Act Three, Part Two ~~~~
"All right," said the boss, "that's everything but the press itself. Come over here and give me a hand with it."
"Yes sir," said Mort. First he opened the door, then he scurried over to the table to help lift.
Grunting, the pair shuffled toward the door. They only made it as far as the desk before the boss demanded, "Put it down! Put it down again!"
They set it on the desk and stood panting for a bit, slinging their hands and stretching their backs. Shooting an angry glare at the door, the boss growled, "Where on earth is that idiot Clay, anyhow?"
Clang!
The two men whirled toward the sound and found themselves staring in the direction of the room in which they had stowed their captives.
"What was tha…?"
Before the boss could complete his question, he was interrupted by a heady mixture of clatter bing whiz whirr rumble ccrrraaaaasssssh!
"What the…!" Both men went charging from the room and down the hall. The boss grabbed the knob and rattled it - locked. He beat a rapid tattoo on the door, calling out, "What's going on in there?"
No reply.
"The key, Mort!" ordered the boss. "Open this door!"
Mort nodded and reached into his pocket, then turned pale and began patting all his pockets. "I… I don't have… Oh, here it is!" It took him two jabs to hit the keyhole, but then he cranked the key around and got the door open.
The boss shoved in ahead of him. "A light, Mort!" he snapped. "Go get a lamp!"
"Yes sir!" As Mort pivoted and raced to obey, the boss peered into the room. It was pitch-black inside, but he was pretty sure he could see a figure lying in the middle of the floor. That was Harper, no doubt, though where the girl might be, he had no idea.
"Here's the light!" cried Mort, hurrying back.
"I know you've brought the light, idiot! I can see it!" snarled the boss. He snatched the lamp from Mort's hand and took a good look inside the room.
Yes, there was the figure of a man on the floor, his hands and feet drawn up behind him, his hat drooping over his face. Spilled all across the floor were boxes and crates of the junk Mort had left behind from his packing.
Frowning, the boss stepped further into the room, Mort crowding in behind him. "What's going on here? Where's the girl?"
A sepulchral laugh echoed through the room. "Girl? I took care of the girl - and I'll take care of you as well!"
Mort clutched at the boss as the figure from the floor unfolded itself and arose, the hat still tipped low across its face throwing its features into deep shadow. "B-b-boss!" squeaked Mort.
"Oh, don't be so yellow," sneered the boss. "And let go of my arm!" He turned to glare at the cowering Mort.
And at that moment, a pair of hands neither of them had noticed hauled down on the rope, which they also hadn't noticed. The snare at the other end of the rope accordingly rose up.
And caught both men around the ankles.
And tightened.
And as the pair of hands continued to haul on the rope, the boss and Mort found themselves flipped head for heels and hoisted up into the rafters. Startled, the boss lost his cigar, and Mort his spectacles.
The boss also dropped the lamp.
With a cry, the spooky figure dove for the falling oil lamp, catching it safely before it could dash on the floor to shatter and splatter fuel and flame everywhere. "Whew!" he said, pushing back the hat. "Dodged that one! Miss Felicity, if you would take this, please?" Artie handed the lamp to the girl, then grabbed hold of the rope and helped Harper tie it off, anchoring the two bad guys to dangle wrong way up in midair.
Glowering, the boss growled out, "And just who are you?" even as Mort yelped, "You! You're that British skunk who greased up my glasses earlier!"
Artie smiled modestly. "It's nice seeing you again too," he returned. To Harper and the girl he added, "Shall we go?" and politely bowed the pair out of the room. He followed his companions through the door, then turned back to give the two in suspense a jaunty salute. "Good day, gentlemen."
"I'll get you!" sputtered the boss. "As soon as I'm out of this…" He snatched at the rope, missed, and wound up spinning. "You haven't seen the last of me!"
"I'm sure I haven't," said Artie, "since I'll be testifying against you at your trial. As for you getting out of that rope, I believe that will just have to wait until after your nap." He tugged a small glass orb out of his waistband, gave it a little toss, then quickly shut the door, enclosing a rapidly expanding cloud of saffron fumes in the room with the captives.
"That should keep them until Col Richmond and his men can come to collect them," he told himself. He locked the door, dropped off the key on a hook a little way down the hall, then hurried to catch up with Harper and the girl.
…
This new courier didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. He wandered the park at an easy pace, stopping to chat with a large group of people flying kites. At length he roamed on, the package jammed negligently under his arm. If the man took note of Jim West tailing him, he gave no sign of any such awareness.
Casually the man shifted the package until his body shielded the bundle from his pursuer's view. Jim's eyes narrowed as he took note of his quarry's action. The man moved on.
He tarried for a while by a duck pond, watching some children toss crumbs of bread to the happily quacking fowl. Next the courier paused to lean over a large baby carriage. Jim watched the pantomime of conversation between the man and the young woman who had stopped the carriage to let the man admire the baby. With a smile and a nod, the man moved on as the woman set off again, continuing on with her outing.
Jim was still on the trail. The courier bent to breathe in the aroma of a rose bush. Passing on from that, he stepped backwards suddenly out of the path of a tandem bicycle, tipping his hat to the pair of young ladies pedaling it.
And now the courier turned to face Jim West and tipped his hat to him as well.
The package. The man was no longer carrying it. Jim looked back the way the courier had come. What could he have done with it? Where…?
Of course! "The baby carriage!"
Jim took off running, abandoning the path to cut straight across the verdant lawn, his eyes fixed on the cloaked and hooded figure of the young woman pushing the carriage. Behind him watching him speed away stood the courier. The man pushed back his hat and smiled, then began to chuckle, and finally to laugh, full-hearted and exultant.
"You'd better hurry, Mr West," he chortled. "You don't want to lose her!"
