Act Three, Part One

That fool Kutman, thought the little man in the great overcoat as he scurried through the streets of Washington City, had been satisfyingly forthcoming by the end of their interview. What a surprise the next person to enter that hospital room would find awaiting them! A little judicious use of the knife…

He giggled, picturing again the look of horror in Kutman's eyes as he had brought the blade right up to the tip of the sick man's nose. And then he had quickly sliced away a few inches of the man's bed sheet to use as a gag. Oh, Kutman would no doubt rat on him as soon as the gag was removed. But first the gag would need to be discovered, and by that time…

By that time who would guess where to look for him? He was already coming up on the Bosnian embassy. He might be playing a game of catch-up, having to surmise where the perfidious Miss La Joie would go next, but anyone coming after him would be doing precisely the same thing. No, he was safe. Safe for the moment, at least, and that was all that mattered. Soon he would overtake the despicable girl and relieve her of the Phoenix, and once that was done — ah! Once he had the priceless treasure in hand, then he would be the hero of the day, his reputation rehabilitated, his position at the museum restored to him, his good name…

"Yes," he murmured, "the good name of Bartholomew Memphis will no longer be besmirched!" Swiftly he scurried down an alleyway, intending to sneak onto the grounds of the Bosnia embassy by means of the back gate.

But then he spotted a little movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look…

And stifled a giggle. Ah, perfect, perfect! What could be better? He slipped into the closest shadows and reached into a pocket of his overcoat.

…

Quietly Artie led the cabbie through the interconnected fine front rooms of the embassy and on to the back service corridors beyond, hoping no one would spot them as he searched for a suitable exit. Softly, softly. He had an idea…

"Hey, where're we goin' anyway, mister?" the cabbie suddenly protested loudly. "I just wanna git my money an' git outta here!"

"Scht!" hissed Artie. "Not so loud." He looked around again, then made up his mind. "This way. Mach schnell!" he commanded and led the man around a corner.

Oops! A barrel-shaped woman in a cook's uniform appeared from a doorway at the far end of this new section of the hallway. Swiftly Artie pulled his companion back around the corner, slamming a hand over the man's mouth as he hoped for the best.

The woman's footsteps echoed along the hall. "Please go the other way, please go the other way," Artie muttered under his breath, not daring to sneak a peek round the corner lest she spot him, but instead listening intently, trying to discern whether she was coming towards them or not. The sharp clicking of her footsteps did not seem to be growing any louder.

On the other hand, they weren't growing any quieter either. Artie surveyed the section of corridor in which they hid, trying to think of somewhere else he could stash the cabbie, just in case…

Ah, but then an unseen door opened and closed, and the footsteps were heard no more.

"Whew!" breathed Artie. "Ok, c'mon."

The cabbie batted away his hand. "What the H-E-double-toothpicks d'ya think yer doin', buddy? What's all this pussyfootin' around, huh? An' where's my money?"

"Scht!" Artie ordered again. He shot the guy a glare, then with a grumble of, "Ach, Himmel!" he reached into a pocket, pulled out a coin, and slapped it into the cabbie's hand. "There! Happy now?"

The cabbie examined the coin skeptically, then implemented the time-honored test of putting the bite on it. "Hmm. Real, I guess. Ok, where's the exit? I gotta git back to work."

"Exactly what I had in mind," muttered Artie sotto voce, and he set off again with high hopes for the room that woman had just vacated.

…

Bless whoever had been doing their laundry! Ecstasy La Joie concealed herself between a pair of bed sheets dangling from adjacent lines, turning them into an impromptu dressing room as she swiftly changed out of one stolen outfit and into another. It was true, of course, that the people who owned this house and these clothes would not be pleased when they discovered what she had done. In particular, the teenaged boy who lived here would be furious to see the maid's uniform she was leaving him in exchange for his Sunday best!

She pinned the dress she had taken from Marie the maid onto the line, then made herself scarce.

Across the street, a little figure in a greatcoat emerged from the shadows and scuttled after her.

…

Artie opened the door slowly and peered within. Aha! He'd found the kitchen and, to his great relief, found it empty as well. "C'mon!" he hissed, waving the cabbie through the door. "And there's the exit," he pointed.

" 'Bout time!" grumbled the cabbie. He hurried on out the door without so much as a thanks or a farewell. Not that the lack of common courtesy annoyed Artie for even a second. That burden was off his shoulders, and that was all that mattered! "Now to find Jim," he told himself, and whipped back towards the interior door.

To find someone standing in that door, blocking his way!

…

A slight figure dressed in a Sunday best suit sauntered along the side of the road heading for the German embassy, then stopped and tipped her head. A horse-drawn carriage was pulled up before the embassy's front gate, parked and apparently abandoned, for its driver was nowhere in sight.

Hmm… Ecstasy gave the matter some quick consideration. Her attire, she mused, might well pass for that of a cabbie. She could go to the door, appeal to the carriage at the gate in order to claim she was here to pick someone up, and so gain entrance to the embas…

Ah. A man burst out from the gate, hopped to the seat of the carriage, and drove off in a great hurry.

