Act Two, Part Four ~~~~
There was a small sound of scratching, and a flame leapt to life. Artie held up the match and made a brief survey of the room by its ephemeral light. The door, he already knew, had no window in it; now he saw that there were no windows in the walls either. No way to get the unconscious Mr Harper out of here but by way of the door. Or at least, no ordinary way out. Hmm…
Ouch! The match had burnt down to his fingers and Artie dropped it, plunging the room back into darkness. He sucked at his lightly singed fingertips for a second, then lit a new match, this time scrounging up a candle to which to transfer its flame.
He checked Harper; the man was still out cold, but probably none the worse for the wear. Next Artie pressed his ear to the door again, catching the sounds of Specs and the boss moving around in the building at large, no doubt conveying that stack of boxes from the entryway room out to the wagon. They would be moving the printing press as well, of course. Artie hadn't actually spotted the press, but he knew there had to be one.
Now Artie's eyes swept the room once more, taking in the scattered odds and ends in view as his fertile imagination began to crank out ideas on how to turn what was at hand into "A jolly little not-so-welcoming party for the boss and his buddies when they come back, hmm?" he murmured under his breath. "And we'll start by borrowing all that rope they tied you with, Mr Harper," he added. "After all, you didn't really want to keep it for yourself, did you?"
Artie removed the glasses he'd been wearing for his disguise, folded them, and tucked them into a pocket. Then, answering himself with, "No, I didn't think so," Artie knelt by the captive and set about undoing all those knots.
…
As Felicity looked around, feeling more and more desperate, Burly braced his arm against the stone pillar at the gate and drew a bead on the girl.
The next moment, a hand seized his arm and shoved it upwards, spoiling his aim, while a second hand grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him sideways away from the gate.
"Wha…?" said Burly. There was a blur, and suddenly the gun went flying from his hand.
Burly looked around, spotting the gun lying on the ground a few steps behind a cocky little bantam of a man dressed in a teal suit. The man smiled at Burly and said, "You're under arrest."
"What? Who are you?"
"James West, United States Secret Service." The man in teal flashed an identification wallet and as he stowed it in his pocket again, he added, "You do know what the Secret Service is, don't you? We investigate and apprehend counterfeiters. And you, friend, have just been apprehended."
With a snarl like an enraged tiger, Burly launched himself at West, certain he could crush the much smaller man with ease. To Burly's amazement, though, West smoothly sidestepped him, then caught him by collar and waistband and slung him into the wall.
That only made Burly angrier. The gun, he now saw, was a few feet from his hand, so he dove for it, snatching it up.
Fast as he was, though, West was faster. The agent tackled Burly and the gun spun from his hand once more. Growling, the big man surged up from the ground and flung out an arm, aiming a haymaker at the smaller man.
That blow never landed. West blocked it, then got in a solid jab to Burly's solar plexus that knocked the wind out of the big man. Burly crumpled to the ground, and now West slapped a pair of manacles on him. Hauling his captive to his feet, West said, "Come on," and frog-marched him up the alley in the hopes of finding a policeman into whose hands he could entrust the prisoner. After all, West still had a package of contraband to track.
…
Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity caught sight of a movement at the gate, but by the time she turned to get a good look, there was nothing to see. Puzzled, she took a step in that direction.
A hand closed on her shoulder. She whirled to stare up into the face of the only man here wearing a pink rosebud in his lapel. He smiled cordially at her and said, "I believe you have something for me, miss."
"Wha… what?"
He leaned closer and breathed into her ear, "In the land of so many white and red boutonnieres, the pink rosebud is king." And when she still blinked at him, not comprehending, he added, "We had no idea when we set up this rendezvous that the back courtyard of the museum would be filled with men wearing the white rose of York. As soon as I arrived and saw the problem, I removed this one," and he showed her a somewhat crushed white rosebud from his pocket, "and cut myself a pink one instead from that bush there." He nodded his head at a nearby bush filled with blushing blossoms. "And now," he said, releasing her shoulder and holding out both his hands, "the package?"
Still Felicity stared at him. How was she supposed to know if he was the right man to give the package to? And yet, on the other hand it occurred to her suddenly that it really didn't matter. What if she did pass the package to the wrong person? By the time that nasty man with the evil cigar could find out she'd botched the delivery, she would have retrieved Ma's medicine and vanished. He wouldn't know where to look for her! And so she smiled up at the man with the pink boutonniere and said, "Here you go, mister. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, miss," he responded and turned toward the museum, disappearing through the back door into the cool shade of the interior.
Felicity hurried back out the gate of the courtyard and up the alley, feeling light as a feather. As she reached the street again, she spotted a flash of teal and saw, to her surprise, the man she'd met earlier, the friend of the fellow who had taken off his sideburns. Next to the man in teal there was a policeman - oh, now one was available! - and between those two men stood a third figure, his hands held awkwardly behind his back, another man she recognized.
Felicity drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. Him! The man who'd kidnapped her! What was he doing here? But as she looked on, she realized the reason the kidnapper's hands were at such a strange angle behind him was because they were shackled together in a pair of handcuffs. A brilliant smile broke out on her face.
Just at that moment, Jim West caught sight of a familiar young figure. The girl had emerged from the alley alongside the museum and was watching as he spoke with the policeman. West gave the girl a brief nod and touched the brim of his hat to her, and she smiled and nodded in return before trotting off down the street back the way she had come.
Her arms were empty now. She must have delivered the package. Turning back to the uniformed policeman, Jim said, "I need you to take this prisoner to Col Richmond at the Denver office of the Secret Service and remand him into the colonel's custody. This fellow is part of a counterfeiting ring."
"I…" said the policeman, looking a bit stunned.
"Good man," said West and darted off toward the museum. No one but the girl had left the alley, and while whomever she'd given the package to might well have come out the back gate and gone off in the opposite direction, West was gambling that the courier hoped to throw off pursuit by passing through the building and exiting by the front door. If so, West had every intention of being right there, ready and waiting for him.
The first member of the counterfeiting ring was under arrest. Now for the rest.
End of Act Two
