The Night of the Under(handed) Secretary

Nothing, indeed, but the possession of some power can with any certainty discover what at the bottom is the true character of any man.

—Edmund Burke (1729-1797), Irish orator and statesman

Chapter 1

"He can't do this!" Artemus Gordon angrily crumpled the sheet of paper with two hands and threw it forcefully to the floor of the varnish car.

"Yes, he can," Jim West replied calmly from his position on the sofa.

Artie stared at him a long moment. "When did this come?" How can Jim be so serene about it?

"Shortly after you left this morning, by special messenger."

Now Artie glanced down at the ball of paper on the floor. "We need to contact Colonel Rich…"

"I did. As soon as I read it. Nothing he can do."

"Then President Grant…"

"Artie, you know Grant isn't going to get involved in something like this."

Reaching down to pick up the crushed sheet of paper, Artie began to slowly smooth it out. "Jim, he can't do this!" he wailed again. With the wrinkled paper flattened by his fingers as best as he could, he began to read in a low voice: "'Agents James West and Artemus Gordon are to report to Washington, D.C. immediately for reassignment. The train identified as 'The Wanderer' will be placed at the railroad depot for future disposal. Agent Gordon will be assigned to the Bangor, Maine office as assistant to the supervisor there. Agent West is to receive special orders from the undersigned. Immediate compliance is expected to these orders. Signed Major Julius Napier, Under Secretary of Treasury.'"

Artie stared at the paper for long seconds before lifting his gaze. "Secretary McCulloch…"

"Secretary of Treasury William McCulloch is on his way to Amsterdam for a conference. He'll be gone a month. Under Secretary Napier is in charge."

Finally, Artie sat down at the chair behind the desk, only then realizing that he had not even removed his hat, which he now pulled off and sailed toward the hat rack; he missed and it tumbled to the floor, to be ignored for the nonce. Jim had called his attention to the letter resting on the desk as soon as he entered the car after being gone most of the day, visiting with a wartime colleague who lived here in the Abilene, Kansas area. Jim had decided to remain at the train to tackle a job he hated: writing reports.

"This is crazy, Jim. Why would Napier do this? I recognize he has the authority since the Secret Service is within the Treasury Department. But… why?"

"That, my friend, is something we have to find out. I don't know much about Napier. Do you?"

Artie shook his head. "Not a lot. I know he came from a somewhat well-to-do Maryland family with connections in Virginia or South Carolina. However, his father supported the Confederacy and lost almost the entire family fortune to The Cause. He shot himself in the head when the surrender was announced. I remember Napier apparently served honorably with a Maryland Union regiment and made it to major by war's end. I seem to recall questions whether that was a real rank or a brevet rank."

"Yeah, those are my recollections as well. Under secretaries usually vanish into obscurity once appointed. It appears Under Secretary Napier plans to make a name for himself."

"By tarnishing ours."

"So it appears. Banishing you to the dark woods of Maine and… who knows what for me."

"That's really strange, Jim. I have to think he wants to split us up for reasons known only to him."

"My thoughts exactly."

Artie shook his head. "It makes no sense. I have no memory of ever having done anything to injure Napier in any way, shape, or form."

"Perhaps a friend or relative."

"Possibly. If Richmond can't help and Grant won't, what do we do?"

Jim got to his feet. "What we always do, pal. We figure it out ourselves."

"After we are separated by hundreds of miles? Or are you suggesting we resign? Maybe that's what Napier actually wants."

"I don't think so. If that were the case, I would be reassigned to a similar backwater. Instead, I'm to receive special orders."

"So… he has something in mind for you. Okay. That makes sense. Maybe I have to resign to be able to help you."

Jim shook his head. "No. I have a much better idea. Is Lily still in Baltimore?"

W*W*W*W*W

Extreme remedies are very appropriate for extreme diseases.

—Aphorisms (6), Hippocrates of Iphicrates (460-377 BC), Island of Cos physician and writer; Father of Medicine

"Where is Gordon? You were both to report to me before being reassigned."

Jim West fingered the brim of the hat he held, his face taut. "Sir, Mr. Gordon was taken suddenly ill. Very ill."

