may be responsible for this unfortunate plague!” He steeples his hands and pauses as if searching for the best way on how to proceed.
“Last month I was discussing the problems of rats in general found here in London, and their unfortunate nature as disease carriers. I made a passing remark, a jest if you will, to my fellow clubbers that the matter could be easily solved if we could find a basilisk, for rats are greatly afraid of them. Ten days ago, a small box arrived at my office. Inside, snugly secured within a bed of straw, was a large egg upon which was written a single word: basilisk."
“Naturally I was highly suspicious, for as a man of science I put no faith in the tales of the ancients. But curiosity bade me to incubate the egg and see what manner of creature hatched. I ordered my assistant to place the egg in a basement near the museum's boilers and to keep a watchful eye on it.”
“Yesterday I went to check on my assistant’s progress, only to find him dead. And without a mark on him! The egg had hatched, but of the creature within there was no sign. I have spent the time since wondering how best to proceed. The situation is growing worse and talk of a monster is spreading.”
“Just the other day one of my colleagues remarked that he overheard the keeper of the King’s Head Inn telling customers he had seen a monster in his courtyard, and I know for a fact that the story regarding the hansom cab horse is a lie intended to avoid panic.”
“May I count on your services, and your discretion?”