Act Three, Part Two

"Oh, hey hey hey!" said a happier-than-usual Danny. He set his glass down with a little "Oops!" as some of the liquid sloshed out. His one free quick pick-me-up had by now turned into four, and he was feeling spirited indeed. "Here's a good joke, Pierre ol' buddy: A rabbi and a priest walk into a bar, and…"

"No no no," Pierre interrupted. "I've been tending bar for over twenty years now, mon ami, and believe me, I have heard them all a thousand times over."

"Not this one, you haven't! I just now this minute made it up. A rabbi and a priest walk into a bar, see, and the rabbi looks around, turns to the priest, and says, 'This place sure looks familiar. I think we've been here before!' " Danny grinned at the barkeep, waiting for a reaction.

He got one all right, but not the sort he was expecting. Pierre was looking beyond Danny toward the back way through which they had both entered the barroom, and the way the barkeep was staring at the back sent a chill crawling all the way up Danny's spine. The young fellow whirled on his chair to see what had caught Pierre's eye.

There were three of them standing in the doorway from the back room, all three of them fellows Danny recognized immediately. Two were lower-level knuckle-crackers, big bruisers the Boss paid to keep the others in line. And they were flanking one of the Boss' three Big Dogs.

All the conviviality drained right out of Danny DuPree. His mouth suddenly bone dry, he stammered, "Bo… Uh, bonjour, Mugs. How's, uh, how's it going?"

Mugs took a casual step forward. "Whatcha doing here, Danny? You know the Boss don't like to be kept waiting."

"W-waiting?"

A small but cruel smile curved Mugs' lips. "You finished that delivery job over an hour ago. Right?"

"Well… uh, yeah. That was the only job I'd been assigned though, so I thought I'd just, y'know, mosey around, wet my whistle." He jerked a thumb at his glass on the bar, then added pleadingly, "C'mon, Mugs, I had no idea the Boss was looking for me. No one told me."

At this point Danny glanced at Pierre and realized suddenly just what the barkeep had been up to, plying him with so many free drinks. "It was your job to keep me here where they could find me, wasn't it?" he murmured under his breath.

Pierre didn't answer, only looked away.

"Hmph. Remind me to cross you off my Christmas card list!" Danny added as the pair of knuckle-crackers headed his way. The young fellow bounded to his feet, holding out his hands. "Guys! Guys! C'mon, I never meant to inconvenience the Boss! I'll come along quietly, honest I will!"

Mugs grinned. "Funny thing about that, Danny boy," said the Big Dog as he slowly rolled up his right sleeve. "The Boss don't care if you come quietly or not. And as for me…" He flicked a glance at Pierre and hissed, "Leave!"

"S-sure, Mugs," Pierre gasped and fled from the Blue Mermaid.

"As I was saying," Mugs went on, still grinning as he now rolled up his left sleeve, "as for me, I kinda like to hear a little noise. Especially the begging for mercy. Right, boys?"

The knuckle-crackers grinned as well as all three closed in on a horrified Danny.

…

"Mr Gordon!" Miss Collingwood hurried toward the fallen man, but Jim got there first. Rapidly he examined Artie, then growled, "He's out cold!" With a snort he added, "He never should have left the hospital so soon." Jim rolled Artie onto his back and yanked the bum jacket from his lax hands. "Here, do something with this." Jim started to thrust the jacket into the girl's hands, then frowned. He glanced at the jacket once more, then brought it close to his face and took a sniff.

"What's wrong, Mr West?"

"Artie was wearing this last night when we were all hit by that knock-out gas, the one that affected him so much worse than any of the rest of us. And just now when he picked it up, he shook out the wrinkles — and apparently shook out something else." He took another sniff, then passed the jacket to her. "Smell anything?"

She took a cautious whiff. "In fact, I do. Not something I recognize, but there is certainly something there! And look, on the cloth you can see a fine powder."

"Wrap the clothing back up immediately so that no more of the powder escapes. No doubt that's what just conked Artie out. The knock-out substance got to him again. Artie! Hey, Artie!" As Miss Collingwood obeyed his instructions, Jim patted at Artie's face, trying to wake him up.

