The Night of the Vengeance Moon

by California gal

Jim West goes on the run, wanted for heinous murders, and it's up to Artie to save him... again. Not the sequel to Shattered Time that's coming.

THE NIGHT OF THE VENGEANCE MOON

By California gal

The streets were quiet at this late hour. Or was it actually an early hour? Artemus Gordon stifled a yawn as he dug into his pocket for his watch. One a.m. He was sure the silence and lack of people on the street in this part of San Francisco were due to the neighborhood through which he was currently traversing. No cafes, no saloons. Things would change when he got a little further on, nearer to the hotel, where other establishments encouraging nightlife were also available.

The hotel. The yawn came then, unstoppable. Thinking about that big soft bed with the down mattress was almost overwhelming. He had not expected to be so late getting back to the city, but such were the vagaries of weather. The parlor car drawn by the special train had been held up by an early snowstorm in the Sierras. Otherwise, he would have been in the city by mid afternoon. Jim was probably going crazy about now. His partner's state of mind was the primary reason Artemus had decided to head on into the city right away instead of waiting until morning. If Jim was in bed, he could tap on the door to apprise him of his return. Likely Jim would sleep all the better for it.

Artemus had seriously considered leaving Mesa with the train, taking a hack into town, but decided to ride for two reasons. One was that the horse had not had much exercise of late. She had been virtually ignored while he attended to family business in Michigan. As well, Artemus knew that Jim West had his own horse, the gleaming Blackjack, with him at the hotel. They could ride together back to the siding and the train once the reports for the Grand Jury were completed.

He pulled back on the reins, halting the brown horse. What was that? As if in response to his mental query, he heard it again. A woman's voice, a woman crying out for help. The sound emanated from a narrow alley he was almost abreast of. He jumped off the horse, reaching inside his coat for the small pistol secreted there. Almost at the same moment, a shade went up on a window of the building bordering the alley, and light from the lamp inside illuminated the alley scene.

"You there!" Gordon thundered. "Stop! Let her alone!" He saw the man bending over, his back to the alley mouth. Almost hidden, only her skirt hem and feet visible, was a woman, obviously struggling and kicking mightily against her assailant.

The woman cried out again as her attacker released her and spun around. Artemus Gordon froze. He saw a face contorted with rage and hatred. The man took advantage of Artie's astonishment to grab a large rock, hurling it toward the alley mouth. Artie threw himself to one side as the missile flew by his head and crashed on the pavement behind him. The woman's attacker dashed by him and sprinted down the darkened street.

Artie recovered somewhat. "Stop! Jim! Stop!" he yelled. "Jim!"

"What's going on? What happened?" A man in a nightshirt and robe emerged through the front door of the shop where the light had appeared, a sawed-off shotgun gripped in both hands.

That and the whimpering of the woman lying in a crumpled heap deep in the alley brought Gordon back to the moment. He hurried to her, kneeling down. In the light through the window, he saw she was young, attractive, with curly blonde hair, and attired in rather common clothes. Her apron suggested she might be a waitress of some sort. Going home late at night after her shift ended?

"It's all right," Artemus soothed, carefully putting his arm under her shoulder. "You'll be all right now."

"What happened?" the storekeeper demanded again. "Another one? Did he try to get another one?"

The woman recovered to some extent now. At least enough climb to her feet with Gordon's assistance, and to cry out in a tremulous voice, "Send for the police! Get the police! He tried to kill me!"

Artemus Gordon attempted to make sense of what he had just witnessed, torn between chasing after the man he had seen and remaining to assist the victim. In the end, he remained, only partially because he knew that the assailant was well out of reach. Besides I know where to find him My God! Jim!

When the police arrived, the young woman was ensconced in the living quarters behind the tobacco shop, with the owner's wife serving her tea and words of comfort. She had refused the offer to send for a physician, insisting she was fine now. No broken bones, only some bruises suffered in the assault. She had told Artie her name, Betty Blake, and indeed, she was employed as a waitress in the restaurant of the very hotel that had been Artemus Gordon's destination. Her evening's work finished, she had been on her way home, when a man grabbed her from the alley, putting a hand over her face to keep her from crying out. He had then tried to throttle her, but she had managed to scream.

"Same as the others," the storekeeper growled. "You're a lucky young lady, miss. Lucky indeed." He looked at Gordon. "You know the fellow?"

Artie was saved from answering immediately because the police got there. He was unsure whether to be relieved to see that the sergeant in charge was a man known to both him and Jim West. Lloyd Morris greeted him affably, then spoke to the woman. She repeated the portion of the story concerning what had happened, and then added what Artie had hoped she would not.

"He knows him. Mr. Gordon, I mean. He called him by name."

Morris looked at Artie questioningly, and the agent shrugged. "Well I'm not exactly sure"

"Who did you think it might be?" Morris inquired. He was a stocky man with curly black hair and clear blue eyes, in his middle thirties.

"Jim," the storekeeper supplied as Artie hesitated. "He yelled, stop, Jim.' I'm sure of that."

The uniformed sergeant's eyes widened, aghast. "Jim? Artemus you don't mean"

Artie held out a pleading hand. "It was dark, Lloyd. I'm he was he looked something like Jim." Something! The man was an identical twin, even to the short-jacketed blue suit and shiny black boots! But it couldn't be.

"Where is Jim West?"

"He he should be at the Avalon Hotel." Artie was careful not to look at Betty Blake.

"Oh my goodness! Yes! Sergeant! I know him! He eats in the restaurant sometimes! I didn't realize I didn't think he's always so nice" The young woman put her hands up to her bruised throat.

A uniformed patrolman entered from the store to report that the men sent out to search for the attacker were unsuccessful, although they did talk to two people who indicated a man had run by on foot in the direction of the Avalon Hotel. Morris took the information, his frown growing ever more serious.

"Artie, have you been staying there too?"

"No. I mean, I have a room there, but I had to go east to attend to some family business before I had an opportunity to spend a night there. Jim and I were supposed to be in the city together, working on a report to the Grand Jury."

Morris nodded. "The opium ring."

"Yes. However, when this personal stuff came up, Jim volunteered to stay and get it done. I took the train back home–and thought I would be just a couple of days. However, I've been gone ten days. Just arrived back this evening. Lloyd there's been other murders?"

"Three," the sergeant confirmed grimly. "All within the last week. Young women who were out alone, late at night, like Miss Blake. The other three were not so fortunate as she was. They were strangled with the man's bare hands. Until now, there has not been a witness, let alone a survivor. Artie Jim?"

"No. There's some rational explanation, Lloyd. I'm very tired. My my vision probably isn't what it should be."

"I'd recognize him," Betty Blake said staunchly. "In fact, I'm sure it was Mr. West. He's not a man a girl easily forgets."

But you did, until I reminded you, Artie thought miserably. Likely she would have remembered eventually. "I'll go talk to Jim," he said hopefully.

Morris shook his head. "We'll both go. And Miss Blake, if you feel up to it"

"Oh, I do! I surely do! He's a bloodthirsty murderer! He needs to be arrested and hung! And I'm the girl to see to it! Imagine him flirting with me like he did, then trying to murder me!" She jumped up off the sofa, newly invigorated with rage and righteousness. Artemus could not blame her. She had come to close to losing her life. But Jim West? That wasn't possible!

He had absolutely no choice. Artemus Gordon rode alongside the police wagon, with the sergeant and Miss Blake on the seat, and two patrolmen inside. He kept reliving the moment in his mind, the instant when the man had turned, fully illuminated by the lamplight, at least illuminated enough to be seen clearly. You know his face better than you know your own. Artemus. It was him. Or a doppelganger! But how could that be? Jim West was not a murderer. He would not attack and strangle young women

Artemus hated the other thoughts that kept trying to creep insidiously into his head. Jim had been tired and under stress. They both had come off an arduous trek during which they tracked down some opium smugglers from San Francisco to Reno, then brought those men back to be charged. Two men had been killed in the process, one of the smugglers, and the other a Washoe County deputy sheriff who had been a long-time friend of Jim West's. Artemus knew his partner experienced some guilt that Toby had been along on the hunt; Toby Walsh had volunteered because of Jim's presence in the investigation.

The San Francisco judge in charge had then contacted Colonel Richmond and requested that the two agents be assigned to report all their findings to the Grand Jury. Several prominent, if not completely respectable, citizens were suspected of being involved in the smuggling, and the judge wanted an indictment.

For two days, the two men had testified, after which they were asked to put all their information in writing. That was when Artemus received word from Michigan that his presence was needed to help settle some family matters, having been appointed executor of the estate of an uncle who passed away several months ago. Jim had immediately insisted his partner answer the summons, taking their special train while he booked rooms for them in the hotel. Although he himself hated the report writing, he could handle it. The judge had given them a pretty fair deadline. More than likely, Jim would have the bare-bones written out by the time Artemus returned, and Gordon could then, in his inimitable style, flesh it out.

When Gordon realized that matters in Michigan were not going to be cleared up as swiftly as he had hoped–two cousins were battling–he had wired Jim West and received the response that all was well. Jim said he was coping. Don't rush. Artemus knew his partner well enough to have read between the lines. Jim West had been damn tired of reading and writing and wanted some help!

The night clerk's sleepy eyes popped open when three uniformed police officers entered the lobby. Yes, he said, as far as he knew, Mr. West was in his room. He had not been seen since dinner. What was the problem? His queries were ignored as the party headed up the stairs to the second floor.

Artie knew he had no choice but to lead Morris directly the door of the room next to the one that was still reserved as his own. The hallway was dim, with only a small lamp burning on a wall sconce, but light glowed from under the door of Jim's room. Artie was unsure whether that was good or bad. Ordinarily, he might have simply walked in. This night he knocked. Then knocked again.

"I heard someone," Morris said, putting his head to the door. Artie knew the sergeant had been close to ordering his men to break in.

The door opened, and Jim West stood there, surprise and confusion on his face. He was in his shirtsleeves, his hair tousled, darkened jaws revealing the need for a shave, which would ordinarily take place in a few hours. He looked as though he had just awakened from a deep sleep, though apparently had not gone to bed.

"Artie" he said, looking from his partner to the policeman at Gordon's shoulder. "Hello, Lloyd. What's going on?" Jim spotted the young woman, then, and turned to grab his jacket from the back of a nearby chair. "Excuse me. I wasn't expecting guests."

"Jim," Sergeant Morris spoke levelly, "where have you been this evening?"

West's astonishment increased. "Right here. Why? What's going on? Artie?"

Gordon wished he could respond, but he knew better. This was a police matter. A serious police matter. He found himself staring at his partner's handsome face. Yes, that was the face he had seen in the alley. Even the light shadow of whiskers

Morris looked around at the woman. "Miss Blake? Is this the man?"

She took a step forward, anger and some hurt in her expression. "Yes. I'd know him anywhere. Mr. West, how could you? You always seemed so nice"

"What the hell is going on?" Jim West demanded, the expressions of the countenances of the people facing him, even that of his partner, causing a ripple of fear in his gut, so much so that he momentarily forgot his manners.

"James West," Morris spoke evenly, though Artemus detected a note of strain in the voice, "I place you under arrest for attempted murder, with the possibility of further charges." He produced a set of handcuffs.

Jim took a step back, his eyes on Artemus Gordon, waiting for more explanation, waiting for help. Artie stood like a statue, his face almost expressionless, except for the agony in his brown eyes.

"Attempted murder," Jim echoed then. "What are you talking about? Who did I try to murder?"

"Me!" Betty cried. "I recognized your face, Mr. West! And you killed those other poor girls!"

It hit Jim West then. Although he had been spending a great deal of time–way too much time as far as he was concerned–closed up in this hotel room, he had read the newspapers. "You think Artie!"

"He saw you!" Betty cried. "He saw you too!"

"Jim," Artie spoke for the first time, his voice tense, face anxious, "can you prove you've been in this room for oh, the last hour, hour and a half?"

"Only my word," Jim replied stiffly.

Artemus Gordon saw the anger in his friend, and he noticed how Sergeant Morris hesitated, then seemed to grit his teeth, stepping forward with the manacles. Artie held his breath for an instant, waiting for Jim to make a move. He was not sure he was relieved as he watched Jim lift his arms quietly to receive the handcuffs.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Lloyd Morris said. "I'm sure this will all be cleared up in short order. But I have witnesses."

"Yeah," Jim snapped. "So I understand." His green eyes fastened hard on his partner.

Artemus Gordon knew some rules were bent to allow him to sit in on the questioning. He was also aware that because of James West's official status, as well as his reputation, he was being treated somewhat differently than another suspect might have been. Morris and his superior, Captain Tim Cullen, conducted the interrogation. Cullen was another officer the two agents had worked with in the past, a man who knew and admired Jim West.

Artie had been certain that once the situation was discussed and the questions asked, all would be cleared up. He did not know how to explain his own circumstances, that of recognizing the man in the alley, but he was certain an explanation was there. Jim would clarify it. Artie knew that.

Thus his heart sunk further and further as he listened and heard Jim West state he was not only unable to provide a solid alibi for tonight's assault, but not for the other three either. In each instance, he stated, he had been in his hotel room, alone. No, he had not seen, or had been seen by, any hotel staff or guest to his knowledge at the late hours the crimes had been committed. As far as he could remember, those other nights had been the same as tonight. He had worked on the reports, and fallen asleep, his head on the desk. That was where he had been when the police–and his partner–knocked on the door.

Jim admitted that he knew Betty Blake from the hotel's dining area. Yes, he had talked to her, even flirted with her, when she waited his table. Worse, when shown photographs of the other victims, he had to reveal he had spoken to at least one of them, and correctly remembered she had been a clerk in a store where he had purchased some pencils and paper the day before her death.

What bothered Artemus as much, if not more, than anything else was his partner's behavior. Jim answered the questions quietly, even dispassionately. He sat on the chair between the captain and the sergeant, arms folded tightly across his chest, with three uniformed officers in the background, and barely moved other than to turn his head slightly toward whichever man spoke. Not once did he look over to where Artemus Gordon was sitting.

He feels betrayed. And who can blame him? I'm his partner, his friend yet, I cannot discount what I saw. I was tired, but not that tired. I saw James West in that alley. The man who rose and turned toward me after attempting to strangle that young woman was James West. I would have to swear to that in court. Jim knows that.

Captain Cullen got to his feet, and the sergeant and prisoner followed suit. Artie saw how the uniformed guards tensed. They were quite aware of the reputation of the prisoner. Cullen cleared his throat. His face and voice registered his misery. "James West, I have no choice but to place you under formal arrest, charged with attempted murder on the basis of the sworn statement of Miss Elizabeth Blake." He cleared his throat again. "I expect to receive the statement of another witness as well. The charge may be increased to murder, pending further investigation."

"You have to do your duty, Tim," Jim West said softly. He could not bring himself to look at Artemus. He needed desperately to talk to Artie, to find out exactly what he saw, or thought he saw. Artemus Gordon would not take this situation lightly. He knew his responsibility as a law officer and a citizen. Friendship could not enter into it. Artemus would have to swear to what he saw. Right at this moment, however, James West could not face his partner.

WWWWWW

Artemus Gordon felt the tension growing inside him as he followed the guard down the long corridor. Most of the cells in this section were vacant. Lloyd had confided that they thought it best to separate Jim West as far as possible from other prisoners. He was too well known to many of the incarcerated felons. The atmosphere was all that one expected of a jail: dim and dank, with foul odors and scant fresh air. The only light came from narrow gaps at the top of certain cell's outer wall, and not every cell had a window.

"Around here," the guard said, turning a corner with a swift stride.