"Oh?" The thin dark brows of Undersecretary Julius Napier lifted, displaying doubt. "A hangnail, I presume." Napier was on the tall side, in his middle forties now and developing something of a paunch. He wore his dark hair heavily pomaded and combed from one ear to the other, possibly to disguise a bald spot. His mustache was rather thick, but his chin was clean-shaven. He had likely cut a handsome figure in his youth, Jim decided, with strong but even features and sharp dark brown eyes.

"No, sir!" Jim appeared to be swallowing anger. "Sir, yesterday afternoon on the train as we passed through Virginia, he abruptly collapsed in convulsions. I stopped the train at the nearest town and summoned a physician. Artemus had lapsed into something… something like a coma by then." This time he visibly swallowed hard, as to quell emotions. "The doctor had no diagnosis and recommended a specialist. We proceeded at full speed to Washington City. He is now at a clinic on the south side of the city. The doctors at the hospital were so mystified that they did not want to admit him, lest he be contagious. He… his face and body are covered by horrible sores now."

Napier stared him. "Sores? What clinic?"

"It's in a private house, owned by Dr. Walther Albrecht de Wald."

"I never heard of him."

"Neither had I, sir. Apparently, he has been in this country for some time, researching exotic diseases. Somewhat eccentric, but very brilliant. Very much of a recluse, with his wife as his nursing assistant. Apparently, his only contact is with one or two fellow physicians. He needs to investigate what has caused this… this problem with Mr. Gordon, whether it is indeed a disease, and if so, if it is contagious."

Napier continued to look intently at Jim West for a long moment, clearly trying to decide if this was a big lie or not. "All right," he said then. "I want to see him and meet this… eccentric doctor."

"Yes, sir. I thought you would. I have a cab waiting on the street."

A little more than half an hour later, the cab halted in front of a two-story house set back from the street and surrounded by oak trees. Jim paid the driver, but asked him to wait; Secretary Napier would require transportation back to his office.

The door was opened by a woman garbed in a blue dress covered by a white apron, with a starched white cap atop smoothly coifed brunette hair—and a white mask covering the lower part of her face. "Ach, Herr West. Sie müssen diese tragen." She stepped over to a stand at the side of the door and came back with two masks. Napier accepted one with an expression of annoyance, but tied it around his face, as did Jim. The nurse nodded with approval and without further word led them up the wide staircase.

The nurse rapped on a closed door, waving a warning finger at the two men in the hall as she opened that door and slipped inside, closing it. Napier made a sound of irritation. "What is all this?"

"Precautions, sir. As I told you, Mr. Gordon's sudden illness is a great mystery. Dr. de Wald has no information on it yet. And…" Jim sighed. "For all I know he has died in the last two hours." His words were bitter.

Before Napier could say anything, the nurse opened the door again and waved them inside. The room was a bedroom, but a very sterile-appearing one. The bed was a simple iron bedstead, and the other furnishings were tables and cupboards one might see in a laboratory. One table held several items of laboratory-type glassware, some with material in them. One beaker was over a Bunsen burner, a dark blue liquid simmering in it.

"Dr. de Wald," Jim began.

The man standing at the foot of the bed spun around. "Ach Herr West. Who is this?" His accent was thick and Germanic.

"This is… my supervisor, Under Secretary of Treasury Julius Napier. He wants to know about Mr. Gordon's condition. How… is he?"

Walther de Wald was a medium-sized man with longish dark brown hair liberally streaked with gray, and a large mustache that blended into his chin-covering beard, also composed of graying dark hair. His eyes were brown and stern at this moment. The lab coat was badly stained, but appeared clean otherwise.

"He is alive. I cannot say much more. Tests are continuing."

Napier was gazing at the man on the bed, whose head only was uncovered, sheets pulled up to his chin. The face was pale, causing the festering sores on his skin to appear even more crimson. The eyes were closed, and he lay very still. Napier abruptly strode toward the side of the bed and reached toward the patient.

The nurse was at his side instantly, seizing his arm. "Nein, nein! Sie müssen ihn nicht berühren!"

Napier looked around angrily. "What did she say? Tell her to release me! I want to see if he has those 'sores' on his body."

"Ah." The doctor nodded. "Mr. West said you might be suspicious. Gerta, ziehen Sie die Abdeckungen zurück."

