Act Two, Part Two

Colonel Richmond stepped out after a bit to hunt down the doctor in order to pump him for more information. Jim remained at Artie's side, wearily waiting, waiting…

A soft groan reached his ears, and Jim sprang to his feet.

"Ohhh… Anybody see that wagon that hit me?" muttered a voice.

"Artie?"

The patient lifted a hand to cover his eyes and forehead. "Or maybe I fell off a wagon instead," he amended. "Whatever the case, there's an awful lot of tapioca in the ol' noggin right now, that's for sure."

"Artie, you're back!" Beaming, Jim grasped his partner's other hand.

"Back? Back from where? Boy, Jim, you look like you've seen a ghost!" He uncovered his eyes to smile up at his partner and gave him a light punch on the arm. Then his smile faded. "Oh," said Artie. "I get it: I'm the ghost you're seeing! Or rather, you thought I was going to be a ghost. Is that it?"

Jim's smile tightened, but he stated confidently, "You're awake. So you're going to be fine. End of discussion."

Artie glanced around. "I'm in a hospital. I hate hospitals. Beginning of new discussion: why am I here?"

A shadow of worry flitted through Jim's eyes. "You don't remember?"

"Mm, that's right, I ought to remember! Let's see…" Artie cast about for a moment, tracking down the most recent thing he could recall. Then his hand came up to touch the incipient purple mark on his jaw, and he scowled. "Oh, now I remember!" He snorted and added, "Guess someone better teach young Danny how to throw a fake punch, huh?"

"I'll volunteer," said Jim.

Artie laughed. "I bet you will! But will it be a fake one you use on him, James?"

Jim grinned. "What do you think?"

Artie was chuckling, looking much more his usual self, when the door swung open. "All right, Jim, I just spoke with the doctor, and… Artemus!"

Both agents glanced over at the figure now staring with glad amazement in the doorway. "Why, Col Richmond!" called Artie. "I didn't know you were here."

"I didn't know you were awake!" the colonel replied. Recovering his composure, he strode forward to clasp Artie warmly by the hand. "But how do you feel? The doctor was just saying he'd be by shortly to check you over. Is there anything we can do for you, anything we can get you?"

"Why, in fact, there certainly is, Colonel!"

"And what's that?" Richmond asked.

With a good-natured grin, Artie responded, "You can get me out of here!"

Richmond sighed. "Well, your bantering skills haven't been diminished, I see. But after the scare we just had with you, you're not setting foot out that door until the doctor issues you a clean bill of health!"

Artie's face twisted into a mask of tragedy. "That long? But, Colonel, can't I recover on the train?"

"You know how Artie is," Jim interjected. "He hates languishing in a hospital."

"Preferring to languish on the Wanderer, yes," the colonel deadpanned.

"Precisely, sir!" said Artie. "Hospitals — ugh!" He shuddered. "Hate 'em all, and all the trappings that pertain unto 'em! Oh, well… except for the pretty nurses, of course. Speaking of which…" he added, sitting himself up a little higher on his pillows, a bright twinkle sparkling in his eye.

For the door had opened again, admitting this time a pair of the aforementioned pretty nurses who were accompanying a stern-faced man in a white lab coat.

"Well, well, well," said the man briskly. "Let's have a look at Mr Gordon and see what… why, Mr Gordon! You're awake!" The man advanced toward the bed, grasped the patient's hand firmly for a moment, then shifted his grip to the wrist to check Artie's pulse. "I am Dr Archer," he said, now drawing down Artie's lower eyelids one by one and peering closely at his face. "How do you feel? How did you feel upon awakening? And how long ago was that?"

"Thirsty. Groggy," said Artie, ticking off the answers in order. "And five minutes ago, or perhaps ten?"

He glanced at Jim, who nodded. "Closer to ten, I'd say."

"Hmm," said the doctor. And for the next half hour, that was the bulk of his remarks. He listened to Artie's chest and hmm'd. He thumped Artie's knees, causing him to kick by reflex, and hmm'd. He poked and prodded, peered inside Artie's mouth and ears, had him extend and flex the majority of his muscles groups, all while making no more conversation than a multitude of deeply thoughtful hmm's.

"Well, Dr Archer?" Col Richmond prompted at last.

"Hmm?" The doctor broke off from fixing Mr Gordon with a lengthy meditative stare.

"Your diagnosis, sir," said Jim. "What caused him to be unconscious for so long?"

"Yes, and am I free to go?" Artie added, getting right to the crux of the matter.

"Ah. Hmm. Well." Dr Archer frowned mightily. "Well, in answer to the question about my diagnosis, I would say that this is complex matter, very complex, and until and unless greater light may be shed upon it, I would give my initial diagnosis that this is a case of Non Habeo Scientiam. Hmm."

Artie blinked and made a small noise, one that earned him a ferocious scowl from the doctor. "And as to the question of whether you are free to go, Mr Gordon, that answer is Yes — provisionally Yes."