Just one cell was in this niche. Not that it was any better accommodations than others, simply more isolated. It did possess a window at least. Jim West was seated on the lone bunk. He barely glanced up as the keys jangled in the lock. "Give me a holler when you're ready to leave, Mr. Gordon," the guard said. "Captain says you're to have all the time you want."

"Thank you," Artie murmured stepping inside. The barred door clanged shut behind him.

Jim did not move. He had his elbows on his knees, and appeared to be staring at a particular spot on the floor. He still had not shaved, his strong jaw even more shadowed, and his usually immaculately groomed hair was still awry. The two-toned gray jail garb was not exactly his accustomed sartorial splendor.

"Jim."

Only now did Jim West shift his gaze, though he barely moved, only lifting his chin slightly. "Hello, Artie. Nice to see you. Get everything taken care of back home?"

"Jim!" Artemus sat down beside him, put a hand on West's arm. "Jim, I had to. I had no choice. I yelled your name and the girl and the storekeeper heard me. Then she remembered you from the hotel."

Jim West expelled a long sigh and finally looked directly at Artie. He was not being fair, he knew. "I know, Artie. I know. I just don't understand it."

"I don't either, partner, but we're going to get to the bottom of it. Think of all the things that have happened to us in the past. Loveless tried it. Dr. Faustina had me believing you were dead, blown up in the same explosion that killed the cabinet members."

"Another double?" Jim said, doubt on his face and in his voice. "Dr. Faustina is probably dead." She at least had dropped out of sight. He did not want to venture a guess about Loveless. The little professor had fooled them into believing in his demise too many times.

"I know. All I know, Jim, and I'll put it to you straight, is that I got a damn good look at the man attacking Betty Blake. That man had your face, your body, your clothes. The only reason he escaped was because I was so flabbergasted. I couldn't move."

"Sounds like a double," Jim said after a moment. "But"

Artie did not like that word. "But what?"

Jim abruptly got up, walked to the bars, and turned back. "Four times, Artie. Four times, I really have no conclusive memory, and no proof, of where I was."

"You were sleeping" Artie stood up as well.

"Yes, so it seems. That's not all though."

"Go on."

"I kept losing things. Losing time."

"Jim, for God's sake, what are you talking about?"

Jim did not answer, turning toward the bars again, head cocked. Artie heard it too: footsteps. Someone was coming. Several people by the sounds. They waited, and after a moment Captain Cullen, Sergeant Morris, the jailer, and another man appeared. Jim stepped back toward the bunk as the jailer unlocked the door to admit the other three before he closed it again. At a nod from Cullen, the jailer disappeared.

"How are you doing, Jim?" the captain inquired.

"Oh, terrific, Tim. Great accommodations here. I don't know when I've had a more luxurious suite, or better food." Jim's tone was dry; his eyes were on the civilian who had accompanied the two officers. Cullen saw that.

"Jim, Artie, this is Dr. Webster Raleigh. He has been of invaluable service to us in the investigation of these murders. In fact, he was quite correct in his prediction of who the culprit would be."

"What does that mean?" Artemus demanded. He stared at the rather slender middle-aged man. Dr. Webster sported a neatly trimmed beard, mostly gray now, as was his slicked back hair. He wore gold-rimmed glasses. His attire was that of a professional man, a superbly tailored brown suit with striped trousers and snowy-white shirt and collar, a diamond stickpin in the perfectly folded ascot.

"That means, Mr. Gordon," Raleigh spoke smoothly, "I envisaged the murderer as a young man with an impeccable reputation, but one who was accustomed to a life of violence. He gives the impression of being fond of, and popular with, the ladies, while in fact a deep hatred of women is buried within him. I predicted that a latent insanity dwelt in him, one that was just now coming to the fore, perhaps brought on by a stress of some form. I predicted that he might deny the murders on the basis of the fact that he does not remember committing them yet he would have no memory of his activities during the times the killings were perpetrated."

Artemus Gordon tried to find something to say, but his throat seemed paralyzed. He saw that Jim West was equally stunned. The doctor's description fit James West perfectly, at least the part about the reputation and the life that involved violence. Artie finally asked, somewhat inanely, "What kind of doctor are you?"

Raleigh turned pale gray eyes on him. "I am what is known as a psychiatrist, or possibly you could call me an alienist. I study the human mind, human behavior. I've done a great deal of research on criminals, and I've come to the conclusion that I can describe the perpetrator of a crime–and, in particular, a series of crimes–by using a program, if you will, that I've developed. I must admit that this is the first time I've gone public with my hypothesis. I felt I had to help find the killer before any more young women were killed. I have a daughter myself."

"You're saying," Jim spoke slowly, in a low, even tone, "that I that the killer blacked out during the crimes?"

"Yes, in essence. Chances are the blackout occurred in his home–or in your case, your hotel room–and upon awakening in the same place, you believed you had simply fallen asleep, with no recollection of having left your room, the hotel or of what you did."

"That that can't be admissible in any court!" Artemus protested.

The doctor shrugged. "Perhaps not. Not in this day and age. Too much ignorance abounds. But it doesn't really matter, does it? Two witnesses saw Mr. West attacking the young woman last evening." His gaze fastened on Artemus Gordon. "Even if it's never proven he murdered the others, he certainly faces a prison term. And the end of an illustrious career."

"Doctor Raleigh," Captain Cullen put his hand on the man's arm. "Perhaps we should go."

Artemus saw that the policeman was uncomfortable with the doctor's statements, perhaps especially because Raleigh's tone had been rising in vehemence. Raleigh looked around, and suddenly seemed chagrined.

"Forgive me, gentlemen. And you, Mr. West. I'm afraid I got caught up in my own rhetoric. As I mentioned, I have a daughter, only slightly older than the poor victims of this savagery. But this is America, is it not? You are innocent until proven guilty. I shall follow the case with interest."

Artemus remained as the other three departed. He stood by the cell bars for a long moment, then turned. Jim had his back to the bars, facing the cot, arms folded across his chest, head down. "Jim"

"Did I do it, Artie?"

Artemus Gordon very nearly answered in platitudes, expressing his faith in his partner. He suddenly realized, however, that was not what Jim West was asking. He heard the tension and anguish in the voice, and he saw the fear in the hunch of the shoulders. Artie put a hand on one of those shoulders.

"No, Jim. That's not the kind of man you are. I don't know who this Raleigh is, but he's dead wrong where you are concerned."

Jim West took strength from his partner's touch and voice. He turned around. "I can't figure it out. Why those particular nights? I mean, I worked late other nights but didn't fall asleep."

Artie sat down on the bunk, looking up. "Jim, did you meet or talk to any people–especially strangers–while I was gone?"

Jim had to laugh, sitting down as well. "No, mama, I didn't talk to strangers." Then he sobered, and shook his head. "I probably said hello to people in the hotel, conversed briefly with the staff. You know, the weather, what was fresh on the menu in the restaurant. The only people I talked to at any length were Judge Anderson and Mr. Wright from the District Attorney's office. We discussed what was going into the report."

"You didn't stay in the hotel room the entire time I was gone."

"No, of course not. I had supper at the Anderson home twice, and attended the opera with Mr. and Mrs. Wright and their lovely daughter. Went for a few walks. Had a drink or two in the hotel bar and elsewhere. Took a ride out to the ocean, near Stinson Beach, one day to clear my head. I also worked hard on the reports. But Artie"

Gordon gazed at his friend's troubled expression. "What is it?"

"I lost some of it."

"Lost what?"

"It's crazy. When I told Judge Anderson, he said I'd probably dreamed it. A couple of times I was certain I'd written several pages but the next morning, they weren't there. I I realize now that that happened the nights of the murders."

"It's possible you did dream writing it, Jim. You were under a lot of stress. I apologize again for leaving you alone so long."

Jim gazed at his friend a moment. "Artie. It's not your fault. Even if it's not your fault."

"You are not a murderer, James West. I know that. There's an explanation for this. Always is. We've been through some strange situations, some that seemed inexplicable to begin with."

"But we always explained them," Jim nodded. He wanted to feel encouraged. Listening to that doctor describe the man behind the murders He described me, yet not me. But why do I have this sense, this shadowy feeling, that he could be right? This was something Jim was not ready to mention to his partner yet. The dreamlike memories, fleeting bits that were real but unreal at the same time.

"And we'll explain this," Artemus said firmly. "Notice I said we'."

Jim smiled briefly. "Not sure how much help I'm going to be." He nodded toward the strong bars that enclosed the cell. This particular city jail had a reputation for being escape-proof. Buried deep under the large building that housed city offices, including the police department, getting in was far easier than getting out.

Artie got to his feet. "I've got an idea about that. I am going need your help figuring this out, Jim. I can't do it alone. We always worked better in tandem."

Jim West looked up at him. "I agree. But hell, Artie, you try blowing this door and a hundred cops would be down here before we could get ten feet!"

Artemus chuckled. "I know. That's why I'm thinking of looking for Jailhouse Joe."

"Jail why?"

"Leave it to me. I think he's perfect for the situation. Just hang tight, James. Get some rest if you can, hard as it may be. Don't worry too much. Oh, by the way, I think I should send a lawyer to see you. Today if possible."

Jim was baffled. "Pal, you are talking in riddles."

"Chances are I won't be back until tomorrow. Take me that long to get things lined up. Cullen will wonder why the best lawyer in the city hasn't been hired. So I'll see if Patricia Blackstone is available."

"Now you've brightened my day considerably."

"I thought it would. Just remember, she's going to be here officially. And this jail cell is not exactly a dimly lit café." Artie winked.

Now Jim West had to laugh. "I'll remember." Patricia was a very lovely, highly intelligent woman who was devoted to her profession. Not so much so, however, that she had not had time for a brief fling with Jim a couple of years ago. They had remained close friends.

Artemus went to the bars to yell for the jailer, then turned back to Jim, his face sober now. "Something tells me you aren't revealing all, Jim. I hope it's not because you don't trust me."

Jim got to his feet quickly, stricken. "Artemus, no. It's moreit's some things I have to sort out in my head. I think it'll be easier to talk about them away from this establishment."

"Then we'd better see that that happens soon. Ah, here is the fine turnkey. I'll be taking my leave. Be sure to take good care of my friend, jailer."

"I already got them orders," the man scowled. Obviously he was not in favor of special treatment for any prisoner, regardless of friendships and past reputations.

Thus Artemus Gordon was delighted, the following morning, when he found a different guard on duty, one who had evinced a bit more sympathy toward Jim West the night Jim was incarcerated. The man gazed at the shriveled, white-haired man clinging to Gordon's arm and Artie smiled gently.

"This is Mr. West's grandfather. Imagine his horror last night when he arrived in town to learn that his beloved grandson was in jail, and on such a heinous charge. I was afraid he was going to suffer apoplexy. But he's bucked up, haven't you, Grandpa West?"

"Wanna see my Jimmy," the old man muttered, his words being almost swallowed by the heavy knit scarf wrapped around his neck and into which his chin was buried almost to his nose. "My poor boy, my poor boy" His voice broke off in a choking sob.

Artie saw the expression on the guard's face. Indeed, here was a sensitive man. "It's really heart-wrenching, isn't it? The only way I could get him to rest last night was to promise he could see Jimmy Jim this morning. It's all right isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Gordon. I got me an old grandpappy too. I know the old fellow would just about keel over and die if something like this happened to me. Come on. Come on, Granddad. You can see your boy. It ain't a pleasant place to be, but we're taking care of him, best we can. Come on. Don't trip on the sill there." He gently took the old man's other arm.

Jim heard the voices approaching and wondered a little, because he did not notice the usual crisp steps, the clicking of hard heels on the stone floor, as usually occurred, even when merely a guard bringing his meal or coming to look in on him. The voices were approaching at a very slow pace, as well.

As they neared, he was sure he recognized Artemus's voice, and was puzzled further. Was he having a leisurely stroll and conversation with someone. No feminine voice, so Patricia was not in the party. The lovely attorney's visit late yesterday had been a welcome diversion, but also a reminder of the difficulty he was in. Patricia had talked to not only Artemus but also Captain Cullen and Sergeant Morris, so she knew the particulars. She had not been able to offer a great deal of hope.

Jim West came to his feet slowly, gaping with an open mouth as the three men appeared around the corner, the two younger, taller men appearing to support the frail, hunched over man with the masses of white hair under a derby hat, bearded face buried in a muffler.

"Jim!" Artie cried cheerfully, "look who's come to see you, all the way from Boise! Your dear Grandpa West!"

All Jim's willpower was required to prevent himself from bursting out laughing, despite realizing the seriousness of the situation. What in the world was Artemus Gordon up to? All he could do was play along. He moved quickly to the bars, gripping them with tight fists. "Grandpa! Oh Grandpa! I don't want you to see me like this!"

The old man mumbled something, Artie patted his shoulder as the guard opened the door. "We know, grandpa, we know. There now. There's your boy that you came all this way to see. How about a big hug, Jim!"

"Careful, West," Jailhouse Joe muttered, "you'll break my ribs!"

Jim West buried his face in the scarf as well, needing to disguise his own laughter. His shoulders must have been shaking, for Artie spoke up with deep solicitation in his voice, "Oh dear, this is so emotional, isn't it? Guard, you can go back to your post. I'll wait out here, to give them some time alone. I'll call when you're needed."

The guard unashamedly wiped moisture from his face, smiled weakly, then locked the cell door behind the old man before hurrying back to his post. Perhaps a half hour later he heard Gordon's call echoing down the hallways, and strode back, determined this time to retain his composure. He was unsure just why the thought of this poor old man visiting his grandson had affected him so. Perhaps it had been just remembering his own grandpa, who was so proud of his jailer grandson. Imagine having a grandson with the reputation of James West, and then learning the beloved lad was a murderer!

When he reached the cell, Gordon was standing out side the cell, at the bars, apparently trying to convince the old man the time to leave was nigh. The prisoner was laying on the bunk, his face buried in his arms, and obviously weeping, while his grandparent stood over him, patting his shoulder, talking softly.

"It's been awful," Artemus said in a choked voice. "Awful. The poor old man doesn't really understand I'd better get him back to the hotel. I should have stayed in there with them" He wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

As soon as the door was opened, Artie slipped inside, going to put his arm around the old man's shoulders. "Come along, Grandpa West. It's time to go now. You can come back and see your Jimmy later. Hehe needs to rest."

The old man muttered something, obviously a protest, as he resisted being pulled away. Gordon cajoled him with his voice and urged him with his arms. The jailer found himself coming close to losing control again. To see the great Jim West sobbing on the bunk was almost too much, and the grief of the old man He locked the door as soon as Artemus Gordon propelled the shriveled old fellow through the door.

"I've got to get back to my post, Mr. Gordon. You can manage?" He knew that if he remained in the company of the old fellow, he would lose it entirely.

"Surely, surely. We'll be along. I'd appreciate if you'd make certain my hack is still waiting at the alley door. I want to get him back to his hotel room as soon as possible. Might even summon a doctor. This has been I never should have allowed him to talk me into it!"

"Artemus, my admiration for your fortitude grows deeper every day," Jim West said, settling back in the hack. "This damn thing itches!" He reached for the mass of white whiskers cemented to his chin.

Artie grabbed his arm. "Not yet. You should wear them awhile longer. I booked us a room in a boarding house down near the docks."

"Sheila Casey?"

"Sheila Casey. The soul of discretion and absolutely devoted to you after what you did for Liam. She's all ready for both of us."

Jim took a deep breath. Good to breathe free air again, away from the stench of those cells. "How the hell did you talk Jailhouse Joe into it? He's going to serve some time for aiding and abetting!"