Frau de Wald nodded, reluctantly releasing Napier, then carefully taking the edge of the sheet, obviously careful to not touch the patient. She drew the sheet down, exposing the patient's bare chest—which was also ashen in color and covered with the boils. With an annoyed glance at the Secretary, she covered it again.

"I see." Napier now stared hard at the patient's face. "I never actually met Gordon, but I've seen him, as well as having viewed photographs. That appears to be him."

"Sir!" Jim cried in distress. "Did you doubt? Did you think I would play a trick like this? My partner, my best friend may be dying!"

Napier strode back around the bed to stand in front of Dr. de Wald and peer at him. He suddenly reached up and grabbed the doctor's beard—and yanked. The doctor yelped and cried out angrily in German.

"What are you doing?" Jim demanded.

Now the Under Secretary had the grace to appear chagrinned. "I apologize, doctor. If you know anything about Mr. Gordon, you will know that he has a great talent for disguise."

"Ach! You think I am in truth Herr Gordon? No, no, no! I am Herr Doktor Professor Walther Albrecht de Wald of Bonn. Of that I assure you."

"Again, my apologies. Your beard is certainly genuine, and I am quite aware that Mr. Gordon is normally clean-shaven. What is your prognosis for Mr. Gordon?" Napier appeared to be somewhat humbled.

"I have none, sir. I am still making the tests and studying the literature. I have no ideas right now except to save his life."

"Very well. Thank you. West?"

Napier spun and headed out the door, obviously expecting Jim to follow, which he did, somewhat curious. When the door was closed, the Secretary faced him. "West, I have an assignment for you."

Jim gasped. "Sir! Excuse me, but my partner is in there, perhaps on his death bed…"

"I am aware of that. I won't offer any apologies. The task at hand is important. You must leave for Hagerstown this evening."

Now Jim blinked. "Hagerstown? Maryland?"

"Is there another?" Napier responded sarcastically.

"What am I to do there?"

"You will be contacted."

"Sir?"

"I had not heard that you were stupid or deaf, West. You will go to Hagerstown. A room has been reserved at the Franklin Hotel. You will be contacted there."

"Might I ask by whom?"

"That's not important. You'll be apprised of all you need to know in Hagerstown. Good day." Napier spun on his heel and headed for the staircase.

Jim watched him depart, then returned to the sickroom.

W*W*W*W*W

Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed that there must also be evil.

—Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824), English poet

Jim did not look up from his newspaper, although aware that someone had stopped in the train car's aisle near him. Only when he heard a contentious old man's voice did he lift his gaze.

"Well, sonny! Are you goin' to help me or not?"

He saw an old man with long white hair and a brushy food-stained mustache that covered his mouth and blossomed out onto his cheeks. He wore an ill-fitting tweed suit and a derby hat that was at least a size too large, sitting almost atop his ears.

"Sorry," Jim said, putting the paper aside and rising. A large, very battered suitcase rested in the aisle. Jim grasped the handle and lifted. "What do you have in here?" he whispered. "Bricks?"

"Next best thing," was the whispered response. "Bombs."

"Might need them." Jim hefted the case to the overhead rack before sitting down again, waving to the opposite seat. "Join me, old man."

"Why, thankee, sonny, seein' as I was plannin' to without invitation." Once more Artie dropped his voice, leaning forward to tug the top of his trousers down over his boots. "Got any information?"

Jim lifted the newspaper again. "Not any more than what I told you earlier. I'm supposed to go to the Franklin Hotel in Hagerstown and wait."

"Hagerstown," Artie repeated, after pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbing his mustache to hide his lip movements. "Why Hagerstown?"

"I suppose we'll find out. Everything okay at the doctor's house?"

"All quiet when I left. I got out of there before Napier could send anyone to watch the place. Speaking of which, are you being followed?"

"I haven't spotted anyone, but it's early."

"Yeah."

Artie sat back in his seat, dropping his chin down as if planning to nap as the train began to chug out of the Washington depot. This was a strange situation, one of the oddest they had encountered. Little time had been available to do any deep investigation into the possible motives of the Under Secretary. A brief conversation with Colonel Richmond had revealed nothing. He was as shocked as they were—and even more helpless.