Artie perked up and crowed out, "Hallelujah!" while Jim asked the obvious: "And the provision?"

The doctor took up the chart on which he'd been noting down all the particulars of Mr Gordon's health and scanned it for a few seconds. "Hmm. Yes. Two provisions, in fact. One is that he be able to leave our hospital under his own power."

"Done!" cried Artie. He threw back the covers to leap from the bed and demonstrate that he was perfectly capable of doing just that, only to get an eyeful of the brevity of his hospital-issued nightshirt — as did everyone else in the room. Each of the nurses instantly hid her face behind a hand, albeit with a twinkle in her eye. With a squawk of "Eep!" Artie dove back under the sheet and yanked it up under his chin. "Um… well… when I have my clothes back, that is."

"And the other provision?" said Jim.

"Ah, that is that Mr Gordon have a nurse to attend to him. Constantly, for the next, say, seventy-two hours."

Artie broke out into a grin all over again. "Oh, I get a private nurse as well? Glorious!" He smiled at the two pretty nurses who had been aiding the doctor. "One of you, perhaps?"

"I'll see to the task of providing you with a full-time nurse, Artemus," the colonel broke in. "Doctor, may we speak privately?" And the colonel escorted Dr Archer out the door, the nurses trailing after them.

"A private nurse, James my boy! Just what I've always wanted!"

"You've had nurses tending to you before, Artie. Remember your recent broken leg?"

"Indeed I do! Ah, such a lovely pair of young ladies! Veritable Florence Nightingales!"

"Yes, and before two days were past, you were hobbling around on your own and had dismissed them both."

"Well… yes… But I was better! I didn't need them hovering around anymore."

"Oh, that's you all over, Artie. You love the attention, but you also love your independence."

"Hmm. Maybe so. But," he added, laying back and lacing his fingers behind his head, "for the nonce, I'll be pleased to have the attention."

"As long as she's pretty."

"Well, naturally, James, naturally!"

"All right, gentlemen," said Col Richmond as he made yet another appearance, "it's all arranged. Your private nurse will be awaiting you on the train, Artemus."

"Well, thank you, sir. One of the, ah, young lovelies who was just now attending the doctor?"

"Hmm? Oh no. No, none of the nurses here. No, in fact," and the colonel settled himself into one of the chairs at bedside, "this is a step I've been considering for some time now."

Jim and Artie exchanged a glance.

"Sir?"

"A, a step you've been considering?"

"Oh, yes, for a few months now. You see, Artemus, I've become rather concerned about your health."

"You have?"

"Why? What about Artie's health?"

"Well, let's just review some of your recent cases, gentlemen," said Richmond, "and you might note, as I have, that a disturbing pattern emerges."

Again the agents exchanged a glance. "A pattern, sir?" asked Artie.

"Yes." Richmond lifted his chin to gaze piercingly at Artemus. "A pattern of injuries. Now, granted, I know you two often throw yourselves into your work with reckless abandon."

"We're always getting injured, sir," said Jim. "Beaten up. Knocked out."

"All too many of our adversaries seem to think a good old-fashioned conk on the noggin is the answer to everything," Artie added whimsically.

"Yes, yes, I know that. Those sorts of things are to be expected. But I'm not referring to the workaday sorts of injuries. I'm specifically talking about these recent cases in which you, Artemus, have wound up under doctor's care, and you and I, James, have wound up sitting and worrying at Artemus' bedside — just as we were today."

"We still don't know what the knock-out gas was that affected Artie so badly last night," James began, but he was almost instantly interrupted, both by Artie exclaiming, "Knock-out gas? What knock-out gas?" and by the colonel's quelling, "Yes, and I'll expect the two of you to look into that as part of your task of continuing to investigate this smuggling case. Never fear, gentlemen; I am not taking either of you off this case!"

Artie leaned close to Jim and hissed, "There was a knock-out gas involved? I don't remember that part."

"But my point, gentlemen," the colonel went on, "is that in recent months we've had such occurrences as the, ah, the broken leg during that case involving the self-propelled… what was that thing called? A juggernaut? There was also that Paradox business, in which you were both shot in the leg…"

"Yes, Emmet Stark's revenge. You may recall that in Artie's case, the bullet to the leg came from my gun," said Jim.

"But only because Stark had me drugged and disguised with his own face to fool Jim," Artie put in.

"Yes, that's true. But there was also the Buckley case. You spent quite a while in the hospital recovering from the, shall we say, friendly hug you received from the local gorilla in wrapping up that one, Artemus!"

"But it's all in the line of duty," said Jim.

"It's not like we go looking to get hurt; it's just part of the job!" Artie protested.