Gordon laughed. "That's the whole point, Jim. You know why he's called Jailhouse Joe."

"Yeah, I guess I do." Jim shook his head. They had encountered the lowlife on several previous occasions, and he had usually been a damn nuisance because Joe did everything possible to get arrested. The agents knew that the San Francisco Police Department ignored Joe as much as possible, quite aware that he was extremely fond of living at the taxpayer's expense. "How far can he be trusted?"

"A hundred bucks far. He knows it's waiting for him in a specific hiding place, but if I hear he's betrayed us in any way, shape, or form, that little cache will disappear before he's released. He's got five bucks in his pocket right now, and he'll tell the cops that that was what he was paid for his impersonation and participation."

"You know that you could be arrested as well now."

"I know. I've had worse threats hanging over my head. All that's important is that you are out of there, and we can work together. And I got some other information."

"Artie, before we go into that, there's something I need to tell you. You might want to take me back to jail."

Gordon gazed at his friend's somber face. "All right. Spill."

"I told you how I fell asleep in the evenings, how I seemed to have lost work that I completed."

"Yeah, go on."

"Also I can remember snatches of I thought they were dreams. I have memories of walking, alone, on darkened streets."

"That's all they were, Jim. Dreams. Stop thinking like that. You did not murder those women." Artie thought a moment. "Jim, I talked to the hotel staff. I was told that you had a standing order for coffee to delivered to you around 9 o'clock every night you were working."

"Yeah. I needed it. Why you're thinking it was drugged?" Jim West absently scratched at the pasted-on beard. "As though"

"As though someone wanted to make sure not only that you did not have any memory of a specific few hours, but perhaps also that you did not leave your room. I understand the same steward delivered the coffee every time."

"True," Jim responded thoughtfully. "Nice young fellow. Named Billy. Good lord! And I never suspected!"

"Billy no longer works at the Avalon Hotel," Artemus said. "He quit last night after you were arrested."

"What a surprise. Next question: who is behind it? The opium lords?"

Artie sighed, shaking his head. "That's my first and best guess. Not entirely in their style though. Murder is in their repertoire, but they don't usually rely on something so iffy as having you convicted and hanged for murder."

"Yeah, I agree. Still, it could be that they are attempting to divert suspicion from themselves. If either of us was assassinated, the law would head straight for them."

"But here's something else, and I don't know how much weight to give it. While I was searching for Jailhouse Joe, I talked to a few people, asked some questions. No one, absolutely no one, has heard of a plot to frame you for murder."

Jim looked toward the window at the passing scene. He did not want his partner to see how that information disturbed him. Few secrets were kept on the street. Someone was always talking, either for payment or simply to display the power of knowledge. Of course, a few of those talkers were punished for being too garrulous, but somehow that never stopped all the talk. If the leaders of the opium trade had a plot afoot, someone would know about it. Artemus knew as well as he did that many of those snitches had no qualms about talking to the law under the proper circumstances, that is, for payment.

"Of course," Artemus went on after a moment, "I didn't talk to everyone. I think that's what you and I need to do, hit all the saloons and dives around the docks. I was able to get my makeup bag and a few of your clothes out of the hotel, plus I picked up a few items at second-hand stores, so I can work up other disguises. We're both going to need them."

"Yeah," Jim concurred in a dull tone. "I suppose that's a good idea."

"Jim!" Artemus Gordon grabbed his partner's arm. "Stop it! Stop doubting yourself. You are not a murderer."

Jim turned his eyes away from the window, looked directly at Artemus. "You saw me, Artie."

Artie sighed. "I saw someone who looked like you. That means nothing. We both know that. We're going to get to the bottom of it, Jim."

"Yeah."

Sheila Casey's once fiery hair had faded with the years, but her green eyes were glowing and full of tears as she embraced the disguised young agent. "When I read the newspaper, James, I was so angry. How could they think that of you?"

Jim hugged her back. He may have saved her son's life, but she had also done him and Artie a great favor at the same time, giving them a sanctuary for a completely different reason a few years ago. "Where's Liam these days?"

She beamed. "At the university in Berkeley! He'll be graduating next year. And then he's going to be a doctor!"

"That's wonderful!" Artie enthused. "I'm sure Jim and I will avail ourselves of his services one day, sooner or later."

Sheila laughed. "You two! Artemus, you know where the rooms are. Get yourself settled then come down and I'll have a hot meal ready. And James, do remove that horrible stuff so I can see your handsome face and green eyes." She had long claimed Jim West as a surrogate son, partially based on the fact that he possessed the same green eyes as her own son.

By the time they came back downstairs, Jim was feeling quite a bit better. Partly that lift in his mood was due to getting the fake hair and gunk off his face, and changing into the clothing Artemus had brought, including his spare boots, complete with the hollowed heels in which special weapons could be secreted. His attire was not one of his natty suits, but rough denim trousers and knit shirt, similar to what was worn by men who hung around the docks, working on land or on the ships. But it was not a jail uniform.

The primary reason for his elevated frame of mind came from a small incident that just happened. He had been at the mirror hanging over the dresser, using the acetate Artemus provided to clean the adhesive off his face, when his partner came to the open door in the wall between their rooms. Artie made the simple request to borrow Jim's shaving soap; he had somehow missed grabbing his own. When Jim turned and tossed the bar toward him, Artemus very nearly dropped it, his mouth and eyes gaping open in sudden revelation.

"James! He was left-handed!"

Jim was bemused. "Who was?"

"The fellow in the alley. He threw a rock at me with his left hand! Accurately too. Barely missed my head. Would not have been fatal, but it surely would not have felt particularly good. You are right-handed."

"Yeah, I am." Jim West could not help but smile with this revelation and experience great relief. He had not been entirely aware of just how many self doubts had been hiding deep in his mind. While such information was not definite proof, because the man could have simply grabbed and hurled the rock with his left hand because it was nearest that hand, chances were very good that a lob with the "wrong hand" would have more likely been wild, well off the mark. Perhaps now he could finally get rid of the ugly thought that kept echoing in his brain: Like father, like son.

After a hearty meal in Sheila Casey's kitchen, accompanied by the warm concern evinced by their landlady as well as more information on her scholar son, the pair returned to their rooms, where Artemus applied his special skill to transform their facial features. Jim strongly declined the beard his partner wanted to provide him with, settling for a dark mustache that trailed over his mouth, some padding to his eyebrows, and a couple of scars that distorted his features slightly.

"Wish I had a means to change eye color," Artie fretted as he stepped back to appraise his handiwork. "I don't think anyone would recognize you simply based on your eyes, but if anyone was suspicious" He shook his head. "Don't suppose you'd pose as a blind man and wear dark glasses."

Jim laughed. "No, I don't think that would work very well. It'll be pretty dim in most of the dives. I'll just make a habit of not looking anyone directly in the eyes."

As they prepared to leave the Casey home, their landlady had fretful warnings for them. "I'm sure by now your escape has been noted, James. That poor Joe could not have lain on the bunk all day! It might even be in the papers by now."

"I wouldn't doubt that at all," Artie confirmed. "But don't worry, Sheila. We have a pretty good idea of what we're doing. I have no doubt the authorities are watching our hotel to see if we come back for our horses, and also the railroad cars on the siding at the South Pacific depot. I don't plan on going near either of those places at the moment."

"We are going to need to try to find Billy," Jim reminded his partner as they left the house and strolled toward the docks, trying to imitate the swagger of a seaman. Jim had donned a black knitted watchcap, pulling it down over his ears and forehead somewhat, while Artie wore a flat porkpie hat perched atop a wig of wildly curly reddish-brown hair that matched his equally out-of-control beard.

"I know," Artemus concurred, jamming his hands into the large pockets of his pea jacket. The small gun also in one of those pockets was very comforting to the touch. "I have his last name–Burgins–but was not able to find out where he lived. I'm thinking of calling on the hotel again tomorrow, looking for my long-lost nephew."

"I want to go back there."

"Jim, that's not a good idea!"

"In one of your incomparable disguises, of course. Artie, I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to the people around me over this last week. I mean, I wasn't looking for trouble. Stupid, in retrospect, but I was so damned tied up in that damned report"

Artie patted his arm. "I understand. Believe me, I understand. I'm more sorry than ever that I was called away. Which is interesting, when you think about it. That was a sudden and unexpected summons I received. No one could have planned on you being alone for any length of time."

"Hmm. Yes, I see what you mean. Sounds like someone has had their eyes on us for awhile. That's the type of planning the opium lords are not particularly well-known for. They would leap on the moment, so to speak, not watch for weeks–perhaps months in this case–waiting for the right circumstances. We come to San Francisco fairly often, but not regularly. I would have thought that if Chang Lee and Big Jake were going to have done something, it would have been a few weeks back, when we were here digging into their business dealings and before we took off after the boys heading for Reno."

"As well," Artie put in, "seems to me he they whoever wanted you to be alone. That does not occur often, and would not have had Uncle Borden had not chosen to put some very unusual conditions in his will, one being that his sons must accept the terms or lose their legacy. When both boys protested, it became a case for a Solomon, which I certainly am not. Uncle Borden didn't provide for such a situation, though I suspect he suspected his sons would misbehave in some manner–they always have–and put me in the middle of it."

"I still can't believe that name," Jim said in some wonderment. "Borden? Borden Gordon?"

Artie sighed noisily. "What do you expect in a family that bestows the name Artemus' on one of their own?"

"Yeah. I see what you mean. But getting back to the subject at hand, who would have had the ability, let alone the motive, to keep track of our appearances in this city?"

"Good question. We don't always stay at the same hotel. Sometimes we don't even use a hotel. So it has to be someone who was making a point to watch us. Someone very patient, obviously. Someone who had the means to create a double, and perhaps keep him under wraps until the right occasion."

They paused on a street corner to allow a beer wagon to lumber by. Artie glanced around, then jabbed Jim in the side with his elbow. "We made the evening edition."

Jim followed his gaze and saw the stack of newspapers on the sidewalk next to the lad doling them out for pennies. The headline was quite visible: Murderer Escapes City Jail! "So much for a fair trial," he murmured.

Artemus casually wandered over to fetch one of the papers, tossing a coin to the boy. He tucked the folded edition under his arm, though he was dying to read what had been said about the brilliant breakout. He hoped the poor sympathetic jailer was not severely punished. With any luck, when this was all over, he could intercede for the fellow. After all, he had been duped by the best!

They entered the first tavern they came to, took a table and ordered beer. Jim saw how they were under surveillance by customers and employees alike, and he hoped that was due to them being strangers. The merchant marine community was a relatively small one, and a tight one. Everyone knew everyone else. They worked together on the docks, shipped out together. Newcomers were interlopers until they proved themselves. He and Artie had discussed the story they were going to tell.

Artie casually pored over the news story, hoping that any observers would not notice any extra interest on his part. "At least," he said, "no reward offered yet. I'm thinking that in at least a few instances, we're going to need to reveal our true selves to folks we know. Once a reward is in the picture, things might get a little touchy." He noticed that little was written concerning the ruse used to free the prisoner, either because the police did not want anyone else to emulate it, or because of their own embarrassment. Jailhouse Joe was not mentioned.

The paper also, with great moral fervor, warned respectable young women to not be out after dark alone, if they valued their lives as well as their virtue. West and Gordon had discussed the prospect that, with the "murderer" at large, the perpetrator would be free to strike again, and probably would, to solidify the frame.

"Then we'd better cover a lot of ground tonight, and split up," Jim stated.

"I don't like that idea, Jim."

"I'm a big boy, Artemus. I can look after myself."

"Yeah? Look what happened last time I left you on your own." Artie cocked his head and gazed at his friend.

Jim winced. "Touché. But time is of the essence, as the old saying goes. We need information, and we need it fast. Before the cops get wind of a couple of nosy strangers asking questions about the opium lords and a frame-up. Lloyd Morris is a sharp cookie. He'll add it up pronto."

They finished their beers, shook hands like friends parting, and went their separate ways, after having determined which streets and dockside joints each would take so as not to duplicate efforts. Neither could make any specific plans or promises about whether or not to reveal their identities. As Artie had mentioned, doing so might be necessary when talking to persons they had past acquaintance with. All they could do was agree to meet on a specific corner at midnight.

Artemus was there first, feeling more than a little frustrated with the evening's efforts. The fact that Jim was late did not help at all. He leaned against a wall, watching passersby, half expecting a police wagon to come flying around the corner at any moment. He had not noticed more than a usual police presence in the area, so it would seem that Captain Cullen and Sergeant Morris had not considered that the escapee and his accomplice would head for the waterfront area. Not yet at least.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he noted a familiar figure climbing the hill toward the corner. Jim was staggering a bit, and Artie hoped that was an act. He did not step out to meet his partner, waited until he had passed, and then strolled along behind. A half a block up, Jim ducked into an alley between a café and a hardware store. Artie followed.

Very little light crept in from the lamppost on the street. "Jim?"

"Right here," a voice spoke almost beside him, causing Artemus to jump slightly.

"You all right?" Jim sounded normal; not inebriated at least.

"Yeah. But I gave the appearance of having downed quite a few during the course of the evening, so I thought I should act like I had just in case."

"Think someone was watching?" Artie's eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, enough that he saw the grimace on his partner's disguised face.

"I don't know," Jim said. "Just one of those feelings. You know? I never saw anyone, especially no one I knew, watching. But it was there. You learn anything?"

"Oh yeah. Lots." Artemus's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Especially that there's still no information out there involving you, or me, for that matter. I even ran into Fat Maggie. Now if she doesn't know, who does? You?"

"Same. I had to reveal myself twice, but all the other times I was able to just strike up a conversation, or I pretended to be a city cop working undercover, looking for the escaped murderer, James West. Pretty weird hearing what some of those nice folks had to say about me. Artie, did you know we're not exactly popular down here?" Mock disbelief was in his tone.

Artie clapped him on the shoulder. "Bear up, old chap. I know it was difficult. I'm sure you had trouble biting back the tears."

Jim West chuckled dryly. "Yeah. Well, shall we head for our suite at the Casa Casey? That bed is going to feel a whole lot better than the one I had last night."

"And tomorrow we'll see what we can learn about young Billy. I have a strong hunch he's important in all of this."

"Considering the fact that he likely knowingly served me drugged coffee, I'd venture to agree with you, Artemus."

"Thus he will know who hired him to serve you that drugged coffee. He's damned important, Jim. I have a feeling we'd better find him as soon as possible."

WWWWWW

By good fortune, Sheila Casey had the perfect cover for them. A neighbor, three houses down the street, kept goats, and made cheese from the milk, which he peddled to the finer restaurants in the city. He had broken his arm and also temporarily lost his assistant, so had come to her to ask if she had any boarders who might be looking to make a few extra bucks driving his wagon to deliver the cheese. One of the clients was the Avalon Hotel.

Because they were going to be out in broad daylight, Jim assented to a beard, though only a light one. Artemus chose to apply a little van dyke laced with gray, and then silvered Jim's hair, adding some lines around the mouth and eyes, and darkening his complexion. A floppy brimmed hat would shade his face even further. Jim retained the denim trousers, but donned a loose-fitting shirt covered by an oft-mended, ill-fitting jacket with pockets in which weapons were secreted.

Artemus reapplied the wild beard to his own face, but pulled on a skullcap that rendered his pate apparently hairless. Bushy eyebrows shaded his eyes, and cotton balls not only puffed out his cheeks but altered his manner of speaking. He would be the one going into the hotel, they decided, most particularly because he had spent the least amount of time there previously, although he had also questioned the staff about Billy Burgins. On that instance, he had talked to the lobby clerk and the management staff, not the kitchen people.