After a few minutes, when Artie still hadn't come out of it, Jim lifted him onto a sofa. The girl was done wrapping up the clothes by this time and hurried to fetch a glass of water. "It might help to sprinkle some of this on his face," she said as she held it out to Jim.

He took the glass from her, then nodded at the swinging door into the galley. "There's a broom and dustpan in there. See if you can clear away more of that powder. It's possible he's still breathing it in."

"In that case, sweeping it will only add more of it to the air. Where are some towels?" she asked.

He told her, and as he flicked some of the water onto Artie's face, the girl fetched a stack of towels, dampened one, and used it to pat the desktop and floor, blotting up the powder.

She finished just in time to see Jim in frustration splash about half the glassful of water into Artie's face all at once.

Nothing. Artie just lay there.

"Do you have any smelling salts?" Miss Collingwood asked. "Perhaps that would awaken him."

But Jim was shaking his head. "No, they tried that at the hospital when he was out the first time. He…"

A knock on the door interrupted him, and he shot a furious scowl toward whoever was silhouetted on the frosted glass of the door. "Get that, will you?" he ordered.

"Very well, Mr West," the girl replied. She glided over while Jim turned his attention once more towards Artie. He'd come out of it again in the hospital, but why? Was it merely a matter of waiting it out, or had something happened to bring him back to consciousness? But if something had happened to wake him up, what could it have been? For Jim had been right there with him the whole time and hadn't noticed anything that might have made a change. And yet if it was a matter of waiting, then experience told him they would have several hours ahead of them before the knock-out gas wore off.

At any rate, Artie should go to back to the hospital right away. Perhaps Dr Archer had discovered something by now, and…

"Excuse me, Mr West," said Miss Collingwood, "but there's another messenger here for you." She pulled the door wide open to admit a fresh-faced young policeman, his domed hat tucked up under his arm. The young man snapped to stiff attention and saluted.

"Sir! A message for you from Chief O'Mara, sir!"

"Thank you." Jim signed the book the policeman offered him, then tore open the envelope as soon as the young man was gone. As he read the message, an impatient snort escaped him.

"What is it, Mr West?"

He passed the note to Miss Collingwood and said, "Chief O'Mara has found something new regarding the gang and wants to meet with us. Or with me; he asks if Artie is better, but," and he waved a hand at his comatose partner, "as we know, he hasn't recovered enough to get back to work — and of course that means I can't go meet with O'Mara."

"Why not?"

Jim's brows knit. "Why not? You need to ask? I have to go take Artie back to the hospital. I can't just leave him here."

She stared at him for a second, then gave an incredulous laugh. "You most certainly can leave him here, Mr West! You can leave him in my care. That was one of the reasons Col Richmond assigned me to you two gentlemen, so that I could keep watch over Mr Gordon's health. So just go on and…"

"Leave him in your hands? From the moment he collapsed, you haven't done one thing to watch over his health. I've done it all!" He glared at her.

Fire flared up in her eyes. "And how was I to do anything for Mr Gordon with you ordering me about, expecting me to be the maid and clean up around here, and then sending me off to the door to be the concierge! I will see about Mr Gordon's health, Mr West, if you will just back off and let me!" She stormed across the room to snatch up one of the towels she'd borne in earlier, then perched herself on the edge of the sofa at Artie's side and leaned over him, patting his face dry from the glass of water Jim had emptied on him.

Jim folded his arms, continuing to glare at the insufferable girl. "The fact that you know how to use a towel doesn't make you a trained private nurse, Miss Collingwood."

"Col Richmond is satisfied with my medical training," she replied coldly, not looking at him. She felt along Artie's jaw for his carotid artery, then fixed her eyes on the hands of the locket watch pinned to her bodice.

"Col Richmond isn't the one who has to suffer your tender ministrations. Just what is your training anyway? I suppose you learned nursing from Florence Nightingale herself, did you?"

"Pulse is a bit slow," she murmured to herself as she now gently opened Artie's eyelids and peered into his eyes. "And no, of course I didn't learn from her. I was a child when the Crimean War happened, and certainly wasn't in Europe. No, my training took place in Washington during our own War, when I…"

"When you were still a child," Jim interrupted, still glaring. "You couldn't have been more than ten or twelve when the War ended, and you expect me to believe you learned to be a nurse during it?"

