Settling herself into a chair and crossing her legs, less than impressed with Basil’s rudeness and not entirely ready to accept his apology, Helena folded her arms and waited a few seconds before speaking. Her bosses would be delighted that he didn’t need paying, as it meant more money for them, greedy sods, and if he found James Hope and they got the money out of him, they’d be even happier - that meant they’d be more likely to be nice to her. Thank God this Basil wasn’t a greedy man asking for payment and even more.
“He’s a wastrel, for starts. If you can find him using your nose, sniff the gin on the letter and follow the scent, it’s all he drinks. Dark fur, dark eyes, and his tail is little more than a stump. An accident or a bar fight, he likes to change up the story of how he got it. He’s over friendly with women - if he has a black eye, one of them has said no to him,” she said somewhat pointedly, shuddering as she remembered the time the sleazeball tried to proposition her. “He’s loud, and adores being the center of attention, though he’ll probably be a bit more subdued now he’s gone missing. He loves to threaten fights, but will quickly bow out if taken up on the offer. He has scars on his face - a Glasgow Grin, or half of one at least. Left side. That’s all I can think about him; you’d be best asking my employers for anything else.”
She strained her mind for a few more seconds, trying to think of anything else. Nothing off the top of her head - Basil could question her if he wanted anything else out of her. Shifting in the chair to get comfortable, she felt a sense of awkwardness come over her. This was hardly the best of visits, and it suddenly dawned on her that unless they talked about the case over the dinner she had stupidly volunteered to stay for, it would be naught but awkward silence. Wonderful. Standing up quickly, she unfolded her cloak and began to fasten around her neck after laying her purse on the chair for a second.
“Well. Forgive me for trying to impose, sir, but I think I should be off. Tell your housekeeper I’m grateful for the offer of dinner, but now that my business is done, I need to be getting back to work. Night shift, you know. Thank you for your help. If you need to meet with my employers, they’re free between one and five o’clock in the afternoon - would that suit you?” She questioned as she lifted her purse and glanced towards the door, hoping the aforementioned housekeeper wouldn’t suddenly appear summoning her for dinner. That could get awkward indeed. Looking back to Basil, she hoped he’d answer quickly so she could get going; walking through the streets at a late hour was not what she fancied, and suddenly, she wanted to get home before it was too dark.
Letting her sit first, Basil took the seat across from her. He crossed his legs as well, but in a much less feminine fashion. His elbows pressed against the sides of the chair, and he drummed his paws together. Taking in everything Helena said to him, the Detective stuffed tobacco in the cylindrical container of his pipe, and smoked. Between puffs, he glanced periodically at the ceiling in thought. He had an exceptional memory, and he like a sponge, absorbed all the information. “Hmm…yes. It seems as though he is luring us into something. He knew his presence at the bar would be missed if he left abruptly. He is looking for someone to run after him.” Basil looked up at Helena as she continued to talk. “But the question is…who.”
As she gracefully excused herself, he requested, “Please don’t go. I usually like someone to accompany me on endeavors such as these. And my associate’s absence has left me rather desolate. Besides, I think best when I talk aloud.”
Waiting for her to think over her answer, he made his way to an outstretched map on the far left wall, opposite of his work desk. His eyes scanned diligently over it and a crazed smile drew upon his lips. Spinning on his heal, he grabbed her by the arms and though he tried to sound stern, he looked more amused than anything. “We are going to Soho. It will be quite dangerous, I’m warning you.”
Basil’s request to stay had suprised her, but his sudden announcement that they were traveling to Soho knocked the wind out of her, and she stood, mouth slightly agape, wondering if the man had gone mad. His grip on her arms was strong, though not painful, and firm, almost commanding. He seemed to be a man used to taking charged, but she quickly wrenched her arms free, folding them and cocking her head slightly.
"Soho? Mr. Basil, have you gone mad? We are going nowhere,” she said firmly, sternly, looking him right in the eye. “It may be well and good for you to go flying around to different places, but I have a job that helps support my family, and frankly, I’ve overstayed my welcome already. I was asked to deliver you the letter so that you could contact my employers, and that is what I have done. Where on Earth did you pull Soho from, anyway?!” She asked, bewildered and bemused and more than a little confused in itself. As far as she knew, the man had never left England; but what did she know? Honestly, nothing. She made a mental note never to accept an extra job from her bosses again, but sheer curiosity prevented her from storming out of Basil’s house just yet; she wanted to know where he got the silly notion of Soho from before she returned to her family for the night, and then on to work.
At least she could say she was having an interesting night though.