Driving the cart through the early morning city streets was agonizing. The mule drawing the vehicle plodded along and could not be hurried. Patrolmen on their morning rounds were seen, and though the officers barely glanced their way, both men anticipated a shout of "halt!" at any moment. Jim was driving, and when they finally gained the hotel, he guided the mule through the alley to the rear. There he waited, remaining on the seat, while Artemus went inside.

A tense moment arose literally minutes later, as Betty Blake strolled up the alley, apparently on her way to work. Perhaps, Jim mused, she had been allowed to change her hours so as not to have to be out after dark. Betty glanced his way with some curiosity, but did not pause to even nod as she hurried in through the back door.

A short while later that door opened again, and a stocky, barrel-chested man emerged, toting two malodorous slop buckets. He nodded toward Jim but continued on his way beyond the stables. He would empty those buckets in a trench back there, Jim knew, and return to his unpleasant task of emptying chamber pots in the various rooms.

Gazing at the stables, Jim wondered whether their horses were still inside, or if the police had impounded them. He hoped the animals were receiving good care, wherever they were. Artemus had belatedly regretted that he had not claimed the steeds before the breakout, perhaps moving them to another stable under an alias. He had had one busy day setting the escape up, so Jim understood.

The "slop" man strolled back with his empty buckets, and paused by the mule, putting his burden down to pat the animal. "This is Guido's Antonio, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Jim replied, affecting a slightly southern accent. He was not as good with accents and dialects as his partner, but he had once fooled an Alabama major into turning some secret orders over to him, believing the young lieutenant was a son of the South. "Me n' my partner, we're helping ol' Guido out a few days."

"Heard he was having a problem. The cook, he was in a state when he thought he wasn't going to get his goat cheese. Me, one cheese tastes the same as the other."

"Yeah," Jim chuckled. "These high class folks pay money for it though."

"Don't they? You live here in the city?"

"Just passin' through on our way down to Monterey. My pard, he knowed a friend of a friend, you might say, and we heard that we could earn a few bucks by helping Guido. Say, that reminds me. I had another old pal around here once, name of Burgins. He had a son, Bill. Last I heard, young Billy was working in a hotel somewhere here. You know the name?" Jim saw by the expression that the man indeed did know the name.

"Sure thing! Only he's not here anymore. Up and quit the other night. Surprised the heck out of me when I heard it."

"Quit, huh? Get another job?"

"Not that I heard of. No one seems to know why he left, or where he went."

"You don't happen tuh know whereabouts he lives, do you? I'd like to see my old friend's boy before I move on. Me n' old Burgins, we was like that." Jim held up two fingers entwined.

"Last I heard he was living in an old shack down on Sutter Street, behind the Black Lantern Tavern. He used to do some work in the tavern too. Odd jobs, you know. And they let him stay there. Say, maybe he hooked on fulltime there. He always said he'd like to. Pay would be better, especially the tips."

With a friendly wave, the man reentered the hotel, obviously feeling he had lingered too long as it was. About five minutes later, a scowling Artemus emerged. He climbed up into the seat, but neither spoke until the cart was out onto the street again.

"I should have disguised myself as a French chef," Artie grumbled. "The folks in the kitchen would hardly talk to me. Only piece of information I have is that I saw Betty Blake."

"I did too. Thankfully she didn't appear to recognize me."

"Yeah, me neither. However, I got a peek out into the dining room. Guess who her first customer was, and they were smiling and cooing like lovebirds."

"Well?"

"Lloyd Morris."

"I'll be well, Lloyd is a single man and Betty is a good-looking young lady. I'd venture to say that as Lloyd did not come charging out after us, she definitely didn't recognize either one. But guess what? I got Billy Burgins' home address."

"How'd you do that?" Artemus was stunned. He had spent twenty minutes going from the chief cook to the kitchen boy to the girl slicing onions for the luncheon soup, being his most innocuous and engaging self, ending up with nothing.

"Just used my innate charm. Talked to the slop man."

"Oh great."

Jim repeated the conversation he had had with the burly man. After returning the cart to Guido, the two agents depended on hacks and their feet to get to Sutter Street, a much faster mode of transportation. They found the Black Lantern Tavern with no difficulty. As the hour was early, the saloon was not opened yet, nor were many people in the vicinity, which made it easier to amble down the alley and locate the shack.

"Not a very palatial home," Artie muttered as the two men cautiously approached the small building. A board propped up against one side appeared to be holding up the wall, and flattened tin cans patched the roof. "No wonder extra money looked good to him, regardless of what he had to do for it."

And what Billy Burgins had to do was die. No one answered the knock on the door, so they pushed it open, to find the young man sprawled on a bunk, eyes wide open, face contorted in pain. "Poison," Artemus announced, after leaning down to sniff at the gaping mouth. He looked around. "Died sometime early this morning, I'd estimate. Whoever administered it removed whatever it was served in."

Jim nodded grimly. "Poor kid. He was friendly enough. I always got the notion he was anxious about something, but I never asked, figuring it was something personal. Wish I had."

Artie shook his head. "Probably wouldn't have made any difference. He was doomed the moment he accepted the deal from whomever he made it with. That person wouldn't be willing to allow a potential blabbermouth like Billy to remain alive and free."

"Again," Jim mused, "it really doesn't sound like the type of job any of the opium boys would do. They would have knifed him, thrown the body in the bay, weighted down. Not poison."

"Then who the devil is it?" Artemus demanded, angry and frustrated. "Jim, we are playing blind man's bluff. Billy may have been our last and only lead!"

"No," Jim replied firmly. "Somewhere in this city is someone who wants revenge against me. Wants it bad enough that he has set up an elaborate frame, one that would ruin my reputation, take my life. Man like that has to be mad. He'll make a mistake somewhere."

Gordon sighed noisily. "I just hope no more young women are harmed in the meanwhile."

WWWWWW

At the request of her boarders, Sheila Casey went out first thing in the morning and purchased the morning papers, which Jim and Artie perused as they consumed their breakfast, while their landlady glared. She did not appreciate her food being ignored, even for the sake of the news.

"At least no new murders reported," Artie murmured, putting one paper down and picking up the next one.

"Plenty of sightings though. We've been seen everywhere from Tiburon to Fresno. I wonder"

Artie nodded. "I wonder if one of those sightings could have been genuine."

"Genuine!" Sheila cried. "You didn't remove your disguise, did you, James?"

"No. But suppose the fellow who's been made up to look like me was spotted. How are we to tell which could be the genuine sighting, though."

"This is interesting," Artie said. "Listen. A reliable report put the escaped murderer near the home and offices of Dr. Webster Raleigh, prominent alienist of our city. The police investigated promptly, due to the reported unpleasant encounter that Dr. Raleigh and Mr. West had within the city jail. Witnesses of that meeting state that West was foaming at the mouth upon listening to the doctor's clinical evaluation of his madness, and had to be restrained. Captain Cullen of the city police offered Dr. Raleigh fulltime police protection, but it was courageously refused. The good doctor feared that his own patients might be deterred from visiting him if police were present.'" Artemus lowered the paper, looked at his partner.

"Typical newspaper hyperbole," Jim said, then frowned. "What kind of clientele does Raleigh have that the police would scare them off?"

"I suspect that the criminal mind would be a fascinating subject for a man like him. I presume that's how he developed his hypothesis' by which he determined that the murderer of those women perfectly fit the personality of one James T. West." Artie grinned at his partner. The subject was serious, but he could not resist the gibe.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jim leafed through the paper he was holding. "I haven't seen anything about Billy. Either he hasn't been discovered or"

"Or those stupid newspapers don't consider the death of a lad like that to be important!" Sheila sniffed. "Just a poor workingman."

"Somehow," Artemus mused, "we need to let the police know of Billy's involvement."

"I suppose a letter would work," Jim said. "You write it, disguising your handwriting, and maybe Sheila will post it."

"I surely will," Mrs. Casey assured them. "What are you two going to be up to today? Not the docks again."

"No, I think we've worn out our welcome there," Jim responded. They had spent another vain evening last night scouring the waterfront area, looking for informants and information. Nothing pointed to any of the opium lords being involved in the situation. "Quite frankly, I don't know what to do next. Artemus, you're the brains of this outfit."

Artie put the last newspaper aside and picked up his cup of coffee. "Maybe Jim West–the real Jim West–needs to put in an appearance or two."

"Artemus!" Sheila Casey cried in horror. "He'd be arrested."

"Not if we're clever. And James and I are always clever. Aren't we, James?"

Jim West made a face at his partner.

WWWWWW

Late that morning, the employees of the Avalon Hotel were startled when their former guest, James West, strolled in through the lobby to the desk. The flustered clerk stuttered an answer about whether Mr. West's room was still available, watched as the handsome young man easily climbed the stairs; he then flew out the front door to find the nearest patrolman. By the time that police officer arrived, and later some of his fellow officers, the escaped murderer was nowhere to be seen, though startled witnesses reported he had ambled casually through the dining room after coming back downstairs.

James West was also spotted in front of City Hall, near the Presidio, and dining at a restaurant near the opera house. In the latter case, his identity was not known immediately, and by the time the maitre d' was convinced by a waiter, the notorious diner had paid his tab and departed.

The evening paper carried accounts of most of the appearances. Artie crowed over the confusion his plan was causing. "You can bet that the genius behind all this is steaming."

"But what's the point, Artemus?" Sheila wanted to know.

"Just to stir things up. I have a feeling the boss man, or whatever he is, was feeling pretty smug about it all. He might even be happy that Jim is out of jail. But he can't like hearing that Jim West has been seen openly. Jim?" Artie looked at his frowning partner. "You don't agree?" Jim had fully concurred with the plan earlier. Although he made his public appearances undisguised, Artemus had always hovered nearby with a quick concealing outfit to be thrown on so that they could escape the area undetected.

"Artie, I keep thinking about that woman I saw in the Avalon Hotel this morning."

"A guest in the hotel" Artie began. Jim had mentioned her earlier. A tall, slender woman in her late twenties, not beautiful but quite handsome.

"That's just it, I don't think so. I saw her at meals, and noticed she looked at me though I have to reluctantly admit she appeared impervious to my answering smile. I asked the desk clerk one afternoon when she was leaving through the lobby if she was a guest. To his knowledge, she had never been registered there, though he had seen her entering the dining room several times. Today, she was I can only use the word shocked to see me. Several people recognized me. They stared. But this woman lost color from her complexion."

"So, she saw you on previous occasions, perhaps was beginning to feel some attraction. Then she heard you were arrested for murder. Now to see you again"

"Maybe. I just can't help but think there's something more to it, and I'd like to know who the hell she is."

"Perhaps I can find out," Sheila offered. When both men looked at her, she continued. "I'll don my best hat and go to that restaurant. James can give me a complete description. She was eating alone, James?"

"Yes. Every time I saw her she was alone. That's why I thought she must be a guest. Young women don't usually enter a restaurant like that alone."

"Exactly. And a perfect excuse for me to approach her. I can be rather bold, you know." Her green eyes glinted.

"She may not go back now," Artie warned.

"Or she may be there more often," Jim decided.

WWWWWW

Unwilling to sit idly in the boarding house, the two agents donned their disguises and headed out again that evening, this time away from the waterfront. They visited Chinatown and other areas where criminals were known to hang out, looking for old acquaintances and new. Although they managed to get into a minor scuffle with a couple of men in one dive, once again, the results were the same. No information at all concerning an underworld plot to frame Jim West for murder.

The next day, Sheila Casey togged herself in her Sunday best and headed to the Avalon Hotel for her midday meal. She returned to report that the mysterious woman had not been present. However, Sergeant Lloyd Morris was, and he had spoken to her, remembering her from the days when he had arrested her young son as a suspect in a robbery.

"He asked me if I had heard the terrible news about you two, and of course I had to admit I saw it all in the newspaper, and I was so horribly shocked by it. I told him that I certainly did not believe that James was guilty of such a terrible crime. Then he asked me if I had seen either of you recently. To be sure, I lied and told him I had not. Then this was so strange and I don't know what to make of it. He leaned toward me, and said in a low voice, Mrs. Casey, I need to talk to Jim and Artie. It's vitally important.' I said I couldn't help him."

"I wouldn't think Lloyd would believe us stupid enough to fall into such a trap," Artie said.

"He's not," Jim put in. "Lloyd is one of the brightest young fellows on the force. Always has been. Cullen told me once that only politics is keeping him down in rank right now, and Cullen expects Lloyd to overcome that eventually. Lloyd's biggest problem is that he's too honest."

Artemus's brow knit. "You think it's legit then?"

"I don't know," Jim sighed. "Maybe he'll be there later."

"Not today," Artie reminded him. "Betty only works through the midday meal."

Neither the mysterious woman nor the policeman was at the Avalon Hotel dining room that evening. It was decided to try at least one more day. When Sheila returned to her home after another fine lunch, she reported that the mysterious lady again had not appeared, but as before, Lloyd Morris was there. He had been in a close conversation with the momentarily idle Betty when Sheila first entered, but had hurried to her table.

"He said it again, and to me, he seemed to be disguising what he was saying. Know what I mean? He was smiling like we were talking about something real pleasant, and he says, Mrs. Casey, if you see Jim or Artie, you've got to convince them to talk to me. It's about the eyes.' I swear, that's what he said."

The two agents looked at each other. Artie was the one that spoke. "About the eyes? What in St. Elmo's fire does that mean?"

"I think it means we have to take the bait and talk to him," Jim replied laconically.

"Oh, yeah, we just go marching into City Hall and announce ourselves!"

Jim chuckled. "Sure. Why not?" He sobered. "Wonder if Lloyd still lives in that boarding house below Russian Hill. Might try a late-night visit there."

The afternoon crawled by slowly. Virtually imprisoned within the Casey home, and unable to come up with any new ideas, Jim West and Artemus Gordon were relegated to rehashing all that had occurred, advancing theories and discarding them just as rapidly. Although they could not as yet be absolutely certain, each felt that their work against the opium smugglers was not playing into this scenario. The opium lords certainly would like to have some revenge, but they would be apt to seek to wreak that vengeance in a different manner.

Finally, after preparing a meal for her guests, Sheila Casey headed off for the hotel again. Artie shook his head, watching her head for the corner to catch the cable car. "She's really enjoying this. She'll love regaling Liam with the tale later." He turned to follow Jim back to the kitchen where their food awaited.

"Let's just hope the tale has a happy ending," Jim scowled. "I hate this, Artie. I hate being unable to do my work!"

"I'm feeling the same way, Jim. But it's what has to be done. Going out in the daylight too often, even disguised, is not a good idea. Might be just one sharp person out there that notices you, say, fit the description in height and weight, and maybe even notices your green eyes" Artemus halted his words, snapping his fingers. "That might be it! Betty knows you have green eyes. Maybe she noticed that the man who attacked her had eyes of a different color."

"From what you said, the alley was pretty dark."

"True, but the light from the window after the storekeeper lifted the shade presented some very good illumination. If that's the case, Lloyd would take it as an indication of your innocence, though not necessarily admissible proof. Can't wait to talk to him now."

Sheila Casey returned bubbling with news. First, she said, the young lady was there. Better yet, the dining room was fairly crowded. "Some sort of lady's club was having a meeting. The waiter asked the young lady if I might share her table, and she was most agreeable. I rather got the impression that she was weary of eating alone."

"Then why was she there so often by herself?" Artie frowned.

"I'm not certain of that. But I did get some information about her. First of all, her name is Regina Raleigh."

"Raleigh!" Both men spoke at the same time, and Artie added, "Related to the doctor?"