"I know," said Richmond. He sighed and reiterated, "I know. But these injuries have come one right after another lately, Artemus, and…" He paused, licked his lips, and plunged ahead. "…and, no offense, but you're not getting any younger. Don't get me wrong: you're a good agent, an excellent agent, and I'm not looking to put you out to pasture. No, nor to recall you again to Washington and chain you to a desk. We tried that lately, and while it did give you a respite from the rigors of field work, we all know that you were champing at the bit to get back on the train and back at Jim's side — which is, of course, where you belong."

"Well, thank you, sir," Artie said, but his face plainly showed he wasn't sure where this line of discussion was going, nor whether he would like the destination once the colonel finally arrived at his point.

"I'm not the only one who has been concerned about your many injuries lately, Artemus. The president himself has expressed his dismay and has — ahem! — encouraged me to find some solution. And so…" And here the colonel leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his vest. "…I have come to the conclusion that you need some help."

"Need?" said Jim.

"Help?" said Artie. "Are we still talking about my private nurse?"

Richmond gave a self-satisfied smile. "Nurse. Aide. General factotum. In other words, gentlemen, whereas we customarily send out our agents in partnerships of two men together, for the foreseeable future, the team of West and Gordon will be including a third member."

"Third member?" Artie turned to stare at Jim, his face aghast.

"Begging your pardon, Colonel," said Jim, "but this certainly does not sound like a simple matter of engaging a private nurse for Artie for a few days."

"No. That's because it isn't," the colonel said, rising from his seat. He went to stand at the window, looking outside. "While the third member to whom I have alluded does have a certain hands-on background in practical medicine, in making this assignment I also wanted to choose someone from within the ranks of the Secret Service, someone trained in our ways, familiar with our rules and methods." He now glanced back toward them and added, "Someone you both know."

"Someone we…?" Artie turned to Jim, bafflement all over his face.

Richmond smiled reassuringly. "Now, gentlemen, it's not as if you've never had a assistant on your cases! That business with the giant tuning fork, for example. I lent you Arden Masterson at that time. She proved to be an able assistant, did she not?"

Now for the first time both agents relaxed. Arden Masterson! "Oh, yes sir, she was invaluable help on that case, particularly for Artie," said Jim.

"Not to mention easy on the eyes," said Artie happily. "I'll be pleased to welcome her aboard the Wanderer again."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Richmond. "But she's not the assistant I have in mind."

Artie's face fell. "She's not?"

"No." Richmond folded his arms and leaned against the wall near the head of the bed. "No, for the time being, Miss Masterson is on loan to the Academy at Denver. I have another agent — well, a fledgling at field work, granted, although there was one memorable occasion upon which someone who shall remain nameless inveigled this temporary assistant into joining him out in the field. But as I said, I do have in mind someone other than Arden Masterson to aide you gentlemen for the foreseeable future."

Jim's eyebrows knitted as he ran through a mental list of those who might fit the description the colonel had just given — and one name shot immediately to mind. "Not Bosley Cranston?" he said just a touch sharply.

To this Col Richmond chuckled. "Well, you'll find out soon enough. I've given your new assistant orders to meet you at your train." With a smile and a nod, he added, "Good day, Jim, Artemus," and took his leave.

"Oh, great," muttered Artie. "A third member of our team? A, a fledging field agent, still wet behind the ears? Ohhh!" He flung off the covers and hopped to his feet. "That's all we need!"

"Well, it might not be so bad, Artie," said Jim, watching as Artie padded across the room barefoot to throw open the door of the wardrobe. "And you do get your private nurse."

"Hmph! Yeah, you'll notice that every time I asked if she'll be pretty, the colonel dodged the question. And a field agent! Probably won't even be a she!" He went through all the shelves and drawers in the wardrobe, then smacked the doors closed again.

"True. I brought up Bosley Cranston, and he laughed."

Artie shuddered. "Oh, that's what I want! Bosley's skinny mug bending over me on my bed of pain…" He thumped at his nose with a forefinger, then headed for a small chest in the corner and squatted beside it to rummage inside.

"Ah, Artie…"

"Yeah, Jim?" He swatted this lid closed again, and glared all around the room.

"What are you looking for?"

"My clothes, of course! You think I wanna head home to the Wanderer dressed like this?" He gestured expansively at the hospital gown. "There's more cotton tucked into the top of an aspirin bottle!" And seeing the grin that was spreading over Jim's face, Artie stomped closer and shook a finger at him. "I don't have the legs for this!"

"Sure you do, Artie. A little pasty white, perhaps, but…"

"Vuuussshhh!" Artie threw up his hands, then headed for the door.

"All right, all right!" said Jim. "I'll go out and ask what became of your clothes. Although considering you were dressed as a bum, they may well have tossed it all into the incinerator."

"Great Scott, I hope not!" Artie turned a look of horror Jim's way. "I had a few of my special little surprises stashed in that suit!"

"Surpri… I'll be right back," said Jim, and he charged from the room to go find Artie's clothes before anything permanent could happen to them.