VIII. "Who did this?"

       This tall building was the office of the city's main
newspaper.  Surrounded by five-story buildings, it looked like
a skyscraper.
       But nobody knew that under the main typography and
writing section was another office, one that was perhaps as
busy as the human one. It was owned by Harold III, one of the
world's rare mouse millionaires.
       Mice occupied an abandoned storage area under the main
cellar. Their main reason was the old printing press that the
humans had forgotten. They had had to rebuild it for their use,
and clean out the rubble and divide the space into offices as
the humans did. Now they published two newsletters here.
Unfortunately, all this energy was very nearly wasted, as more
mice read human newspapers for free than paid for mouse-
published news.
       The "Mouse News" staff's lazy working rhythm was
suddenly broken when the doors sprung wide open, hitting the
walls behind them.  A young, attractive mouse stepped into the
room.
       "Hello, everybody!" she shouted and tossed her straw hat
toward a hook in wall.
       "Hello, Syril!"
       "How's travel?"
       "Get something for the press?"
       Answering the chatter, the girl walked toward some of
the solid wood tables, and then suddenly stopped.
       "Oh, gosh! You leave for a week, everyone uses your
workplace as a wastebasket! Who made this mess?!!" she shouted
again.
       "Get 'em, Syril," said a voice from a far corner.
       "It's Winn's fault!" came another anonymous squeak.
       Syril put her hands on her hips.
       "Wins, you old rodent! Come here!"
       "I wasn't the only one!" the guilty one started to
apologize. Too late. All the papers from Syril's table, with a
loud "schwamm!", landed on the nearest table, sending the books
and paper flying across the room.
       "My notes!" Wins screamed, and ran to rescue what he
could.
       "That was a warning, Wins!"
       The poor victim started gathering his belongings,
followed by laughs of his colleagues.  The winner proudly fell
into a soft chair and pulled open a zipper on her travel bag.
       "And now, what happened here while I was away?" she
smiled.
       "The usual," the occupant of the desk to her left - a
black&white colored mouse - answered. "We're still barely
keeping out of the red. And the boss roars like a bulldog every
chance he gets."
       "By the way, Syril," came another voice, "he said he
would be late today.  He wants to see you after lunch."
       "Oh, drat! I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have
thrown away all those newspapers..."
       Syril stretched and pulled out one of the stock
newspapers that Wins has arranged on the racks on the near
wall. Her black&white neighbor politely chuckled.
       "Hey, dear! You don't want to read a week-old newspaper,
do you? Tell us about your travels!" she smiled.
       But Syril was silent. She carefully reread an article on
the front page that she had at first only glanced over."Do you
know this girl?" was printed under a big photo of a young mouse.
       "Syril, we heard about that trouble with that jungle cat
in a Mexican village, you... Syril?.. Syril, what's with you?"
       "I know her... Hey, who worked on this!??" the girl
jumped from the chair.
       "It came with the other exchange papers from our English
colleagues. We reprinted it at their request." Wins answered.
"You mean, you know her?"
       "Yes! I meet her in one of my last expeditions to
Africa! I think it was in Cairo. Yes, in Cairo, a half-year
ago!"
       "Then drop a note to the address under the picture.
Maybe you'll get a few pounds in addition to your salary," Wins
said with a mercenary grin.
       "I'll do better! I'll find her himself!"
       "In Africa? Don't be ridiculous, Syril, she may..."
       Syril smiled wisely.
       "She was traveling, like me, you dummies! And we traded
addresses, just in case."
       "When you told us about that Cairo adventure, you
somehow skipped that," the white&black mouse chuckled.
       "I forgot." Syril quickly corrected herself. "I
remembered it just now, when looked at that picture. Yes, it's
her, Gadget Hackwrench. And her house her house happens to be
right near our office! I'll be back soon!"
       "But your report, Syril!"
       Syril grabbed her straw hat from the hook and walked out
the doors.
       "For goodness' sake! The boss will only be here in the
afternoon, and that old cat isn't any more trouble that those
ones outside the office sleeping on garbage cans! But this -
this we can use for a series! Bye!"
       The door closed.

              IX. "Home, sweet home!"

       It was quiet and dark in the Ranger-tree. The sun had
just risen over the city park, and the light hadn't yet reached
the ground below. No-one was home. But then, some strange
sounds came from the steps.
       "Careful, boys! Steps!"
       "Gadget, the doors! Quick!"
       "I told you - through the garage would be a better route!"
       "Shut up and help, Dale! We're nearly there now! Pull up
one more time! Now!"
       The doors to the Rescue Ranger Headquarters opened, and
three gray shadows stepped inside. Or, more accurately, two
stepped inside, dragging a third along. They nearly tripped
over the descending steps, making them stumble forward and
catch their balance inside the room. A fourth shadow darted
through the doors and hit light switch.
       Gadget closed the doors and jumped toward her friends.
Together they made their way to a cushion near the wall, and
Monterey crash-landed on it.
       "Ufff... And he said - no more crush..." Dale sighed
heavily and wiped the sweat from forehead. "What a weight!"
       "Look at the bright side, Dale!" Gadget placed Jack's
hat in the wardrobe. "At least he's out of that terrible
depression."
       "What do we do with him now?" Dale inquired, eyeing the
way to Monty's room.
       "Let's just remove his jacket and let him sleep here.
It'll teach him a lesson when he wakes up." Chip stated.
       "Sure!" Dale agreed. "What does he think - it's enough
that we got him to the house, no need to tuck him in too!"
       Chip pulled Jack's jacket and goggles off and rolled him
closer to the wall. The victim grunted in his sleep but didn't
wake up.
       "But you have to agree, it all started so romantically -
I mean, an old flame returning and all," Gadget suddenly said
dreamily.
       Chip and Dale exchanged looks.
       "You..."
       But nobody would hear what Dale was ready to say, as at
that moment someone started knocking at the doors.
       "And I wanted to get some sleep," Chip sighed.
       "If it's some gopher who's been robbed, tell him that
we're closed, and come back tomorrow!" Dale hissed.
       "I agree with you, Dale, but it's our duty..."
       "That we do for free!"
       "Calm down, guys, I'll get it," Gadget headed toward the
doors. Both chipmunks, their cheeks burning, suddenly felt as
if they would fall through the earth.