"Yes. We talked a bit about families. She's quite proud of her father. She works with him in his studies. Nevertheless, she's very unhappy about the difficulty involved for a woman to obtain a degree that would permit her to be his equal in professional status. She says she knows everything he does, and more."

Artie scratched his chin thoughtfully. "But why is she hanging around the hotel? Meeting someone?"

"I don't think so. She never gave any indication that I was unwelcome, that she was expecting another person," Sheila said.

"When I saw her there," Jim put in, "she was always alone. I never saw her even flirt with a waiter. Interesting."

"Here's something else," Sheila said, pulling a folded newspaper from her large handbag. "Latest edition."

Artie took it from her, and his eyes widened. "A reward has been offered for the recapture of murder suspect, James West," he read aloud. "The bounty of five thousand dollars has been placed by Doctor Webster Raleigh, noted physician and alienist, and highly respected citizen of our city. Dr. Raleigh states that the reward will be paid to the person or persons who provide the clue that leads to the arrest of James West, and urges that every attempt be made to take the criminal alive. West should be subject to all the rules of our fair nation, and that includes standing trial and facing the world, before hanging for his foul crimes,' Dr. Raleigh is quoted." Artemus paused, a weak smile on his countenance. "A fair trial before hanging for his crimes. Sounds to me he's got you pegged as guilty, Jim."

"He did on his visit to the jail as well," Jim West mused. "Anything more?"

"Not much. Just that a citywide manhunt has been in progress. Oh, here it says that West was spotted trying to board a South Pacific freight car yesterday before being chased off by railroad bulls. You didn't tell me you were attempting to skedaddle, James."

"Yeah." Jim missed the joke, staring into space. "Why would this Dr. Raleigh be involved with something like this? What does he have against me?"

"Why, James," Sheila protested. "It sounds to me that he is just behaving like a responsible citizen. After all, he has a lovely daughter"

"Who has been hanging out at the same hotel where I stayed," Jim put in.

"Goodness gracious, James," Sheila continued, shaking her head. "All these years in the service have given you a jaundiced attitude. You suspect everyone. If you could talk to Miss Raleigh and her father, I'm sure you'd feel differently."

"I intend to talk to the doctor."

Artemus Gordon stiffened. "I suppose you expect me to go see Morris while you have a tete-a-tete with the doctor who thinks you are an insane murderer."

"Seems to me that's a good idea," Jim replied mildly. "You agree we may be running out of time. Someone is going to spot us here. The sooner we get this cleared up, the sooner we can leave Sheila's home and prevent her from getting into trouble because of us."

"Pshaw!" The lady in question waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not worried at all about that. I owe you boys a lot more than I can ever repay anyway."

Artie grimaced. "I guess you are right, Jim. It's probably better that I walk into Lloyd's trap alone, if it is a trap. All they've got on me is aiding and abetting an escape. That's a bailable offense."

"And if they get me again, I'll be clapped in irons and weighted down with cement so I can't move," Jim smiled. "I'll go in disguise. You can even plaster the thickest beard you have on my chin. Got any long curly wigs? Maybe Sheila has a dress that can fit me."

"The more I think about this," Artemus Gordon said as he carefully applied adhesive to his partner's strong jaw preparatory to adding the wild beard he himself had worn previously, "the less I like it. We ought to find out what Morris has to say–if anything–and then go see Raleigh together. We should find out more about him too."

"How do you propose we do that? Ask the police?"

"Well, I certainly can ask Lloyd tonight."

"What is he going to say? From all accounts, Raleigh is an upstanding citizen, highly respected in his field. He just did his civic duty by posting a reward for my capture. That's bound to be looked upon as fine citizenship by the police, even Lloyd Morris."

"I know, I know. But this business of his daughter being at the hotel–surely it's a coincidence. If her father was involved, is involved, why should she still be going there?"

"To throw off suspicion?" Jim got to his feet and peeked into the mirror over the dresser. "Good Lord, Artie, I look like you!"

Artie laughed. "I don't think it'll do to introduce yourself to the good doctor as Artemus Gordon. After all, I'm being tarred by the same brush for having assisted the dastardly criminal to escape."

Jim absently scratched at the beard, pulling his hand away when he caught his partner's warning look. He had been told to allow the adhesive to set, especially for a beard of this size and weight. "I just keep wondering why he posted such a large reward by himself. Especially when he's not personally involved. Yes, I know he has a daughter, so he relates to the parents of the other victims. But is that enough? Why did he take it upon himself to go to the police after the first three murders to give them a a profile of the probable murder."

"And then come into the jail to, so to speak, view his handiwork. A good lawyer could probably do something with that. And Patricia is a fine lawyer."

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to give her reason to need to do anything with his visit. You know, I got the impression that he was delighted. Is that the word? Somehow he was very pleased that it was me who fit the description. Almost as though he created the profile to fit me, instead of the other way around."

"Thus, the eternal, repetitive question keeps popping up. Why? You have not said that the name means anything to you."

"It doesn't. Other than Sir Walter and the city, I don't recall ever encountering the name Raleigh in my life. Is he a relative of someone I arrested?"

Artie shook his head. "Then why not come after me as well? I was involved in ninety-nine percent of your arrests in one way or another."

"This is why I need to talk to him. I don't know of another way to learn anything about him."

"And it's why I do not like it. What are you going to do? It's not likely he's keeping office hours tonight."

"I'll figure that out. Probably have to play it by ear. He might not even be home tonight. Maybe Regina will be and I can talk to her."

Artie grinned. "Well, don't expect to exert your usual charm under that getup!" Artemus sobered. "Jim, listen to me. Let's go see Lloyd together. Or at least you can hide outside while I find out what's up. Then we can both call on the doctor. Hell, we don't even know where Raleigh lives!"

"Shouldn't be all that hard to find out. Artie, I'm getting the sense that time is of the essence. Remember we identified ourselves to a few people at the various taverns the last couple of nights. Those folks are going to hear about the reward, and want to put in a bid for it. And the police might remember how close Sheila's home is to the waterfront."

Gordon sighed. "If nothing else, we should find ourselves another place to stay."

"First things first. Let's see what happens tonight. I may not be able to get close enough to talk to Raleigh, but at least I'll get an idea of what's going on around him, who's coming to see him."

"At night?"

"If we're right about his patients, could be many of them would prefer to come at night."

"Maybe so, maybe so." Artemus sighed inwardly, knowing he was defeated. Trying to change Jim West's mind in a situation like this was similar to trying to stop the sun from going down. And Old Sol was sinking in the west, bringing darkness ever more complete. What he would need to do was complete his own business with Lloyd Morris rapidly, hoping that Lloyd was not attempting to be tricky, and then hie himself to the doctor's home as well. Jim West attracted trouble like a magnet!

Sheila Casey, that ever-helpful woman, owned a city directory, left behind by a former boarder. A couple of years out of date, nonetheless a listing was found for Dr. Webster Raleigh, M.D., Ph.D., including the address of his home and office on California Street, east of Nob Hill. Artie tried one more time, abetted by their landlady, to attempt to talk his partner into carrying out both forays together. Jim called it a waste of time. Artemus had already pointed out that he himself was in little danger, even if Lloyd's summons was a trap. For Jim West it would be a completely different matter. If arrested again, his chances of escape would be nil.

"I've got to do this, Artie. My gut tells me Raleigh is involved somehow, but I just don't know how or why. Some snooping might turn up enough to point the police his way."

"From what we've heard about Raleigh," Artemus rejoined sourly, "it had better be some damn strong evidence."

"Exactly."

WWWWWW

The trek across town was arduous, not only because of the distance and the hills in between, but the necessity to take care he was not identified. Jim felt his disguise was good, but he also knew that descriptions of the masquerades they had used on the waterfront and elsewhere were probably in the hands of the police by now, given by those hopeful of collecting Raleigh's proffered reward.

Jim West did not want to use public transportation, not even a hack, for these reasons. He did hitch a ride on the back of an empty wagon, apparently returning late after making deliveries, and was successful in remaining hidden from the driver and passersby. Luckily as the hour grew later, fewer and fewer people were out and about. He still had to do quite a bit of walking, and reached California Street close to midnight.

Finding a brass plate announcing which was the home of Dr. Webster Raleigh was no surprise. He was, after all, a professional man who used his residence as his office. He would want his clients to be able to find him. However, the sign was affixed to a tall wrought iron gate, a gate that was secured by chain and padlock, and the entire house was encircled by a high iron fence.

Jim located a site in a deep shadow under an oak tree and crouched down, his eyes on the dark shape of the large house beyond the cast iron fence. He could see faint illumination trickling around the edges of one draped window. Despite the late hour, someone appeared to be up. The doctor, taking advantage of a quiet hour to catch up on medical journals?

Quiet hour was right. The silence in this affluent residential neighborhood was nearly complete. An owl hooted, a dog barked somewhere in the distance. No other sounds were heard. Which might make it a little more difficult to break into the grounds. Any noise might be noticed. Yet, he had to do it. He had to get closer. Whether or not he could confront Raleigh remained to be seen.

Who could this Raleigh be? If he was indeed behind the frame-up, why? Because the vengeance appeared to be directed at him personally, Jim had tried to think of cases that he had handled, with Artemus not involved. Damned few. So few as to be difficult to recall. As he had told Artemus, the name Raleigh meant nothing to him. Not even on the periphery of a case, such as a relative of a culprit, someone who might have been at a trial.

Despite his intuition, Jim knew the possibility existed that this Raleigh had nothing to do with it, that he was indeed merely a citizen attempting to do a good deed by offering a reward. But Jim could not forget the doctor's visit to his cell, how the gray eyes had burned as he described his version of the murderer. He had not once taken his eyes off Jim's face, as if anxious to see the reaction.

Beyond that, Raleigh, as a physician, would have access to not only the drug that had been used on him, but the poison that killed young Billy. The daughter was somehow complicit, perhaps only as a spy. Would she do that out of daughterly love, or because she sought revenge as well? What perceived wrong had James West done against the Raleigh family?

He sure was not going to learn the answer to that hiding here in the shadows. Jim stood up, reached for the lowest branch of the old oak, and hoisted himself up on it. From there it was a relatively easy task to move to a similar branch that overhung the property, where he was able to lower himself to the well-manicured lawn, avoiding some rosebushes.

Once again he crouched for a long moment in deep shadow, waiting and listening, keeping his eyes on the window where the light was showing through. If someone inside heard a noise, chances were they would come to the window, moving a drape to look out. He saw no movement. Keeping a low profile by bending over, Jim sprinted toward the broad front porch.

WWWWWW

Artemus Gordon knocked boldly on the front door of the house, then swept off his derby hat and smiled warmly at the middle-aged woman who opened it. "Good evening, madam. I regret disturbing you at this late hour, but I'm wondering if Mr. Lloyd Morris is still a tenant here."

She gazed at the well-dressed, goatee-adorned man with some interest and suspicion. "Who might you be?"

"Well, Mr. Morris doesn't exactly know me. But I am a friend of a friend of his. If you care to inform him that a friend of Jim's is calling"

She left him waiting on the porch, closing the door. Artemus glanced around nervously. He had watched the house for almost a half an hour before approaching after not seeing any unusual activity in the vicinity. That did not mean that a couple of policemen were not awaiting his–and Jim's–arrival inside. He hoped not. His nerves were on edge about this business of calling on a policeman, even one who had been his friend. He was also anxious about his partner and wanted to join Jim West as soon as possible. Above all, he did not want to spend the night in the clink, or become involved in a fracas in an attempt to avoid that jail time.

The door opened again. The landlady's face was friendlier. "Come on it. Second door to your right at the top of the stairs."

Artie thanked her profusely and ascended the stairs. Her behavior helped his mood. He doubted she would be able to appear so relaxed if she was aware of policemen in her house. That is, policemen other than her tenant. Lloyd Morris jerked the door open upon Gordon's first rap with his fist.

"Artemus, thank God. Come in. Where's Jim?"

Artie chose to ignore the query for the moment. "What's this about, Lloyd?"

The room was not all that different from the ones he and Jim West were using at Mrs. Casey's, with a bed, a dresser and wardrobe, a couple of chairs, rag rug on the floor. Lloyd had lit two oil lamps, one by the bed and another sitting on a small table alongside a comfortable-appearing chair, and also ignited the gas-lit sconces on either side of the door. Artemus wondered if the fully illuminated room was deliberate; no shadowy spots where anyone could be hiding.

"Sit down. Artemus, I know now that the man who attacked Betty Miss Blake was not Jim West, and I'm ashamed to have ever believed it was."

Artemus Gordon settled in the large chair, and Morris perched on the edge of the bed. "How do you know' now?"

"Because Betty Miss Blake remembered that his eyes are green. She well, we were talking and she uh commented on the uh color of my eyes." Morris's face was crimson in the well-lit room. "My eyes are blue, of course. And suddenly, she remembered that the eyes of the man who assaulted her were blue as well."

"We wondered if that might be the case," Artie nodded. "She had enough light to see that?"

"Yes. She said they are a lighter blue than mine. The illumination from the cigar shop window allowed her to see them, as well as the face, quite well. She is, unfortunately, certain that the man had Jim's face."

"We've had that occur a couple of times previously, Lloyd, where some brilliant but demented person created a nearly exactly duplicate of one or both of us. We think that's what has happened here. What we don't know is who and why."

The police sergeant had to nod, grimacing. "I know. I also know that Betty's word about the color of the eyes is not going to impress anyone, especially not the prosecuting attorney. She already signed a statement identifying James West. So did you."

Artemus made a face as well. "Yeah. I had no choice, Lloyd. In retrospect, I wish I would have waited a day or two at least. But I saw him. At the instant I saw him in the alley, I was certain that the man was Jim. I had an epiphany later as well. The man was left-handed. Jim is right-handed. He threw that stone at me with his left hand, and threw it well."

"Probably still not enough to call off the manhunt."

"I know." Artemus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Lloyd, what do you know about Dr. Webster Raleigh?"

Morris evinced surprise. "Not a whole lot. I had never met him until the other day when he went with the captain and me to the cell. I know, however, that ever since this case started, he has been in contact with the chief and other higher ranking officers."

"He came up with this theory of the young man who hated women right off?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I know I heard about it from Captain Cullen after the second murder. The day after, as a matter of fact, now that I think about it. He told me while we were returning from the scene of the crime."

"Then that does sound as though Raleigh expounded his theory right off the bat. I don't know a lot about psychiatry, but that sounds a little strange. Most scientists need a great deal of empirical evidence before espousing an hypothesis."

"You know, I remember I said something along those lines. I asked the captain how Raleigh could know this with so little evidence. The captain just said that Raleigh is a brilliant man, not to mention well-respected here in the city. Why are you asking about him?"

"Two things. One is the reward. That could be quite understandable, a wealthy man doing his civic duty. But his daughter has been hanging around the Avalon Hotel. She was there while Jim was living there. He saw her numerous times. Most puzzling is the fact that she is still visiting the hotel restaurant almost daily."

"The food is good there."

"So I've heard. I haven't had opportunity to sample it. But Mrs. Casey offered to try to talk to Miss Raleigh. That's how we learned her identity. Mrs. Casey went to the hotel alone and joined Miss Regina Raleigh for a meal, had quite a lengthy and pleasant conversation. Of course, Miss Raleigh did not offer any explanation for her visits to the hotel. We think she was the one who contacted Billy Burgins."

"Burgins. We had a letter at the department and found the lad dead in his shack. Doctor is performing an autopsy to determine cause of death."