"I was fourteen when it ended, and there were plenty of boys that age who lied about how old they were in order to join the Army when the War began, as you well know! But what I was going to say was that my eldest sister volunteered as a nurse at one of the many hospitals that sprang up in and around our capital city, and after a great deal of cajoling on my part, she and our mother permitted me to accompany Lois to the hospital. I did everything that was asked of me, watched and listened and learned. Cried every night and threw up often, but I went back every day and kept on. I did far more than simply roll bandages and empty bedpans, Mr West! The wounded soldiers needed us, and I wasn't about to let them down." She leaned back and shot Jim a glare of her own. "I didn't let them down, and I won't let you and Mr Gordon down either. Now he's breathing deeply and regularly as if asleep, so I don't believe he's in any danger, but if he hasn't awakened again in…" She consulted her locket watch again. "…fifteen minutes, I shall ask the engineer — Mr Cobb is his name, correct? — I shall ask Mr Cobb to go hail us a carriage and to help me load Mr Gordon into that carriage, and I shall take him back to the hospital myself. Does that quell your fears about me and my ability to be the private nurse and assistant Col Richmond has sent me here to be?"

Jim said nothing, only continued to eye her coldly, his arms still folded.

Miss Collingwood bounded to her feet. "I'm sure Chief O'Mara is wondering when you're going to arrive for that meeting, Mr West." She crossed to the desk, picked up his hat, and held it out to him. "You had better hurry!" And the two of them stood like a pair of statues facing each other, neither one backing down an inch.

A soft chuckle that abruptly turned into a cough sounded in the parlor with them. "Quite, uh…" More coughing. "…quite the little tigress, isn't she, James?"

Both Jim and Miss Collingwood left off their glaring to stare in amazement at the sofa.

"Artie!" Jim grinned in delight and leapt to his partner's side, Miss Collingwood only a couple of steps behind him. "You're awake! How did that happen?" He helped Artemus to sit upright on the sofa.

"That's a good question, Jim, but I've got an even better one for you: Why was I sleeping on the sofa in the first place?"

Swiftly Jim outlined the past few minutes, catching Artie up on what he'd missed.

"The knock-out powder again? Really?" Artie closed his eyes and passed a hand over his face, then looked up again as a wild grin broke out across his face. "But that's perfect!" he beamed. "Now we have a sample of the powder for me to analyze. Once I figure out what's in it, I can also figure out what will counteract it. This is great!"

"You'll analyze a powder that knocks you out whenever you breathe it?" said Miss Collingwood in amazement. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

"Oh, I'll come up with something," he said confidently. "Right after Jim and I get back from that meeting he mentioned with Chief O'Mara. I'll just…" He sprang up to his feet, only to reel instantly and land back on the sofa again, a shocked look on his face.

"Mr Gordon!" Miss Collingwood cried. She seated herself at his side and caught his wrist to check his pulse once more.

"Miss Collingswood, I assure you, I'm perfectly fine…" Artie began, but Jim shook his head. "Oh no, you aren't, Artie. You need to stay here."

"But, Jim! I…"

Jim lifted a hand to cut off the rest. "Stay here, rest if you need it, and go ahead and get started trying to analyze the powder on those clothes. But do whatever you need to do to avoid knocking yourself out with the stuff again! Miss Collingwood, you will assist him and try to keep him conscious. Understood?"

"Yes sir," said the girl, but Artie only let out a snort at being grounded.

"I'll go meet with the chief," Jim added as he put on his gun belt. "I'll keep you updated. Take care of yourself, Artemus."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Artie groused.

Jim glanced at the girl, then shifted his look pointedly toward Artie. She caught the look and nodded. "I will take care of him," she mouthed silently.

Jim saw the steely look of determination in her eyes and hoped she would be able to put her money where her mouth was. Well, there was nothing Jim could do but entrust Artie to her care and hope she would carry through. And with that thought Jim hurried off to meet with Chief O'Mara.