"Well," murmured Ecstasy, "so much for that idea! But there's always another way to skin a cat." She strolled on, casually casing the embassy as she passed it by.

Behind her a figure in a greatcoat followed in her wake.

…

Artie was staring, practically nose to nose, into the bulldog face of the woman in the cook's uniform — nor was it a pleasant view either, for her cold glare would have given Queen Victoria a run for her money in the "We are not amused" department. "Ah… Guten Tag, mein… er… meine gute Frau…" he ventured.

Her piggy eyes narrowed. "And just what do you think you're doing in my kitchen, Herr Vogel — again?"

Artie's eyebrows snapped to attention. "Again?"

"Yes, again! I chased you and that minion of yours out of here not…" She consulted the clock on the wall. "Not half an hour ago. I told you then and I tell you now: no raiding my kitchen between meals. Now out with you, mein Herr! Out and stay out!" She stepped to the side and pointed an emphatic finger at the door and the interior of the embassy beyond.

"Jawohl, meine gute Frau," said Artie quickly and passed on through the door, his mind busy. So the real Herr Vogel had returned; time to round up Jim and skedaddle!

…

Jim was ready to round up Artie and get out of here. After exiting Herr Vogel's office through its window, Jim had reentered the embassy by means of the upper floor window he had recently left partway open. Dodging the various guards had become second nature by now; Jim was fairly certain he'd used the top of the same cabinet for a hiding place as least three times now. He slipped along a third floor corridor, then ducked into a room as the sound of footsteps drew near.

At least this room was empty! Glancing around and seeing nothing of particular interest — no, not even a balcony; only a tall double-hung window graced the far wall — Jim waited by the door, listening for the footsteps to pass on by.

Except they didn't. Even as Jim watched, the door handle, mere inches away from him, began to turn.

…

A trim figure in Sunday best slipped along the side wall of the German embassy, found a likely spot, and skimmed up the wall. For a moment she held on to the barricade of spear points that marched along the top of the wall, peering within to make sure she wasn't observed. And once she was satisfied, she vaulted over the barricade, dropped inside into sovereign German territory, and raced for the nearest window.

Behind her, still outside the wall, Bartholomew Memphis longed to follow her. Scaling walls, however, was very much beyond his catalog of skills, not even a wall that was barely five feet high — six, counting the pointy spears. Gnashing his teeth, the little man vented his anger with a swift kick to the vexatious obstacle that dared stymie his plans.

And then he limped some little distance away and settled in to wait for Miss La Joie to make her exit again, the irritating female!

…

The door next to Jim swung open to admit five men in green uniforms. "Der Amerikaner is still at large," said the big blond leader. "Search this room!"

"Jawohl!" the others responded and spread out, peering under and around everything in sight. One man looked under the desk, another behind the curtains, a third into the shadows beside a freestanding bookcase.

And the fourth? The fourth turned to face the door as he swung it shut…

…only to discover the fugitive James West standing in the angle behind the door! For a heartbeat the two merely stared at each other.

And then Jim sprang, firing one solid fist straight into the guard's midsection. With a loud "Oof," the man doubled up and crumpled to the floor.

The others whirled at the sound. "Der Amerikaner!" exclaimed their leader. "Get him!"

They tried. Oh, how they tried! The closest one to Jim took a swing at him. Jim ducked under it, and replied with an uppercut. As that man staggered backwards, his head spinning, another plowed into Jim and bore him to the floor. The remaining two men still standing piled into the fight as well and managed to catch hold of Jim's arms, then dragged him upright. Their compatriot, the one who had knocked Jim down in the first place, came to his feet again, a sneer on his face. He laughed, smacking one fist into the opposite palm, and made a few comments in German.

The two holding Jim laughed as well and gripped him all the more firmly as Herr Sneer squared up and drew back a fist, ready to pound their captive.

Just as he did, Jim used the pair holding him as support to leap up and kick Herr Sneer in the belly. And as he stumbled backwards, Jim leapt again, this time into a backwards somersault, breaking his captors' hold on him. His elbow whacked into the man on his right, then the same arm swung out and smashed into the chin of the guy on the left. With all five men reeling or floored, Jim sprinted for the window, threw up the sash, and tossed a leg over the sill.

Right, third floor window! Swiftly Jim reached into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small reel wound with several feet of sturdy wire that terminated in what looked like a plain metal rod. A hasty touch on the button at the end of the rod, however, caused a trio of spring-loaded arms to snap out into an effective little grappling hook. Quickly Jim tossed the hook up towards the roof.

Moments later Jim was on his way downward, holding firmly to the two handles of the reel as the wire spooled out smoothly, lowering him towards the ground. A few moments more and Jim would touch down, after which he planned to get out of sight immediately within a set of handy bushes.

Loud voices sounded from above as Jim's sparring buddies leaned out the window, sounding the alarm. The next moment bullets were raining down around him. Fortunately only two or three men could shoot through the window at the same time. Still, this was no way to spend the afternoon!

Jim let go of the reel to drop into the shrubbery below, then took off running out of sight around the closest corner.

"After him!" screamed the leader of the men in the room above. "After him! Mach schnell! And alert Herr Baron!"