"He was poisoned," Artemus stated grimly. "Jim and I found him soon enough to recognize certain signs. Probably an alkaloid. Lloyd, this Billy Burgins brought coffee to Jim every evening when he was working late in the hotel room. On several of those evenings, the ones coinciding with the murders, Jim fell asleep at the desk. I'm not sure what drug was used, but it was something that would leave no ill effects. Jim had no suspicions until later. Something a doctor like Raleigh would know about and have access to. Jim also believes that someone entered the hotel room while he was unconscious and did certain things to make him believe his mind was going."

"Good grief, Artemus! Why would Dr. Raleigh want to kill Jim West?"

"Therein lies the problem. We don't know. Even worse than that, Jim has gone to Raleigh's home this evening."

"My Lord! Why? Couldn't you stop him?"

Artie sighed. "I think you know Jim well enough to realize the answer to that. Point is, I want to get over there as soon as possible." He got to his feet.

Morris stood as well. "I'll go with you, Artemus. I'm off duty, but Dr. Raleigh need not know that."

"Lloyd, we don't want you to jeopardize your career"

The sergeant was pulling on his blue jacket. "Just a little extracurricular activity, Artemus. I've done it before. You keep that disguise on and we'll figure out who you are on the way over."

Artemus frowned as Morris completed donning his uniform. "You certain you've never heard of any problems connected with Raleigh? No scandal? Could he be involved in the opium smuggling?"

"If he is, it's one of the best-kept secrets in history. His name has never come up. As I said, I had never heard of him before this, though I've since learned how respected he is in the community, and in his field."

"We did a lot of digging," Artie told him, "on the docks and elsewhere."

"I know. We've heard about some of it from guys wanting their share of the reward."

"That's part of what convinced us that someone other than the opium lords are involved in the frame. No one had an iota of information that pointed to them being involved in the murders, or the frame-up."

"Then it's darn likely they aren't." Morris carefully pinned his badge to his jacket.

"We concluded that, and turned our attention elsewhere. The coincidence of Raleigh offering the reward, as well as coming to the police with his theory, and then his daughter being at the hotel well, a little much."

"I have to admit I was very disturbed by Raleigh's behavior in Jim's cell. He well, at the time I ascribed it to his concern for his own daughter. Almost as though he hated Jim personally." The policeman shook his head.

"That's the impression I got. Ready?"

WWWWWW

He was swimming in the old pond back home, the cool water washing over his back on a hot summer day. His pals would be lolling on the bank, watching him. The one thing he could do better than any of the other boys was swim

No, no. Not water. He was laying on cold ice. He felt the hardness under his shoulder blades and spine. Had he fallen while skating? He needed to open his eyes. He knew that. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. But he did.

At first a heavy fog seemed to be laying over top him, and he saw nothing in the gloom. The silence was almost complete, though from some distant place he heard a horse whinny. Slowly the mists cleared and he was staring up at a ceiling of rough wood. A large lantern hung directly over him, secured from a beam, though it was not lit.

Jim West turned his head slightly from side to side as the mists cleared from his vision. He was laying flat on his back on a hard cold metal table, his shirt having been removed. A strong leather strap was fastened over his chest, another at his thighs, still another across his ankles. His wrists were secured to the table at his sides by similar straps. He was pretty much immobilized, except for the ability to lift his head.

The room was fairly large. He saw cupboards and shelves lining all four walls. No windows were visible. Illumination came from three wall sconces that were lit, one near a heavy wooden door. Tables were scattered around the room, some covered with flasks and bottles, and what appeared to be scientific equipment like microscopes.

A laboratory. No, those are surgical instruments on that nearby table. A surgery?

Had to be in the basement of Raleigh's home. Jim West had walked stupidly and unsuspectingly into a well-laid trap. He had reached the porch of the house undetected or so he believed. After crouching and listening for a long moment, he had carefully tried the door handle, only to have it suddenly jerk out of his hands and open.

Dr. Webster Raleigh stood there, comfortably attired in slippers and smoking jacket, but with a nickel-plated revolver in his hand. "Good evening, Mr. West," he had greeted, a pleased smile on his face. "I've been expecting you."

At that moment Jim had heard a footstep behind him. Before he could react, perhaps partially because he was still stunned by Raleigh's appearance, strong arms had wrapped around his chest, pinioning his arms. Almost at the same moment, he felt a sting in the side of his neck. That was pretty much all he remembered.

A hypodermic needle, obviously. That indicated that two person had been behind him, a very strong man who grabbed him, and someone else who wielded the needle. They had hidden themselves well, and had made no detectable movements or sounds. Not until that last instant.

Now what? Why didn't Raleigh summon the police? Why am I not back in a jail cell, rather than this laboratory or whatever it was. How long have I been out? With no windows, he had no way of telling the time.

The effects of the drug had worn off rapidly, Jim realized. Perhaps the same narcotic, or a relative to, the one that had been placed in his coffee, which had knocked him out rather quickly, but had produced no discernible aftereffects. He had awakened each time with the sense that he had simply fallen asleep. This time he had had those moments of hallucination, of thinking the cold table was water or ice, that he was back home in New York.

He strained against the leather straps, knowing it was futile, yet needing to try. He had had a small knife secreted inside his jacket, perhaps one reason why it and his shirt had been removed. He could not determine whether another knife hidden in his boot was still there. It would be useless anyway. He could not get at it.

Jim lifted his head and peered around the room more. Definitely a basement. What he could see of the walls behind the various cupboards was stone, the floor concrete. The atmosphere was chill and dank like many an underground room he had ever been in. How long was he going to have to wait to learn why he was here instead of under arrest?

The answer came almost immediately. He heard a sound at the door, and twisted so as to see it slowly open. Dr. Webster Raleigh entered, followed by his daughter and two men. One of the men was the doppelganger, the duplicate of James West. The other was the slop bucket wielder from the Avalon Hotel.

Raleigh spoke to the burly man, who turned to increase the gas to the sconce by the door, and then moved around the room, lighting other lamps, oil and gas. Dr. Raleigh came to the table, and gazed down at the man strapped helplessly there, then stepped over to release a lever, which allowed the table to be tipped up to a point at which Jim was almost erect.

"I thought you'd be awake by now. Good. We have much to do."

"Such as?"

The doctor's daughter stood just behind her father, to one side, her gray eyes so very much like her father's, but her face much more impassive. She was not a beautiful woman, but more than handsome. Maybe if she smiled more

"First let me introduce myself, Mr. West. I am Edward Raleigh's father."

Jim frowned. "I don't know the name."

Raleigh's hand flashed up and first his palm, then the back of it, slammed across Jim West's face. Jim's head banged back against the table, stunning him for a moment. He saw the pure hatred in Raleigh's eyes.

"You didn't even know his name! He was nineteen years old! Nineteen! With an limitless future ahead of him. He might have been the greatest physician, the finest surgeon the world had ever known! Countless lives could have been saved because of Edward Raleigh! And you murdered him!"

Jim licked his lip, tasting the saltiness of the blood there. "I never murdered anyone. Ever." I am not my father's son. His eyes touched on the man who looked so much like him, virtually identical except for eye color, now leaning against a nearby cupboard, a smirk on his face.

Raleigh seemed to have gained control over himself for the moment. "I did not complete the introductions. Forgive me my manners, Mr. West. My daughter, Regina Raleigh. I know you've seen her before, but had not met her. You also met Tony at the hotel. And this, as you can see, is James West." He motioned toward the duplicate. Then Raleigh chuckled. "Perfect likeness, don't you think? He fooled your good friend Artemus. When I heard that Gordon had been a witness at the last attempt, I knew that I was doing the right thing, that fate was on my side."

"You didn't fool him for long," Jim growled.

"Long enough. Even your escape worked into my plans. Bart has been out every night trying to find a new victim. Unfortunately–and I suppose one could say fortunately' for the young ladies' sakes–the newspapers have been howling about the vicious murderer at large, warning respectable ladies to stay off the streets, so the opportunity has not yet arisen.

"Yes, there are other ladies' available, but I know, and I suspect you do as well, that the death of a streetwalker, by whatever means, fair or foul, does not cause the public to raise an eyebrow. The chaste and honest hardworking young women we've selected however But never fear, at least one, possibly two, deaths will be attributed to James West before you are returned into the hands of the authorities."

"The police already know it's not me," Jim said. "You made a couple of mistakes."

"Oh? What were they?"

"And allow you to correct them?" Jim smiled slightly.

Anger flashed across Raleigh's face and for an instant Jim steeled himself for another blow. Instead, the doctor folded his arms across his chest. "Twelve years ago you murdered my son, Mr. West. I have been planning for this almost since that moment."

"Twelve years! During the war? I didn't" Jim West shook his head. "What are you talking about?" He was completely baffled. Behind the doctor, his daughter's mouth tightened.

"You murdered him. A boy of nineteen, seeing his first engagement. He never should have been there. Edward enlisted against my wishes. I was in the process of retrieving him, using every means possible, when I received word of his his death. From then on, I spared no effort to learn the identity of his murderer. I tracked down his comrades-in-arm after the war. They, of course, had not known your name at the time, but as the war progressed and you gained a certain amount of notoriety, they were able to identify you to me."

"Are you saying he died in battle?"

"March 14, 1862."

James West leaned his head back against the hard surface and closed his eyes for a moment. He suddenly knew exactly to what Raleigh referred. He opened his eyes again. "I was with a small company of the Eleventh Illinois Cavalry, my regiment, doing some scouting, looking for some Rebs who had been messing with our supply line, destroying bridges, attacking freighters. We came upon a band of Confederates trying to set fire to a bridge over a creek, and engaged them. Have you ever been in a war, doctor? Have you ever fought in a battle?"

Raleigh seemed slightly taken aback by the query. "No. I am against war."

Jim almost laughed. Against war, but with no compunctions about taking the lives of innocent young women. "In some ways it's a mindless activity, doctor. You are engaged, you engage, you kill or be killed. Those men were trying to kill me and my comrades. We were about the same in number, but we may have had the slight advantage of surprise. I don't think the whole thing lasted much longer than twenty or thirty minutes, if that long. You lose track of time at moments like that. We drove them off. They left four dead men and three wounded on the field. We lost two dead, several wounded including myself with a saber slash on my shoulder."

Raleigh's hands came undone and he jabbed a finger toward Jim's face. "He was nineteen, sir! Nineteen! He never had an opportunity to live! He would have been bah!" Raleigh spun away, apparently in an attempt to gather his aplomb.

Regina Raleigh spoke for the first time, gray eyes fastened on the prisoner's face. "How old were you on that date, Mr. West?"

"Nineteen."

Her father whirled around to face her, face a mask of rage. "Stupid woman! This is the man who murdered your brother! Edward would have been" He took a deep breath, once again trying to calm himself. Raleigh looked at Jim. "Women are such sentimentalists. They could never be competent physicians. Even now, Regina is gazing at your handsome face and yearning, rather than thinking clinically. I told her a long time ago that her place is in the home. She's a competent assistant, however, so I cannot begrudge her place at my side."

Jim saw the impotent rage on the woman's face. Obviously she had heard some of this before.

Raleigh's face hardened. "The point is, James West, you survived, my son did not. What kind of justice is that? I am here to make sure you are punished for your crime. You will hang, James West. You'll hang, and be remembered, not as the intrepid Secret Service agent, but as a vicious murderer of innocent young women. In that manner, you'll pay for murdering my son."

On the tip of Jim's tongue were more protests, more attempts to make the doctor understand the nature of warfare. He held his silence, aware that his words would fall on stone ears. He could even explain how he looked at the four dead Rebel soldiers afterwards and tried to remember if he had engaged a particular one. He had been young enough then, and new enough to battle, to not realize that it was best not to put a face to the enemy.

Truth was, he simply had not known that he personally killed one of them. Which one? He could still picture in his mind those four corpses, bloodied and pale-faced, but he could not say which might have been Edward Raleigh. Four young men, like himself and his comrades, fighting for what they thought was right, and already becoming aware that the glorious war that was supposed to be over in weeks was going to continue a lot longer nor was it glorious.

Instead he said, "My partner knows where I am."

Raleigh smiled. "Mr. Gordon and the young police sergeant came to the house last night. They did not have a search warrant, but of course I permitted them to search, from basement to attic. They went away, leaving fervent apologies behind."

"Basement!" Jim could not contain the exclamation. He looked around the room. "But this"

"Oh, it's a basement. But not under my home. They won't find you, James West. Not until I'm ready for them to find you. When I turn you out onto the streets, a nearly mindless madman. It's entirely possible you will not be hanged once they see how your brain has corroded. Instead you'll be locked away, pitied, and then forgotten."

"How long were you tracking me?"

"Years, Mr. West. Years. I located to San Francisco after the war. With the destruction of the South, I knew my place was no longer there. I found out about your career in the Secret Service and followed it avidly. I soon learned that you frequently visited this fair city, and I began to make my plans. Bart there was another fortuitous encounter that caused me to realize what I planned was ordained. He came to me because of a terrible compulsion he possessed to harm young women. At that point, he had killed none, though the urge was growing stronger all the time.

"But what truly interested me is that I immediately saw a resemblance between Bart Victor and the great James West. Nothing like what you see today. But the bone structure of the face, the body size I saw the possibilities. I promised Bart that he would be permitted to indulge his fantasies if he would allow me to alter his face. Two years and numerous surgeries were required, but as you can see, the result is perfection. It almost makes me sorry that I also promised to give Bart another new face once his task is completed."

"I'm hurt," Jim said dryly. "I rather like this face."

The fury in the doctor exploded again. This time he seized Jim's hair, slamming his head aback against the metal table, and holding it there as he leaned in close. "You murdered my son, West. Cold-blooded murder, depriving me of my son, Regina of her brother, and the world of a great man. For this you are paying, and will pay, for the rest of your life, however long that is."

He abruptly released his hold, stepping back and breathing heavily. "I have appointments to keep. Bart, Tony, put him in the cage. Wait. We'd better tame him a little first. Regina."

As Jim West watched, the young woman turned and went to a cupboard, where she withdrew a small bottle of amber-colored liquid. She dipped a hypodermic needle efficiently into the liquid, and a small amount was absorbed into the cylinder. Carefully putting the bottle back into the cupboard, she returned to the table and dispassionately inserted the needle into a vein in Jim's arm.

He experienced the effects almost instantly. Although his brain remained clear, he felt that his muscles had no strength. "What was that?" he asked, a little surprised that his words were also sharply spoken.

"A little development of mine," Raleigh smirked while his two men undid the straps securing the prisoner.

As soon as released, Jim sagged to the floor. Tony laughed as he grabbed one arm and Bart the other. They dragged him across the floor to what Jim had perceived as a large cupboard. Upon opening the door, bars were revealed. A barred door permitted access, and he was shoved inside a cage that was probably seven or eight feet in all dimensions.

"The effects will wear off in a few minutes," Raleigh said, gazing through the bars as the door was shut and padlocked. "You should enjoy your senses, Mr. West. You will have your full faculties for as long as it takes Bart to find another victim. I want you to fully realize the consequences of your act twelve years ago. These women are dying because of you."

Jim was on his back, as he stared up at the doctor gloating face. "I know it would do no good to explain to you about war, Dr. Raleigh. I don't think you could ever comprehend."

"Oh, I comprehend, Mr. West. I understand completely. I merely want you to understand. You chose to fight in that war–on the wrong side I might add–and you willfully killed my son. In cold blood."

"No. Not cold blood." Jim could not contain the anger in his voice now. "If I killed him, he was probably trying to kill me! I have never killed a man except in defense of myself or others. I'm sorry Edward died. But thousands of other young men died, including friends of mine, killed by men who enlisted on what I considered the wrong side."

