Act Three, Part Two
Jim, predictably, was not happy with this new turn of events. "This was the same lecture Bergman was supposed to make, right? The one Levesque insisted on teaching in his place?"
"As far as I know, yes," said Artie. They had both read the note, which was remarkable for its paucity of details.
Jim drew in a long breath and let it all out again in a rush. "This complicates things," he said, thinking rapidly.
"Looks like whoever set up the little surprise for Bergman in the home lab here had an even bigger surprise for him ready in the lecture hall. If one didn't get him, the other would."
"Without considering that if the first trap did work, someone else might get caught in the second." Jim glanced at Bergman's bedroom door. "He's still sleeping. I'll lock him in his room while I search the lab downstairs again — again and again, if necessary! — and in the meantime, you go on over to the lecture hall and find out exactly what happened. Whatever that container was that Levesque opened, secure it and find out what's in it — safely, that is — and see if you can speak to any of the students who saw it happen."
"Right. I'll check at the hospital too and see what the doctor can tell me. But, Jim…" Artie touched his partner's arm. "Just keep in mind: that particular lock hasn't kept Bergman safely behind that particular door in the very recent past."
Jim nodded. "I know. And I plan to get to the bottom of that little mystery as well, if I have to turn this entire house upside-down. I've already gone over every inch of the professor's bedroom while he's been sleeping."
"And found nothing?"
Jim shook his head. "Not a thing. If there's a way out of that room that doesn't involve the door, I haven't found it — yet."
"Weldon might know something," Artie ventured.
"He might. But he also might be working for the other side."
"Mm. Because somehow someone got into that lab even though we'd gone over the whole house to be sure no one could get in." Artie thought for a moment, thumping a finger against his nose, then added, "You know, there is another possibility, Jim…"
"There certainly is. I don't like the thought of it, but it could very well be the case. At any rate, there's the lecture hall still for you."
"And taking this house apart for you," Artie agreed. With a little sparkle in his eye, he patted Jim on the arm and quipped, "Try to leave a few bricks one on top of the other, will you, though? At the very least, leave the kitchen somewhat intact so we can still get fed!"
There was just a hint of a twinkle in Jim's eye as well as he responded with a dry, "I'll see what I can do. No promises."
"Thank you, James my boy, I do appreciate that. Now, I'll go lock away those culture dishes and the pseudo-peroxide in our room again before I leave."
…
Minutes later, having finished locking up, Artie was taking the stairs at his usual headlong pace coming down to find Weldon and request that the professor's other carriage be made ready for him. And just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, whump! Someone came rushing along the downstairs hall and plowed right into him. The next thing Artie knew, he was sprawled on the floor in an untidy tangle along with…
"Shasta!"
"Oh! Oh, Artie, I'm so sorry!" she apologized effusively as he sprang to his feet and helped her up. "Mrs Bergman is sending me on an errand, and it's quite urgent. I didn't see you."
"No no, it's all my fault; I should be the one apologizing to… Errand? Ah… does that mean you'll be using the second carriage?"
"Well, yes. Why?"
"Because Jim is sending me on an errand, and as our errand is government business, I'm afraid it takes priority over yours."
"Priority!" Anger flared up in her lovely face. "And since when does anything take priority over a good deed, I'd like to know!" she fumed. "Besides, you can just ride your horse!"
Oh, she was absolutely gorgeous when she was angry! The memory of how her palm had connected with his cheek on a previous occasion when she was angry cautioned him not to put that sentiment into words, however, or at least not at this particular moment. Lowering his voice, he packed as much regret as he could into his next statement. "I'm so sorry, Shasta, but it's imperative that I get to the lecture hall right away to investigate what happened to M'sieur Levesque, and I'll need to collect that container that was mentioned in the note. I can't carry that on horseback, so I'm afraid you'll just have to…"
She grabbed his hands. "The lecture hall! But that's perfect!" she interjected.
"…wait until I'm… Sorry? What was that?"
"The lecture hall! It's right down the block from the hospital. You can drop me off on the way, then pick me up again afterwards." She smiled up at him glowingly.
"You… Wait, you're going to the hospital?" Somehow, Artie found himself feeling like an intruder in his own conversation.