       "Gadget! Oh, dear! How lucky you're home!" someone at
other side of doors shouted.  Something gray hugged Gadget.
       Both chipmunks immediately readies themselves for war
with the intruder, tails up and ears down. But then the
intruder released Gadget, and they got a look at his.... no,
her face.
       "Who are you?" Gadget whispered curiously.
       "Don't you remember me? Unfortunately for me, I'd
completely forgotten about you until today!" the girl
chattered. "No? Remember Cairo? The port? That fool robber?"
       "Oh, now I remember! I was waiting for a ship to New
York, and you were going to Milan! Come in! Boys, we have a
guest here! Remember the reporter Syril Stacey?" Gadget stepped
backward, allowing her guest to enter.
       "Hello, friends! Chip?" Syril smiled at Dale, dropping
her hat on the table.
       "No, I'm Dale. He's Chip" he smiled back.
       "Oh, great! Hello, Chipper! Zipper, my little savior!
Come here, let me hug you!"
       Syril chatted and babbled like a brook in the Spring.
Then she suddenly stopped and listened.
       "Am I hearing things, or is someone still sleeping
here?" she asked sharply.
       She was answered by a burst of laughter.
       "That's Mister Monterey," Gadget tried explain over her
laughter. "We had a long night, and he conked out as soon as we
closed the case."
       "OK, I forgot him. But only this time! Hug him for me
when wakes up!" Syril stated, then got serious again.
       "OK, it's great fun meeting you all, but... I didn't
come here only for that. Gadget, dear, can we speak alone
somewhere?" she asked.
       "Sure. Come to my room."
       "Have fun, boys!"
       Both girls went upstairs.
       Chip and Dale exchanged looks.
       "I don't know about you, Dale, but I'm going to sleep!"
Chip stated and disappeared into the bathroom.
       "Come out, you ground-squirrel! I was going there
first!" Dale cursed, as he had been ready to pull the same
trick, but Chip had beaten him to it.

       "Pardon the mess..." Gadget cleared some parts of a big
aviation engine from a table and two chairs, and put a clean
cloth on the table.
       Sniffing a little, Syril sat on the side of one of the
chairs and pulled a notebook out of her pocket.
       "Please pardon me if I sould too official, dear, but
this is serious.  I need to ask you a few questions." She
looked at something in her notebook. "You are Gadget
Hackwrench. What is your father's name?"
       "Geegaw Hackwrench," Gadget answered.
       "Your mother?"
       "Sumio Hackwrench-Nakashito."
       "Both have passed away?"
       "Yes..." Gadget nodded.
       "What you know about your grandparents?"
       Gadget thought back: "Geegaw was an orphan... As far as
I know... On my mother's side there was some family in Japan,
but father never mentioned them..." she tried to hide a small
teardrop in her eye.
       "Well, then I think it will be a surprise for you that
your grandmother was Alice Hackwrench, born Fergusson, a proper
lady by birthright. Your grandfather was the not very famous
inventor Vincent Hackwrench. They both died in 1944 in the Nazi
bombing of London. Your grandmother's brother Ferdinand
Fergusson died then as well. Your other brother - Maikl - died
ten years ago."
       "Dad never told me about our family roots. I always
thought, he was a "foundling" who grew up alone," Gadget
whispered, shocked.
       "I believe that he simply forgot them. He was only four
years old. Children rarely remember anything from those golden
days..." Syril daydreamed for a second, then woke up again.
       "And that brings us to the main event in your genealogy,
dear. As your great-grandmother Olivia Fergusson, born Flawhem,
outliving all her children, died some month ago at the age of
nearly one hundred years..."
       "I didn't know that... Oh, God, how I sometimes wished I
had someone to talk with, to tell all my childhood secrets..."
Gadget started sniffling.
       "Now wipe away your tears and listen to the rest dear!
Olivia was rich, for a mouse. She lived in an old palace and
left the rights to live in it exclusively to her children, and
also a solid hunk of money. The other family members will
certainly get a part, but as her only remaining linear
descendant, you will get the lion's share of it!"
       "What?"
       "Yes! As soon as I saw your photo in the newspaper I
called London. They told me all this, and let me question you.
So you're rich now, dear!"
       "O, golly... I'm rich..."
       "Yes! You will have to travel to England as soon as you
get the telegram, and show them evidence that you're you. But
that will be easy, I think. They have already tracked your
father's life, and some of yours too, until his passing. Here
are the addresses. One is in London and one is in Devonshire.
You need contact a detective Alex McDugal; he will explain it
all better than I can. But now, Milady, all I want from you is
an exclusive interview, and don't try avoid it!"
       Gadget still couldn't grasp it all.  Syril launched into
her interview without taking a breath, and Gadget found herself
answering a thousand questions, like what she did in the
morning when she woke up, what dresses she wore, and what food
she liked...