For one moment it appeared that Raleigh was going to explode in another tirade. He glared at Jim West with eyes filled with fire. Behind him, however, his daughter spoke quietly.

"Father, your patients will be waiting."

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'll come see you later, Mr. West. Miss Raleigh will keep you company for awhile as she completes some tasks. Bart, Tony, you have things to do." He stalked out the door, followed by the two men. It was closed solidly behind them.

Just as Raleigh had predicted, the effect of the drug wore off quickly. Jim was able to sit up, and then with the help of the bars, pulled himself to his feet, though he continued to feel shaky for a bit longer. He saw Regina Raleigh don a white laboratory coat, and begin to do something at one of the tables, her back to him. He took a moment to investigate his boots, finding that all weapons, including the knife, were gone.

"I got the idea you don't entirely approve of your father's actions." He spoke quietly, but his voice carried in the silence of the room.

She did not respond immediately, but finally turned, a test tube in one hand. "He's my father. I obey him."

"A woman of your age, with your intelligence? You told Mrs. Casey that you wanted to be a physician yourself."

"Mrs. Casey? The woman at the restaurant?" Regina's gray eyes widened momentarily. "She was a friend of yours!"

"Yes. Did your father forbid you to continue your education?"

"No. He he simply did not help me. With his influence–the same influence he used to attempt to release Edward from his military service–he could have gotten me into any one of several universities, despite my gender. But he refused. I could never measure up to Edward. I am a female." Her bitterness was unconcealed.

Jim pressed on, sensing the pent-up anger and resentment in Regina Raleigh. Had she ever expressed it to anyone? "That's a shame. Were you close to your brother?"

"I knew him better than anyone!" Regina came closer to the cage now. "Father didn't know Ned. My brother did not want to be a great surgeon. His dream was to be a pianist. He was so talented, even as a child. Father permitted the lessons because he felt the exercises were good for a future surgeon's hands."

"Ned wanted to be a pianist and you wanted to be a surgeon."

"From the time I was a little girl! I would sneak into the hospital and observe father's work, and that of others. I read all the journals, attended lectures I would have been the great surgeon Father wanted Ned to be. But once Ned died, he couldn't see me, except as his assistant." She spoke the word as though an epithet, a curse.

"That's too bad. I've known some very talented and intelligent women. There's one here in the city who is an attorney."

"Patricia Blackmore," Regina supplied promptly. "I know her. She she offered me some encouragement but"

"But you didn't do it. Instead you remained here with your father."

"He needs me." Regina hung her head.

"So you participated in the plot to frame me. You spied on me at the hotel, along with Tony. I suspect Tony, and maybe Bart, also followed me and my partner away from the hotel, before and after I was arrested. I presume you hired young Billy, supplied him with the drug and then you came into my room to disrupt my work while I was unconscious."

Now her chin came up. "Yes. I also spoke to you while you were asleep, told you about walkng the dark streets, implanting images It had to be done. Billy trusted me. Tony and I became his friends. Tony was there to help watch you. Billy wanted the money we offered. I'm afraid he did not know the extent of the scheme until the night you were arrested. He didn't know about the women."

"He trusted you enough to accept whatever you gave him to eat or drink in his cabin the next day?"

"It had to be done," she said again, her eyes stony now. "Have you a father, Mr. West?"

"No not now."

"But if you had, if he was alive still, you would obey him, wouldn't you?"

"Not if he told me to murder, or be an accomplice to murder."

The eyes softened a little, and Jim wondered if he saw her lips tremble a bit. "He's my father. He's all I have. Ever since we lost Edward"

"He obviously doesn't feel the same about you." Jim made his tone harsh.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean that if he truly cared for you, he would have wanted you to be happy. He would have wanted you to succeed. You've been deluding yourself, Regina. I'll wager that deep down you still think your father is going to eventually see you in the same light as he saw your brother. Maybe he'll even help you get into a medical college."

"He might." Her voice was tiny, eyes downcast again.

"So you allowed yourself to be drawn into his plot, without protest. You murdered, and are an accomplice to murder. When the police arrest"

Once more her chin lifted sharply. "The police will never learn the truth. Father is a brilliant man. He has planned this for years. Every step. When you are released from here, you'll have no knowledge of where you were. You will barely know who you are! You'll be, as Father told you, nearly an idiot!"

Jim leaned his forehead against the cool bars, and he smiled. "Is that what you want for me, Regina? I'm not Bart, you know. Nor your father. I believe women should be valued, and if they want something more for themselves, who am I to say they can't? As I said, I've known many different women, from sweet and compliant southern belles to women of iron will. Some were dangerous to me, just as you are. But do you really want to see me incapacitated?"

For a long, long moment, her gray eyes met his. Suddenly, though, she whirled away. "I have work to do. Father will be returning after lunch and he'll expect this experiment to be complete."

Try as he might, Jim could not persuade her to turn and talk to him again.

WWWWWW

Artemus Gordon could not sit still. He tried to sit down, but almost instantly came to his feet again , pacing around Captain Cullen's office. For the moment, he was alone, but he had felt the same even when Cullen and Lloyd Morris were present. The two officers had gone to speak to the district attorney and the chief of police. Although Artemus had begged to go along, they refused. He was still officially a wanted man. Best if he remain inside the office for the nonce.

Artie looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Nearly noon. Where are you, James? Where are you? I know Raleigh is involved, but what did he do with you? The same question came back, time and time again: Why? Why would a respected physician be involved in something like this? What grudge did he bear against James West? What could possibly cause a man to murder three innocent women, attempt to murder a fourth, in an apparent conspiracy to have Jim West blamed and possibly hanged?

He and Morris had crossed town rapidly last night in a hack, arriving at the impressive Raleigh home a little after midnight. No sign of Jim West was found, even though they roamed around the street in front of the house, in the hopes of drawing him out of hiding. Finally, seeing a dim light inside the house, behind curtains, Lloyd rang the bell at the gate.

Raleigh himself had come out to admit them. He had recognized both men, because Artemus had shed his disguise by then. The sergeant had quickly explained that they had reason to believe Jim West was in the area, and had the doctor seen him. Raleigh quickly replied in the negative, looking around nervously.

"Do you think he's coming for me because of what I said in the jail cell?"

Lloyd evaded answering that directly, and asked if they might search the premises, including the house, in case the escapee was hiding. The policeman assured the doctor that Mr. Gordon had seen the light, had apologized for his part in the escape, and was now helping the police search for his former partner.

That Raleigh quickly gave full permission was disheartening, but they searched anyway, even in the basement, which had been secured by a locked door from the kitchen. Raleigh explained that he kept expensive French wines in his cellar and the lock was to protect them from thieves. What little hope Artie possessed that that was not the true reason was soon dashed as they found nothing but wine and other paraphernalia, items that people tossed into a cellar because they did not know what else to do with them.

I don't like waiting around like this! Jim's life is in danger. I know it. I can feel it. Yet he also knew the wisdom of Captain Cullen's words. So far as the majority of the police force was concerned, both Jim West and Artemus Gordon were wanted men. Getting the word out would take awhile. And of course, the first thing that had to be done was to convince the district attorney and the chief that an elaborate and pernicious frame up had been executed. With Dr. Raleigh's reputation, that might not be too easy. Artemus had promised to give the two policeman at least an opportunity to convince their higher-ups. After that, he was going to take his chances.

In the meanwhile, however, he was going crazy with worry.

He had just tried to settle himself in the visitor's chair again when the door open and he popped to his feet. "What happened?"

Morris smiled grimly. "Captain Cullen is arranging to send runners out to the men on patrol to lift the wanted order on you and Jim. I think the district attorney is not fully convinced, but the chief was willing to listen. He knows Jim."

"Thank God. Lloyd, we have to get moving. We have to do something."

"But what, Artemus? We searched Raleigh's house and grounds"

"At night. I'd like to see them in the daytime. And I want to find out if the men you left on watch saw anything." That had been Gordon's idea. Though the sergeant quickly agreed, time had been needed to summon men to the site and then to set them up in locations where they could see and not be seen, not to mention to gain permission from the captain on duty last night, who had not been Cullen. Morris had had to tell a couple of small fibs about burglars being seen in the area in order to gain the needed men. To those patrolmen he posted near the Raleigh home, however, he had been straightforward, telling them what to watch for.

Getting to California street at midday was far easier than it had been at midnight. They dismounted from the trolley a block from the Raleigh home and made their way on foot to the spot across the street from the front gate where a man was concealed behind a shed. He reported that he had seen Dr. Raleigh return to the house in his buggy about eight-thirty this morning.

"Return," Artemus Gordon echoed. "You didn't see him leave?"

"No, sir. I reckoned as he left on an early morning call."

"Is he still home?" Morris asked.

"He didn't come out the front gate," the man qualified.

"But here he comes now," Artie murmured.

They crouched in hiding and watched as the doctor strode down the path to the gate, opened it, closed it behind him, then walked briskly down the sidewalk. Morris instructed the patrolman to round up the other men on watch and to follow them at a distance. Then he and Artemus set out to pursue the good doctor.

WWWWWW

Jim West was given the choice of promising to behave himself or receiving another dose of the debilitating drug, and he chose the former. Regardless, Tony and Bart gripped his arms firmly as they led him back to the table. Beyond that, Dr. Raleigh held the small pistol that he had brandished when he opened the door to the house last night. Regina merely stood and watched.

"Change your mind, doc?" Jim asked casually as he was strapped to the table again. "Fingers getting itchy for the scalpel?"

"You might say that. Bart went out again last night and was unsuccessful. Eventually, as the nights go on, people are going to forget that the murderer James West is at large, and some nice young woman is going to resume her old habits of walking home alone after dark. When that happens, Bart will strike, then I will perform the required brain surgery. Who knows, however, how long that would be? I thought about you, lolling in the relative comfort of your little cell, and it occurred to me that perhaps you should suffer a little more."

"Thanks. You're quite considerate."

Raleigh picked up a scalpel and gingerly tested its sharpness against his finger tip. "You're a very athletic man, Mr. West. Your agile body is a matter of pride for you, I'm certain." His face grew harder. "My son was an athlete. He could do anything he set his mind to."

"I heard he was a fine pianist."

The doctor's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at his daughter, once more standing nearby with an expressionless face. "Playing the piano was excellent for a future surgeon. He needed to keep his hands strong and supple. You murdered those hands."

"Do you have a picture of him? Maybe if I saw that, I'd remember whether he was the one I shot or the one I sliced up with my sword." Jim's green eyes met the gray ones.

"You bastard! You dare make a joke of it? I'll show you. You won't be laughing much longer. I'm going to cut you. I'm going to cut the tendons in your legs without anesthetic. Yes, it will be agony, Mr. West. You'll scream, of that I'm certain. But don't worry. You won't disturb the neighbors. Then I'll make certain they heal improperly. However long you live, you'll be a staggering cripple."

"Sounds like fun," Jim spoke casually, fighting against showing the fear knotting his stomach. "Why don't you allow Regina to do it? I think I'd enjoy that more. And I understand she has great talent in that area."

"Regina! She's a woman, West! She's not a surgeon! She's not Edward. She could never measure up to my Edward. All she's good for is washing test tubes and holding my instruments."

"Father!" Regina spoke sharply. "If you cripple Mr. West, the police will not believe he was capable of committing the murders."

Raleigh spun toward her. Jim could see that his first impulse had been to chastise his daughter for criticizing his plans. Her words, however, appeared to penetrate. "Yes," he said slowly, reluctantly, "that may well be true. I can cripple his mind, but not his body. Well, there are other ways to cause discomfort and pain. He's got to pay, Regina, and pay dearly, for murdering your brother. You do understand that. You agree with me."

"Yes, Father. Certainly I agree. Edward was everything. I am nothing."

Having turned back to face the table, Raleigh did not see his daughter's face. "Mr. West, you have received a reprieve of sorts."

"And I'm grateful. I don't suppose there's anything further I can say to convince you that if indeed I was responsible for your son's death, I am sorry, but it was the fortunes of war. He attacked me."

Raleigh leaned over the table, eyes blazing. "He was nineteen! A boy! An innocent boy who threw away his future." The doctor halted, straightening. "You don't appear to comprehend the enormity of your crime, Mr. West. Edward might well have been the greatest surgeon the world has ever known."

"You mentioned that before. What if he did not want to be a surgeon?"

"It was his destiny!"

"Why did he enlist?"

Raleigh scowled. Behind him, Regina's handsome face tightened. "He enlisted because he was foolish enough to believe so-called friends, other boys who convinced him it was his patriotic duty."

"Something like that happened to me," Jim said mildly. "Some schoolmates and I, we thought we'd go have a high old time, hastening to enlist before the war could be over. It was supposed to be a great adventure. We'd have some great stories to tell when we returned to classes." A sudden wave of melancholy swept over James West with the memory. Of the seven classmates enlisting together, only three had returned from the conflict.

"Edward was easily swayed by rhetoric, I'm afraid," Raleigh glowered. "I could have prevented him from being conscripted, just as I was able to arrange for his release from the service too late."

Jim West tried to think of a way to keep the conversation going, to prevent Raleigh from carrying out whatever he had in mind after being persuaded that laming was not the way to go. That more-than-razor-sharp instrument Raleigh held could do other types of damage. Painful damage. Before he or the doctor could say anything further, the door burst open and Tony stepped in, his round face flushed.

"Doctor! Gordon is up there snooping around!"

"Ah." Raleigh turned to look at his employee thoughtfully. "And I thought I was being very careful. I did not see anyone following me."

"You forget, doc," Jim put in, "stealth is part of our job."

"True enough," the physician nodded. He did not appear to be at all upset.

"Bart is watching him," Tony informed.

"Good. Go back up and the two of you bring Gordon to me. This is excellent." Raleigh turned to beam at Jim West. "You are aware, Mr. West, that there are different methodologies of torture. The physical, of course, where the subject experiences the pain in his own body. Then there's the agony of watching a friend suffer. There have been times when I've rather thought the latter was the more effective."

Jim strained against the bindings. "You have nothing against my partner! He was not there in Tennessee. I didn't meet him until later"

Raleigh held up a hand. "You are correct. Artemus Gordon was not involved in the murder. However, he committed the crime of being your friend and supporter. He helped you escape from jail, did he not? So he will suffer before he dies, and you will suffer watching him. I will then arrange it to appear that he was murdered by his former partner. It won't be difficult to convince the authorities. They already are aware that I successfully predicted the guilty party in the murders of the young women. Of course, they'll believe me when I tell them that the same man could have easily butchered a friend whom he thought was turning against him."

"Father," Regina said, "do you think this is wise? Mr. Gordon was unlikely to find the entrance"

"Quiet! I'll have no more of your silly sentimentality. I tried to get her married off years ago, Mr. West. Nothing so bad as a frustrated old maid, is there? She did not seem to mind when the young ladies were being disposed of, but the thought of two handsome men well, it touches her heart." Raleigh's voice was mocking, his expression full of scorn. He watched Jim West though, and did not see his daughter's countenance.

Noticing the door was still ajar, Jim opened his mouth, preparatory to yelling a warning in the hopes that Artie would be near enough to hear. Raleigh, however, anticipated him. He quickly stepped over and put his hand firmly over Jim's mouth, pushing up slightly so as to cut off air to his nostrils as well.

"Quiet, Mr. West. If it takes rendering you unconscious by smothering you, I will do that. I prefer not to use a drug at this moment. I want you fully alert when Mr. Gordon joins us."

Unable to free himself from the strong grip, and unable to breathe, Jim West became lightheaded. Raleigh must have recognized that and released him, which permitted Jim to take deep breaths. By then it was too late. Jim heard the commotion from beyond the door, and then Artemus Gordon was shoved inside, held securely by the two men. Jim was not entirely surprised to see that Bart was wearing a beard now; he would not be able to appear in public undisguised.

