Act Two, Part Three ~~~~
The museum at last! Felicity smiled as she hurried toward the building. The counterfeiter's instructions rang in her memory: take the package around to the back door of the museum and give it to a man wearing a white rosebud boutonniere. It took the girl a few moments to work out which way led around to the back, but shortly she was trotting along an alley, hurrying to make her delivery.
Burly followed her. West followed him.
Felicity found a wrought-iron gate between stone pillars which let into an enclosed courtyard. She nudged the gate open. Inside…
Oh! Inside was a lovely garden with a great number of well-tended flower beds interspersed with pebbled pathways. Shade trees loomed overhead, and a marble fountain burbled away merrily in the very center of it all. Also in the courtyard stood several tables, their red and white damask coverings spread with crystal bowls of punch and silver platters of finger sandwiches. A banner over the backdoor to the museum proclaimed in bold letters:
WAR OF THE ROSES ASSOCIATION MONTHLY MEETING
WELCOME, YORKISTS AND LANCASTRIANS!
As she stood in the gateway looking around, Felicity's heart sank. There were people meandering all through the gardens, easily dozens of men and women, and as Felicity's eyes sought out each man's lapel, she saw that every single man in sight was wearing a rosebud in his buttonhole. Roughly half of the flowers were red, but to her utter dismay, all the other boutonnieres she could see were white, white, white.
…
As the door knob turned and the door swung open, Artie stepped back against the wall on the hinge side of the door. The two men were so intent on their burden that neither one noticed the other occupant of the room, especially after Artie touched the knob lightly, giving it a slight tug that kept the door moving gently toward him until it hid him from view completely.
Mort and the boss dumped Mr Harper on the floor. "There, that's good enough," said the boss. "Go get some rope and tie 'im up."
"Yes boss." As the clerk hurried to obey, the boss stood over his captive, puffing on his stogie, waiting.
Shortly Mort was back, bringing with him not only the rope but a lamp as well. Setting down the lamp, he knelt by the unconscious man, made a slip knot in the rope, then tightened the knot around one of Harper's wrists and set about trussing him up.
"Tie 'im good and tight, Mort," said the boss. "We don't want 'im getting away before Clay comes back."
Clay, thought Artie, storing away that name. Clay was apparently the one he'd dubbed Burly.
Mort frowned. "I thought we wouldn't want 'im to get away before all of us can clear out."
"Mm. Well, we don't. But once Clay gets back with the gun, we won't need to worry anymore about this fellow going anywhere or doing anything again."
"Huh?" Mort rocked back on his heels and peered up at the boss, puzzled. "Why, what's Clay gonna do?"
The boss jerked a thumb at the bound man. "Why, he'll plug 'im, of course!"
"Plug…" The bespectacled fellow's eyes bulged behind the lenses. "You're gonna kill 'im? Why?"
"Use your brain, Mort! This guy knows what every one of us looks like! We don't want him giving our descriptions to the police."
"But… but all them kids knew what we looked like too. And you just let them go."
" 'Cause they were kids, yeah. Who's going to believe them? But Harper here is a respectable member of society. We can't have him ratting us out, 'cause the police'll take 'im seriously. Now, c'mon. Are you done tying 'im up or what?"
Mort applied himself to the task again. "Yes sir," he said moments later. "I'm done."
"Good. Let's go load the wagon then." The boss took a glance around. "You finished packing this room, Mort? There's a lot of stuff in here still."
"Yeah, boss, but it's just a bunch of junk we don't need."
"Ah. Fine. Well, c'mon then. I want to be ready to roll once Clay gets back from tracking the girl."
"Yes sir." Mort rose and picked up the lamp, then followed his boss out, locking the door behind them. And as they moved on up the hallway, Mort added, "What about that girl, boss? She knows what we all look like too."
Artie applied his ear to the door again to catch the boss' answer of, " 'Course she does. But remember, she's coming back here to get that bottle of hers." Artie heard a chuckle, followed by, "And when she does…"
The boss' voice cut off as a door closed up the hall. Artie could only imagine how that sentence ended. And he certainly didn't like how his imagination was filling in the blank.
…
With faltering footsteps, Felicity wandered into the courtyard, her head swiveling as she looked at first one man, then another. Which one was she supposed to give this package to? As she walked, she tried to catch the eye of any of the men with white boutonnieres, ignoring those with red ones and even the lone man with a pink rosebud. But, oh, nobody would meet her eye in return! Their gazes slipped right past her, dismissing her as if she were worthy of no attention.
Finally, with determination, the girl lifted her head and walked up to one of the men. "Excuse me, mister," she said.
The man looked her over, scowling. "Why, whoever are you?" he asked disparagingly.
She held up the package. "I'm supposed to give this to someone here, and…"
He waved a hand toward the building. "If you've come to make a delivery, by all means make it inside the museum. We're trying to enjoy the get-together." He turned away, murmuring to the woman at his side, "Really! Of all things!"
Outside the gate, Burly's eyes narrowed as a cruel smile curled his lip. The boss had told him what to do if the girl tried to talk to anyone other than the courier! Burly didn't know which man was working for Mr Briggs anymore than the girl did, but obviously that fellow wasn't him. With a nasty chuckle, Burly stuck his hand into his pocket to bring out the gun.