They had worked rapidly during the remaining two days of travel back to Washington City, making frequent stops to connect to the telegraph wires and send out inquiries and requests. Important ones were sent to Miss Lily Fortune in Baltimore, where she and her troupe had just finished a stay involving numerous performances. Artie had known that she would have a hiatus before moving to the next one, and had actually hoped to spend some personal time with her—before the strange and alarming directive had arrived.

Lily went right to work on the requests. Two fellow actors, both of whom resembled Artemus Gordon physically—one more than the other, were recruited. Allan Earle portrayed Dr. de Wald. Lawrence Holliday was now in the bed, his skin paled with makeup, and covered with the same "boils" that had decorated Artemus's face and body. Artie had spent a great deal of time in the laboratory creating those sores. He also drew a diagram of his face and body showing where they were positioned so that Holliday's "performance" would be exact. If Julius Napier returned to the house to check, the hope was that Holliday would pass for Gordon, especially because he would be adding dark shadows and lines to his face as well over time.

Lily, of course, was the nurse. She had learned to speak German from Artemus as well as from a German-born seamstress who often traveled with the theater company. Favors were called in from two physicians at the Navy Hospital. If asked, those two would relate that they were the ones who first saw Gordon and sent him to the specialist. They would also back up the story that Dr. de Wald's presence in Washington was mostly unknown, but that he was indeed a world-renowned physician specializing in exotic diseases.

I think we have it covered fairly well, although we won't know for sure for a while. However, figuring out what is going on is the next puzzle. Patently, Napier wants Jim to be alone. I can only guess at his reasons. Criminal? Personal? Those are the answers we need… and probably won't get until this is finished, one way or another. I just hope we live through it to get those answers!

The two agents interacted as little as possible during the journey north from Washington toward the Mason-Dixon Line where Hagerstown was located. Both kept their attention sharp on their fellow passengers, but neither noticed anyone behaving suspiciously. Families, couples, men alone, women alone… they all appeared completely normal and no one seemed to be paying particular attention to Jim West.

More than once Jim allowed his gaze to sweep casually over the others present in the car. He saw no one looking his way; no one jerked eyes away as his met them. Maybe I'm not being watched. Maybe that will start in Hagerstown. Experience, however, taught him vigilance, and he continued to scrutinize the other fares periodically.

Most of the passengers dozed off during the night. By tacit agreement, the two agents took turns getting some sleep, although both feigned sleeping at times so that it appeared that they nodded off at the same times. In the early morning hours, the train coasted into the Hagerstown station, arriving without incident. Jim helped the old fellow with his suitcase, carrying it out to the platform along with his own before touching his hat in farewell.

He found a cab outside the station and asked for the Franklin Hotel. He was not entirely surprised to find that the hostel in question was on a side street, away from what would likely be the busiest part of town during the day, or night. Inside, he found that a room had indeed been reserved in his name. The room was on the first floor, at the rear of the hotel, with the lone window opening into an alley.

The room was furnished with a narrow bed, a small table alongside it, a battered dresser, and nails on one wall where one could hang clothes. The window, he quickly discovered, did not latch. A vase holding drooping daisies was on the dresser. Jim pulled the window blind down to create an overlap of several inches, which he folded to be level with the windowsill, and then placed the vase on top of that overlap.

Not the best situation for me… but possibly just what someone else wants!

With another couple of hours of darkness remaining, he decided he would try to get a little more sleep, and was pulling off his jacket when he heard a scratching at the hotel door.

"Jim?"

The whisper was barely audible, but he unlocked the door and opened it. The man who slipped inside was nattily dressed in a well fitting suit, wearing a bowler hat, and sported a narrow mustache and Vandyke beard.

"What do you think?" Artie asked, holding his arms out slightly.

"Just a little different from the old man."

"I brought enough stuff with me so that I can change identities every day or two if needed."

"Almost better than bombs."

Artie glanced around the room. "Not the Palace, that's for sure. I couldn't get a room on this floor. The clerk claimed they were all booked. So I'm on the second floor."

Jim pointed out the unlocked alley window. "Very convenient as an alternate entrance."

"Yeah." Artie was silent a moment. "Jim, this simply makes no sense. If they want to kill you, that could have been accomplished almost anywhere. Why this… game?"

"Maybe killing me is not part of the plan. At least initially."