"Jim!" Artemus cried, seeing his partner strapped helplessly to the table. "Are you all right?" He tried to pull loose from the grips that were holding him.

"I'm okay at the moment," Jim replied. "You shouldn't be here."

"But we are glad you are," Raleigh beamed. "You solved a dilemma with your appearance, Mr. Gordon."

"I'm delighted to be of service," Artie said sarcastically. "What is this place?" He looked around.

"It's my laboratory," the doctor replied, proudly. "I built it years ago, realizing I needed a secure and secret place for my experiments, some of which might have been frowned upon by the community as a whole."

Artie looked at the smaller of the two men holding him. The beard did not entirely hide his features to one who knew what to look for. He could see Jim West's cheekbones and brows. Not his eyes, however. "Such as transforming a man's face so he would look exactly like a Secret Service agent?" Why would he do that? Does Jim know by now?

"Exactly. Among others. You see, Mr. Gordon, your partner is going to be hanged for the murders, but I have to arrange his mind so that he will not remember his sojourn here, and indeed so he will not remember much of anything. I intend to do a delicate surgery on his brain which will render him virtually insane before I send him out into the world again."

Artemus exchanged a glance with his partner. "But why? In God's name, why? What did James West ever do to you?"

"He murdered my son."

Gordon gasped. "That's ridiculous. Jim is not a murderer. What are you talking about?"

Jim spoke up then. "Seems I killed his son back in sixty-two, in Tennessee, in a skirmish. Or at least he believes I'm the culprit."

"You were!" Raleigh thundered. "I have witnesses. I made very sure. I would not have wanted to seek vengeance on an innocent man."

"You didn't mind using innocent women," Jim spoke icily, his eyes matching the tone.

Raleigh ignored the inference. "My son was nineteen years old! He had a brilliant future ahead of him and you you murdered him!"

Artemus Gordon was staggered. Of all things, he had never imagined such a motive. "Dr. Raleigh, Jim West was nineteen at that time as well! If indeed your son did die at his hands"

"We've gone through all that," Raleigh cut him off. "The fact remains that a potentially great man, a saver of lives, was murdered by your partner. James West survived. What has he given the world?"

Artie wanted to point out the number of times Jim West saved the world from madmen and insane inventions and schemes. He knew that such information would fall on deaf ears. Raleigh knew who Jim West was. He had obviously tracked Jim's career for years. What was needed now was to simply keep Raleigh talking, to buy time. Lloyd needed time.

Raleigh was plainly insane. Artemus did not know enough about the science of psychology to understand it completely, but he thought that perhaps some form of guilt had driven Raleigh to this point. Had he urged his son to enlist? Had he not prevented the lad from doing so? None of that truly mattered at this moment.

"I have a keen interest in science," Artemus said then, gazing around the laboratory, his brown eyes touching on the silent, stone-faced woman for just an instant. Regina Raleigh was not particularly happy right now. What was that about? Could he play it up? Should he? "What is it exactly you've been doing here?"

"All manner of surgeries and development of drugs. Mr. West can tell you firsthand about a couple of them. And all you need do is gaze upon Bart there–Bart, remove your beard–and you can discern my talent as a surgeon."

"With my assistance!" Regina snapped.

Her father barely glanced at her. "Yes, dear. You were of service during the surgery, I'll grant you that. But let's not go into that tedium now."

Artie jumped on it. "A woman surgeon? That's interesting. I wonder I have not heard of you, Miss Raleigh. Or should I address you as Dr. Raleigh as well?"

He saw at once that he had touched on a festering sore. Regina opened her mouth to speak, but her father waved a hand. "She's not a doctor! Good Lord, man! Where are you senses? I had always heard that Artemus Gordon was a very astute man. To even consider that a woman could become a surgeon, let alone a doctor, ludicrous. We're not here to discuss my daughter's inadequacies. Regina, prepare a dose of the relaxant for Mr. Gordon so we can safely set up another table."

Artemus looked at Jim and saw by his partner's expression that this was not a good thing. Come on, Lloyd. I don't know how much longer I can stall! Regina, however, did not move, still statue-like, her face nearly expressionless. The gray eyes, though, were blazing with fury after her father's dismissal of her talents. Maybe that was the direction to go after all.

"I'm surprised," Artie said. "I've known any number of intelligent women who are capable of doing jobs that are usually ascribed as men-only. Now whether it's a good thing or not, I'm of two minds. I do believe that if a woman is capable of doing something that can help mankind, she should be at least allowed to try. We need women in the home, of course, raising our children, taking care of the domestic duties to which they are so well suited. Again, however, is it not possible that your daughter, sir, could have taken the place of your son in the scheme of things?"

As Gordon spoke, and the doctor comprehended the direction of his words, his face darkened with rage. "Mr. Gordon! I do believe you are the stupidest man I ever met! Regina replace Edward? I have never heard anything so ridiculous. Edward was going to be would have been" He stopped, took a long deep breath. "We have gone over and over that. Regina, where's that hypodermic!"

His daughter had not moved, and she still remained a statue, glaring back at her father. No doubt she's heard all this before, Artemus mused, but perhaps she never heard anyone else support her. Artie saw that Jim, too, was watching Regina Raleigh, which caused Artemus to believe he was on the right track. Just a few more minutes. Surely Lloyd is preparing to storm the place at any moment!

They had followed Raleigh to what appeared to be a derelict house, empty and abandoned, with boarded-up windows and a sagging porch, posted with "keep out" and "no trespassing" signs, as well as a couple that warned of the danger of approaching or entering. Raleigh had gone around to the back, and when he did not reappear after about ten minutes, they could only assume he had gone inside. The house lot backed up onto a steep hill, one barely accessible to an agile youngster, and not likely to a middle-aged man, without some sort of ladder, which was not visible.

They both also concluded that Jim West must be inside somewhere. Lloyd went to gather his men and send for more, and Artemus boldly entered the house, fully expecting to be captured, hoping against hope that Raleigh's ego would not permit him to order the new captive's death before expounding his motives. That had come to be true, at least. But Artemus suspected time was running out.

"Regina!" the doctor raged. "What's the matter with you?"

"Father, you are making a mistake."

"Don't be ridiculous. Do as I command or I shall forbid you to enter this laboratory again. You are here only on my sufferance, you know. I'm sure I can find a male assistant who will more than suffice, if not improve on what little you've managed to accomplish."

Wrong thing to say, Daddy. Artemus looked at Jim again, and knew they were of one mind. Somehow, Regina Raleigh was their only hope.

"I thought you said she was a competent surgeon," Jim said. Had he imagined he heard something outside the door, which still hung ajar a few inches? Was that was Artie was doing, stalling until help came? Artemus had allowed himself to be taken, Jim was certain. The only explanation for that was if he knew others were following. Where are they?

"Shut up, West," Raleigh snarled. "I can easily close your mouth with surgical tape. I prefer not to. I want to hear your beg for your friend's life."

Oops! So that's it, Artemus. Maybe it's time to calm things down a bit, keep the conversation going pleasantly in a different direction. Artie allowed deep interest to appear on his own countenance. "You mentioned drugs you have developed, doctor. Have you patented them?"

"Not yet. Time enough for that once this business is finished. I want to be able to announce them, in Edward's honor."

"Have you anything that will treat common diseases, such as the common cold, or even cancers?"

"Of course. I publicize myself as an alienist, but in truth I am a brilliant research scientist. Had Edward lived, I would have devoted more time to the laboratory while he exerted his surgical skills. Between the two of us" Raleigh shook his head. "You cannot imagine the anguish I experience when I consider what we could have given this world, together, as a team."

"With Regina, of course," Jim put in.

"Mr. West, you really try my patience. If Edward had lived, I would have arranged to have Regina married off years ago. As it was, I did not have time to devote to such a difficult task. Men do not like willful women, as I'm sure you both understand. She would"

Artemus later wondered what Regina would have said or done at that moment. He saw that she was about to explode. She did not have an opportunity when the door abruptly slammed open as Sergeant Lloyd Morris and several armed men burst inside.

"Dr. Raleigh!" Morris blared, "you are under arrest! You two, release Mr. Gordon."

For a long instant, no one moved. Then both Bart and Tony stepped away from Artemus. He immediately went to the table, grabbing one of the sharp instruments from the nearby table to begin slicing away at the leather straps.

"What are you doing here?" Webster Raleigh demanded, enraged. "This is private property! Get out! Get out!"

Artemus looked at the policemen as he helped Jim sit up. Lloyd was staring openmouthed at the doctor's effrontery. To break the spell, Artie said, "I think the fact that Mr. West and I were being held prisoner precludes such rules, doctor."

"That's right," Morris chimed in. "Boys, put cuffs on the men."

"Don't move!" Regina shrieked.

Every man, including her father, turned to look her direction. In the uproar caused by the entry of the police, she had retreated back to the table farthest in the rear, and now she held a beaker of some powder in one hand, and a vial of a liquid in the other.

"Regina!" her father yelled. "What are you doing? Put that down instantly! Are you mad?"

"Yes, I am," she screeched back. "I'm insane. We both are and so was Edward. Insane with grief because you refused to allow him to live his own life as he wished to live it. He wanted to die, Father! You knew that! You knew that was why he enlisted! To get away from you and your demands. You murdered him, not James West."

"You don't know what you are saying"

"I do, Father, I do! I knew Ned so much better than you did. You saw him only as an extension of yourself, the one who was going to accomplish what you could not. You are a fine surgeon. But you wanted Edward to surpass you. He did not want to do that. He wanted to play his piano. I could have been the one, but you would never see that, never allow it."

"Regina," Jim said gently, taking a step toward her. He had no idea what was in those glass containers, but he suspected by her father's reaction that it was not anything good.

"Stop! Mr. West, Mr. Gordon, you and the police, leave immediately. I won't have your deaths on my head."

"Miss Raleigh!" Tony screeched. "You gotta let us go too!" Obviously, he knew what was in those containers.

"No. You and Bart, you were complicit, just as I was. We'll all die anyway. Might as well be here. Mr. West. Please go. Please."

"Jim," Artemus said quietly, including Morris with a glance, "let's go. I'm not sure what's going on, but there's only one way out. They can be picked up later."

"Damn good idea," Morris muttered, the use of the epithet an indication of his unsettled state. Artemus knew that Lloyd had been raised to keep his language clean, and while others who had had a similar upbringing often strayed when out in the world, Lloyd Morris had not. "Go on, boys. Up the stairs. Surround the house at a safe distance."

Jim tried one more time. "Regina, please put that down, and come with us. The help you have given us here will be taken into account"

"No! I can't live with myself anymore, Jim West. And my father does not deserve to live. Get out! Get out!" The insanity blazed in her eyes now.

"Regina! Regina!" Dr. Raleigh was crying as the agents and policemen exited. "You must not do this!"

"What do you think is in those bottles?" Artemus asked as he and Jim reached the street beyond the house. "Any clue?" He saw a dozen policemen in the vicinity now. Morris was directing them all to the other side of the street, telling them to keep onlookers back. A few residents or pedestrians had gathered upon noticing the police presence.

"None," Jim murmured. The day was still foggy and he felt the coolness on his bare skin, but it felt damn good after the hours inside that dank and stuffy cellar. "Poison or explosives, I don't"

They heard a yell an instant before the explosion occurred. In a roar of flame and dust, the old house atop the cellar laboratory burst open, with debris flying high and wide. Everyone in the street hit the ground, the screams of a couple of women echoing. And then, except for the crackling of flames and the falling of pieces of lumber and stone, it was quiet.

Jim climbed to his feet, dusting his arms and shoulders off. Artemus rose beside him.

"Explosives," Artie said dryly.

"Someone's there!" a patrolman yelled, running toward the flaming structure.

WWWWWW

He had been badly injured, but Bart Victor was alive. His had been the yell they heard immediately before the blast, as he made a desperate attempt to escape. The mangled bodies of the doctor, his daughter, and the other henchman were found among the wreckage in the cellar, once the fire was extinguished. By then, very little remained of the chemicals–which helped fuel the very hot flames–or especially of any notes the doctor might have had stored there regarding his work.

"That's the saddest part," Artemus mourned as he and Jim West relaxed in the parlor car sitting on the siding, joined by Sheila Casey, Sergeant Morris, Captain Cullen, and the sergeant's newly acquired fiancée. "He may well have devised some treatments, some drugs, that would have been of immense help in fighting disease. Not to mention that explosive mixture. The bottles that Regina held were extremely small to have caused such damage."

"But he was too consumed with his need for vengeance to even realize what they might have meant to the world," Cullen commented, sipping his wine. He had learned on previous encounters with the agents that they kept only the best in this magnificent varnish car. "Absolutely incredible when you think about it. Seeking out and taking vengeance on the man who killed his son in battle. Good thing there aren't others with that kind of thinking!"

"Could well be," Jim murmured. He could remember his own anger and grief upon the deaths of his comrades. He had experienced a need for revenge that fueled his behavior in other battles. He suspected others had felt the same way, on both sides of the conflict.

"Do you suppose," Artie asked, "that one day the idea of of profiling a potential criminal will be viable?"

The captain shook his head, frowning. "I'm not entirely sure that that was what Raleigh actually did. Almost seemed as though he made up a perfect description of Jim so that we would be more willing to accept Jim West as a murderer when the time came. I wonder what he would have done, how far he would have gone, if Artemus had not witnessed the attack on Betty that night."

"Perhaps the question is, how far would Regina have allowed him to go," Jim said softly.

"Poor Regina," Sheila Casey shook her head.

Betty Blake said sadly. "I knew her at the restaurant. She was always pleasant, but sad. I never could figure out why she kept coming back, though I suspected she had a crush on someone, perhaps even the cook!"

Artemus recalled the cantankerous chef he had encountered one morning. "Good thought."

"She was there on her father's behest," Jim said, "on his orders. She did everything he bade her to, in the hopes, it appears, of gaining his respect, possibly even his love. He never saw her, perhaps not even at the end."

"A sad situation," Lloyd put in, taking the hand of the woman beside him. "Those three women who died a tragedy beyond words."

"What about Bart Victor?" Jim inquired, looking at the police captain.

"He's still alive," Cullen replied, "and the doctors think he'll survive, provided some infection doesn't set in. His face is badly burned, but enough is left to prove his resemblance to you, Jim. That's all the proof we'll need. Of course, there's the little matter of a jailbreak to address." He winked.

The visitors took their leave shortly after. Artemus stood on the platform a long moment, watching them walk away, noting how the young sergeant retained Betty's hand in his. He also noticed that Captain Cullen securely held Sheila Casey's arm. He went back inside. "Well, one good thing came out of this. Maybe two."

Jim nodded, refilling his wine glass from the carafe. "We'll have to try to get back to the city for the wedding." He proffered the carafe toward Artie, who shook his head. "What's the second one?"

"Tim Cullen and Sheila Casey. I know they met a long while ago, but Tim's wife was still alive. He's been widowed a couple of years now."

"What do you think, Artie? Should we resign from the service and start a lonely hearts club?"

Artemus chuckled, then looked at his partner. "James, I hate like the devil to bring this up, but we still have a report to write for the grand jury."

Jim sank into his chair with a groan. "I was hoping you forgot that."

"My cursed efficient mind. But at least I'm here to help this time. I'm prepared to ignore even a summons from President Grant rather than leave your side."

"Thanks. But let's give up our hotel rooms and do it here, huh? Less chance of being served drugged coffee. Unless we annoy Tennyson."

The End