"Well, of course! Mrs Bergman said I must rush at once to poor Marcel's side to hold his hand while he lies upon his bed of pain — and she also told me to demand of the doctor exactly what happened and what the prognosis is, and to assure him that we will spare no expense for Marcel's recovery." She dimpled and added, "And she means it too. She has her own money independent of the professor's. She can well afford to pay every bit of the hospital bills."
"Oh. Oh, I, uh, see."
There was a clatter outside the door. "Oh, there's the carriage!" Shasta exclaimed brightly. "Let's go!" She tucked her hand through Artie's arm and all but dragged him out the door. He recovered quickly enough to hand her up into the carriage, and once he followed, even before he could take his own seat, she called out to the driver, "The hospital, please, Jeffrey. And hurry!"
…
Jim, having left the professor locked in his bedroom in convalescent slumber, was now going over the laboratory yet again. There had to be something — a sconce, a bit of wall trimming, a certain piece of lab equipment — something had to be the trigger device to open up a secret passage. It was the only explanation for how Bergman could have slipped from his room down here to the lab without anyone — in particular, without Jim — having seen him.
Curious, though, how many fine houses he and Artie had encountered in their years of Secret Service work that had secret passages within their walls. He couldn't help wondering why so many people seemed to include such a feature when having a grand house built. For that matter, according to Shasta the Bergmans hadn't lived here very long. Had the fact of a secret passage been mentioned as a selling point to encourage them to buy the place?
Hmm. Artie had suggested asking Weldon and Jim had declined. But perhaps Mrs Bergman might know something. Jim left the lab behind and set off to find the professor's mother.
…
Shasta cuddled up against Artie's side. "Isn't this cozy?"
In fact it was, and Artie had to force himself to focus. "Shasta, I'm working," he chided gently.
She chuckled. "Riding in a carriage is work?"
"I'm on my way to do some work, and I could be spending this time thinking about the case."
"What's there to think about? You know something happened to poor Marcel, but you don't know what, so how can you come to any conclusions until you know the facts? And you won't know the facts until you get there, so…" She settled back into the cushions with a smile. "So let's get comfortable and think about other things."
Well… she did have a point. "And what other things did you have in mind, hmm?"
She tipped her head to one side and studied his face, a speculative smile on her face. Reaching up, she brushed aside that stubborn lock of his hair that always seemed to fall forward over his forehead and said, "I've missed you. I, I mean… Well, not a tragic, languishing, pining away sort of missing you! Not a 'He's gone and therefore my life is over' kind of missing you. Just… Well, we never got to have that, uh, dinner together, you know…"
"Until last night."
She snickered. "Oh yes, that's exactly what sort of dinner you proposed we have, an intimate dinner for five, including your partner, my employer, and a man who insists on calling me his fiancée! I'm sure that's the very thing you had in mind when you invited me to dinner!"
"Ah…" Artie frowned. "Wasn't it you who proposed we have dinner that night?"
"Um…" She blushed — fetchingly, of course. "Well… not exactly…"
He cast his mind back to the night in question, remembering the feeling of Shasta in his arms, and of kissing her, and of no longer feeling so very very cold…
A century or so later the kiss ended and both came up for air. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and whispered, "Better?"
He gave an unsteady laugh. "Oh, I'm warm now!"
She sighed. "Me too." She gave him another brief squeeze, then slipped out of his arms. Looking around, she noticed the feathered cloak where it had at some point fallen to the floor around their feet. This she gathered up, folding it by habit before laying it on the same chair with the headdress. She next crossed to the candle stand, lifted out a taper, and knelt before the fireplace to light the fire.
"There," she said once she'd replaced the candle. Smoothing down her uniform, she turned away and picked up the basket. "Well," she said softly, "I need to go. I need to get back to work."
He smiled after her. "Will you be back? I could, ah, make a mess of the place and need a maid to straighten up."
She paused halfway to the door. "Oh. Well, the problem with that is they might send out one of the other girls to clean it up. After all, I'm going to be dreadfully late getting the rest of the fires laid and lit, so I won't be on call for cleaning messes for a while."
"Oh," said Artie wistfully.
"Of course," she added, turning back only partially, so that he saw her in profile. Her head was bowed, a sheepish look on what he could see of her face. "I, um… I get off work at midnight. There's a dorm out back for us girls to use. I could… you know, come back and check on you after my shift's over. See if you need, uh, warming up again." A slight blush went creeping over her face.
"I'd like that," said Artie. "If the kitchen isn't closed, perhaps we could order in a late supper."