"Then what?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess we'll have to wait and see. Stay alert, pal."

Artie grimaced. "To do that I'd better go get some more sleep. You too. I'll be around, buddy." With a slight wave of his hand, he slipped out of the door.

W*W*W*W*W

Ta pánta sto sýmpan eínai o karpós tis týchis kai tis anankaiótitas.

[Everything existing in the universe is the fruit of chance and necessity.\

—Democritus (460-370 BC) Greek philosopher

As soon as Jim appeared in the lobby, the clerk hurried out from behind the desk to direct him toward a door to one side. "That's the restaurant where you can get breakfast."

"Thanks, but I'm going to take a walk first."

"Mr. West, our restaurant has excellent…"

"Thanks anyway," Jim said firmly and headed for the front door. He glanced back just as he passed through that door. The clerk was standing in the middle of the lobby, appearing very nonplussed.

Now, why in the devil is it so important that I eat in the hotel's restaurant?

What was going on? To all appearances, early on, someone was trying to control his movements, where he would be at any given time: a specific hotel with a specific room on a darkened alley where the window might give easy access to someone in that alley. Placing the vase on the windowsill, hidden by the blind, would likely give early warning of an intruder. Nothing had happened in the two or three hours before he left the room just now.

Now the clerk appeared to be in on it, but Jim doubted he would learn anything if he tried to question that man. Too early for that, anyway. They definitely did not want to frighten anyone off. Finding out who was behind whatever this was as well as the motives were very important. The plan to have Artemus here in Hagerstown despite attempts to the contrary was important. Jim saw the dapper man on the opposite side of the street, seeming to be inspecting window displays in the stores. Artie was using the windows as mirrors to keep tabs on his partner.

Down two blocks and around the corner, Jim found a café serving breakfast. The food was good. I'll have to remember to mention this to Artie! However, he realized he could have been eating almost anything, for all the attention he paid to it. His mind was wrapped up in the puzzle surrounding them.

Colonel Richmond had been contacted early on, requesting he delve into Napier's life, past and present. They were not surprised to receive a reply that such an investigation was already underway, surreptitiously, started as soon as Richmond had been advised of the now-in-charge Napier's directive. Thus far, nothing had turned up that would explain the recent events. The department's best investigator in such matters was on the case: Bosley Cranston.

Such processes were slow, however, especially when it was necessary to be as cautious and secret as possible. If Napier got wind of the prying into his life, the entire situation might blow up and be unmanageable, perhaps fatal to their careers… and their lives.

Halfway through his meal, Jim noticed a man entering the eatery. A stocky man, clean-shaven, and with curly blond hair. He had seen this man in the railway car sitting at the far end, apparently with no interest in his fellow passengers. Seeing him now did not necessarily mean this was a spy. The fellow could be in Hagerstown on business or visiting some, and simply had come to this spot by coincidence.

Jim West knew, however, that coincidences often turned out to mean a lot more than pure happenstance. He kept one eye on the man while finishing his breakfast, then rose to go to the counter to pay, "accidentally" choosing an open spot beside the hefty man's stool. The waitress came to take his money, and while she fetched his change, Jim "accidentally" jostled the man.

"Oh, excuse me. Hope I didn't cause you to spill anything. Say, you were on the train from Washington too, weren't you?"

The man's blue-gray eyes flicked toward Jim, and for one instant he was going to deny the fact. Jim was sure of that. However, he nodded. "Yeah. Came up here on business."

Jim settled on the next stool. "Do you come to Hagerstown often? I'm stuck here a few days. What is there to do that's interesting?"

"Sorry, can't help you. My first trip here."

The waitress happened to return with Jim's money at that moment and heard the man's response. The surprise she evinced told Jim all he wanted to know. He accepted the change, handing several coins back with a smile.

"Thanks, miss. Good food and excellent service. I'll probably see you later. Nice talking to you, sir." Jim nodded and exited the restaurant.

Artemus was not immediately in view, but as soon as Jim started strolling back in the direction of the hotel, his partner emerged from a store across the street and continued his inspection of window displays, moving back in the same direction as Jim. I am sure Artie managed to get some breakfast somewhere, Jim mused. Perhaps Artie patronized the hotel's restaurant. Information about who might have been in there would be interesting.