Chapter 9

"You didn't tell Beauchamp about the letters in the bank," Adam said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

"No, I didn't." Giselle walked over to the bedroom door. "Becky, come clear please." Becky came out and looked sideways at Adam; he frightened her with his dominant behavior. "You may have the leftover cakes, Becky. The rest you can dispose of." Becky thanked her and piled the pieces of china on a tray. Giselle sat down and watched Adam while he sipped his coffee.

"So," Adam said as he sat down the cup and saucer, "why not?"

"I saw no reason to tell him. But let's not talk about Beauchamp anymore or those letters." Giselle rose and walked over to Adam. "We can pass the time in more amusing ways."

"I don't think so," Adam said, standing up. "Have you heard of the snake charmers in India? Well they play a flute, a special tune and the cobra, a highly poisonous snake, rises up out of a basket and moves sinuously and dances for the flute—or is the charmer compelled to play the flute by the dancing snake? Who is actually under whose spell? Well, that's you, Giselle, except that you are both the charmer and the charmed." Giselle looked at him sharply. "You play the tune and we watch you dance before us, that supple, graceful body that bewitches us, that makes any man's blood heat up. My father and I have to continue playing the flute, so to speak, because we want to see you dance but it's exactly what you planned, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean, Adam?" Giselle tried to control her face, tried not to show any emotion.

"Yes, you do." Adam moved so close to her that he could have kissed her inviting lips. "And I also am sure that if I went to the bank to fetch your letters from Hotchkiss, I would be denied. You just wanted me to believe that you trusted me completely, that we were confidants but it wasn't true. That's why you never mentioned them to Beauchamp. You're saving them in case you need them-or you still plan to sell them or blackmail Hotchkiss with them. Very clever, Giselle."

"You give me far too much credit, Adam." She stepped back. His being so close and yet not under her influence upset her; she had known Adam wouldn't be as easily controlled as she hoped but she couldn't abandon him—his attraction for her was too strong.

"I didn't give you enough credit. Does Beauchamp have the actual letters, Giselle, or just a copy? He never really looked. Does he know Hotchkiss' handwriting? I'll go find out." Adam picked up his hat and went to the door. He turned and Giselle was watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Don't leave, Adam," she said. "I'll make it worth your while to stay."

Adam glanced back at Giselle and despite wanting to stay, he instead went out the door and down the stairs to Beauchamp's room. He knocked on the door and listened. He heard a groan and then fumbling on the other side of the door. The door opened and Beauchamp stood for a few seconds staring at Adam and then, reaching out, he fell into Adam's arms.

"He's dead," Paul Martin said. He stood up. Roy Coffee stood next to the body of Vance Beauchamp on the floor. Tom, the desk clerk, stood hovering in the background. Adam Cartwright had come racing down the stairs and told him to get the doctor and the Sheriff; Beauchamp in room 2A had collapsed.

"You say you were the last one to see him alive?" Roy asked. He looked down at the big man who lay dead on the floor. They had rolled him over so that Paul could better examine him.

"If you can call the moment before he dropped dead, alive, then yes, I was. But just a few minutes earlier he had tea with Lady Stockbridge, my father and me. What do you think, Paul?"

"Just let me ask the questions, Adam." Roy said. "How do you think he died, Doc?"

"Well, his lips are blue and so are his fingernails—cyanotic. That means he couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs. That usually implies a heart condition."

Roy kneeled beside the body and opened Beauchamp's jacket and pulled out a cigar case. "Well, he smoked. With some people, that causes trouble with their hearts."

"Wait a minute," Adam said kneeling by the body and looking in the jacket pocket where Beauchamp had placed the envelope stuffed with letters; it was empty. He rose, stepped over the body and went into the hotel room. He looked around as it was small room, one floor below Giselle's. The man's suitcase was on a chair and Adam tossed the clothes out but found no envelope. He opened the drawers and searched them, looked in the bedding, pulling off the bed sheets and coverlet and then looked in the closet. It held no clothes. "Giselle," he said in a whisper, "you are a clever girl—very clever."

"Adam, what the hell are you doing?" Roy said. "I got enough trouble keeping the hotel guests away from this mess and causing trouble by poking around and here you go and tear up this room."

"I was just looking for something, Roy, but it's not here."

"Adam, just come on over to the office while the body's taken over to Doc's. I need you to give me a statement. I'll get one from your pa and Lady whatever-her-name-is later."

"Sure, Roy. I'll come now." And Adam, giving the room another glance, left.

"Yeah, and you can tell me what you were lookin' for." Roy said.

Adam gave his statement and then walked briskly to Paul Martin's office.

"Paul? You here?" Adam called out. Paul came out from the back, holding his hands out as if he didn't want to touch anything. Adam stared at him and puzzled, asked, "What's going on?"

"Well, I'm getting ready to slice open Beauchamp. Granted, he smoked those damnable cigars all the time…"

"Yes," Adam said. "He had yellow stains on the fingers of his right hand and his teeth were stained too. I'd say he smoked three or four a day if not more."

"You should be the doctor," Paul said, "because we diagnose by what we and the patient observe but in this case seeing that the patient's dead, it limits me." Paul smiled sardonically.

"I'll pass on being a doctor but you were saying…"

"Well, although I'm almost positive Beauchamp died of a heart attack, I could be wrong. Was he behaving unusual? Did he say anything unusual?"

"He was sweating but I think that was more due to his size—the first time I ever saw him, he was sweating and always pulling out his handkerchief. He also left earlier than we did; said he was tired."

Paul pondered the information for a few seconds. "Well. sometimes a bad heart is an inherited condition and sometimes the heart explodes—just has an artery burst but there's just something about this…I need to look at his heart and see if it's diseased or damaged in any way. I want to be sure before I write up the death certificate."

"Let me ask you something? You said that blue lips and nails means a person isn't getting enough fresh blood, oxygenated blood, into their body. What else could cause that?"

Paul thought. "Hypoxia can be caused by a few things—anemia, for one. If it's really bad the red blood cells are deficient and the person doesn't get enough oxygenated blood circulating. And in the big cities where they're installing gas lights, some people have died from breathing in the gas once the flame has gone out. The gas displaces the oxygen in the blood. They turn blue as well."

"So let me understand—anything that prevents oxygen from getting to the body parts, especially the heart, will of course, cause death and the symptoms are what you called being cyanotic."

"That's right. If I have a patient whose lips are bluish, I know it's their heart or lungs, but usually their hearts."

"Thanks, Paul," Adam said. "Go have fun slicing open Beauchamp. I'm curious as to what you'll find." Adam walked back to where his horse was tied up in front of the Palace Hotel and looked up to Giselle's rooms. No one stood at the window and he was tempted to go up; he wanted to see her but stopped himself. It was late, already dark and he wanted to get home but before he did, he needed to stop by the feed stores and the mercantilist's; he had some questions.

Two hours later, Adam rode out of Virginia City for home; He needed to have a persuasive talk with Hop Sing and he planned his strategic argument. Hop Sing often played dumb but Adam wasn't fooled by Hop Sing's bland face that hid a sharp mind when it came to ferreting out Adam's and his brothers' motivations. After all, he had helped raise them from boys. He knew his "sons" well and he wouldn't willingly play Adam's translator in Chinatown.