She smiled and blushed again. "That would be nice, Artie."
"I'll be looking forward to it, Shasta my dear."
Their eyes caught and held for a moment, then she left, pulling the door closed behind her.
The dinner date never came off, of course, for as Artie, no longer chilly and in high spirits, went to peruse a small table with a cut-glass carafe and various glasses, a new knock came at the door. And this time the visitor was in fact someone who wished ill to the prince whom Artie was impersonating. Artie was carried off to a mountain cabin where his life was endangered and the real extent of the plot surrounding the prince was unfolded to him and his partner. There they spent a long night — and for Artie, a cold and uncomfortable one — waiting for morning and the opportunity to turn the tables on their captors.
Late in the morning, having arrested the conspirators as well as the wicked prince himself, they turned the others over to the local authorities, then brought the prince along with them to the suite to pack up and head back to the train to report to Washington. They would need further orders regarding the nefarious prince and what to do about him; for the moment, he was handcuffed and in Jim's personal custody.
Jim hauled the prince into Suite A; Artie, still attired in feathered cloak and sarong, followed along behind. He picked up the revolver and its bullets, then the headdress as well. "This is all I had with me, Jim," he said.
"Fine," said Jim. "My bags are over here." He opened the adjoining door into Suite B and shoved the prince through, then dropped him off in a chair as he went to pack. Artie was feeding the bullets back into his revolver when there came a noise from the other suite. Jim and Artie exchanged glances, then both started toward the adjoining door.
The door opened, revealing a strawberry blonde in a maid's uniform.
"Shasta!" Artie said in delighted welcome.
The look on her face as she spotted him was neither delighted nor welcoming. "You louse!" she glowered. "You stood me up! Nobody stands me up!" She stormed into the room and fetched him a ringing slap across the face.
He rubbed at his pained cheek. "No, Shasta, you've got it all wrong. I didn't stand you up; I was kidnapped."
"K… ki… kid… kidnapped!" she spluttered. "Don't you lie to me, you Polynesian fink!" She aimed another slap at him, but this time Artie ducked under her hand. Her own momentum sent her spinning around, and Artie, tossing the gun to Jim, caught the girl and held her fast.
"I'm not lying," he insisted. "I really was kidnapped. Jim! Tell her!"
"He really was kidnapped, Miss, ah, Shasta, is it? Both he and the prince here," said Jim with a nod toward the real prince, who was smirking as he watched the entertainment.
The girl struggled for a moment, then took a good look at all the occupants of the room. "Wait a minute," she said. "First, who's Jim? I thought he was Roger Colby. And second, what does he mean by you and the prince? You kept insisting to me that you were the prince!"
"Ah," said Artie. "Long story. Let me explain." He drew her aside toward the adjoining door and tried to give her the briefest possible narration of all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
There was still skepticism in her eyes when he finished. "So. You aren't the prince, despite all your efforts yesterday to convince me you were."
"I didn't know who you were, Shasta, and it was imperative to maintain the illusion that the prince was here at the spa. Lives were at stake. I, uh…" His voice dropping to a whisper, he added, "I wasn't faking how cold I was."
"You do still need to get into some decent clothes," she said. A little sparkle came up in her eyes then. "Are you, uh, chilly now?"
"Oh no, I'm fine. I…" He stopped abruptly, made a little shudder, and said, "Come to think of it, it is a bit cool in here."
She took his hand and drew him back through the door into Suite A. "You might feel a little warmer in here," she said.
"Oh, you think I might?" he inquired, allowing himself to be led.
"Mm-hmm. After all, there's a nice big fireplace in this room…" She slipped her arms around his neck.
"And you're so very good at lighting my fire," he replied, pulling her close.
She grinned. He grinned. They kissed.
"Artie?"
He shook himself out of the reminiscence. "Huh?"
Shasta nodded toward the window. "We've arrived."
Sure enough, there was the hospital. "Oh, right!" Artie stepped out and helped the girl to alight, then escorted her inside.
"I think I can find my way from here," she said.
"All right. I'll be back as soon as I'm done checking the lecture hall. And when I return, I'll want to speak with the doctor who is treating Levesque, so would you mind letting him know?"
She dimpled. "Of course."
Artie waited long enough for her to find a nurse to escort her upstairs to see the professor's assistant, then headed back outside to the carriage, wondering what if anything he would learn at the scene of Levesque's, er, accident.
