Washington, D.C. 1875
A hard-heeled boot landed on the platform outside the door. Artemus Gordon dropped his fountain pen and reached instinctively for the button under his desk that would release sleeping gas into the car. The footsteps sounded like Jim, but one could never be too careful.
The knob turned and Artemus with it, twisting in his chair to see the familiar dimpled face of James West appear in the doorway.
"Relax, Artie," said Jim, tossing his hat on Artemus's desk and scattering scraps of paper over the floor of the car. "Mel Thompson is behind bars for a long time, and I've got a couple dates tonight to celebrate. Give me a minute to freshen up, and - "
"Jim," Artemus sighed. "Celebrating will have to wait. Remember the two senators who died last week? Within two days of each other?"
"Dover and Kinneson? Yeah." Jim was unfastening the buttons on his jacket sleeves as if refusing to make eye contact with Artemus would make the mission go away. "Since when does the Secret Service get involved in coincidences… but you're about to tell me it wasn't coincidence, aren't you, Artie?"
"Oh, I wish it were," Artemus said, hanging Jim's hat on a hook by the door and opening the brown folder on his desk. "Senators Harold Dover of Tennessee and Elijah Kinneson of Ohio. Dover dies last Monday after complaining of nausea at a horse race on Saturday. Kinneson dies Wednesday after he leaves the Capitol Monday with the same problem. Same symptoms. Same timeframe between falling ill and death."
"They got the same disease," Jim said. "C'mon, Artie. They have doctors to deal with diseases. The girls'll be waiting for us, and you can't go out looking like that."
Artemus glanced at his reflection in one of the train's windows - collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair ruffled on the left side where he had run his hand through it so many times. He turned back to Jim so fast the curtains fluttered.
"That would be the end of it," Artemus said as if Jim had never interrupted, "if an intrepid secretary hadn't done a bit of snooping and found these."
Artemus tossed a pair of thick pamphlets into Jim's lap.
"'Mancini Springs Health Resort'?" Jim read. "'Denver, Colorado Territory'? That's four days by train to Washington. They both fell ill here."
"Sure, it doesn't look like murder," Artemus said, taking a seat beside Jim on the sofa, "but after Miss Williams went to President Grant with these pamphlets - "
"Excuse me, Artie. Did you say, 'Miss Williams', as in Merriweather Williams who caught Senetor Parry in that bribe scandal last year?"
"Miss Merriweather Williams as in hair like thousands of shining new pennies and a face like it was carved of Roman marble," Artemus said with a smile. "One and the same."
"You say it like you don't like her."
"Oh, of course I do, but we both know she'd sooner toss a man in the Potomac than kiss him."
"Get dressed, Artie, and make it something you don't mind getting wet. We're going to see Miss Williams."
"I am quite pleased that President Grant took my suspicions seriously," Merriweather Williams said in a tone that sounded anything but pleased.
"Well - well, it was all quite clear," Artemus stammered.
Merriweather raised an eyebrow. "Was it?"
"Ah…"
"Let me try, Artie," Jim said under his breath.
Standing, Jim was still an inch shorter than Merriweather. He looked up at her with a genial smile.
"What my partner means to say is that we're going to be investigating this further. Might you have any more information than we have in this file?"
"Let me see it." She snatched the folder from Jim's hand and thumbed through it, frowning.
"Dover got back into town Friday night, not Saturday morning," she muttered. "Kinneson's wife had just sent the doctor away when he died. Thought he might be recovering because his fever had gone down. Of course, he was paralyzed by that time…"
"How do you know so much about them?" Jim asked.
"It's a secretary's business to know."
"Funny, you know," said Artemus, "a woman works for four senators. One's in jail, and two are dead. I'm worried for Senator Hutchins."
Merriweather raised both eyebrows this time. "I see nothing funny about it! Indeed, it's rather tragic. That's why I told President Grant that I believed Harry and Eli had been assassinated. Now I have told you everything I know. Leave my house."
She watched sternly as they took their hats and left, her mouth a thin line that did not even open to bid them farewell.
"Whatever you say, Jim," Artemus said three days later as the Wanderer pulled off on a siding near Denver, "I think Merriweather was part of this somehow."
"Not that again. Haven't you talked about her enough?" Jim said, strapping a spring-loaded derringer to his forearm and pulling his sleeve over it. "I'm beginning to think you like her."
"She was the the one who planned both their trips to Denver," Artemus said. "And if you think about it, she planned ours too."
"If she killed them, why didn't she just let it look like a coincidence? Why did she tell President Grant?"
"I… it's… that's the part I haven't figured out yet."
Jim patted the revolver at his side. "Well, figure it out before I get back, not that it'll matter once I've talked to the people there. I'll probably find out they had some flu going around two weeks ago that Dover and Kinneson caught."
"Ah, Jim," Artemus said. "You're really going to take that into a health resort?"
"What?"
"The gun, Jim. Maybe we should get a little information before we look like lawmen."
"That's what you do, Artie."
"And I'm beginning to think I'm the only one who keeps the 'secret' in 'Secret Service'. You've got a cover story. Use it."
"Right. What's that again, Artie?"
"James West, president of the Western Railway Company. Rich playboy on his uncle's inheritance."
"Ah, that story."
"No revolver," said Artemus. "But you'll probably want a couple of these."
Artemus held two red spheres in his palm.
"Grenades?" Jim asked.
"Smoke grenades."
"Thanks, Artie," Jim said, stuffing the grenades into a pocket. "I expect I'll see you soon."