Act Five, The Silver King Shuffle
There was a long patient silence in the Bartok Research Institute Laboratory after Mary Jane had finished telling her full story. Ramos and Janos had sat listening closely as she spoke, while Ernest paced and kept an eye on their two erstwhile guests.
Jenk and Wylie against one of the iron pillars in the lab. Each had a bulky collar set around their ankles, which Prof. Bartok referred to as 'mobility inhibitors'. They had tried to run away once, only to be dragged back by their feet when Bartok flipped a switch on his control board. Now they sat still, occasionally casting sullen looks toward the doorway.
Mary Jane sat near the fire, staring into her teacup. Ramos, with his usual ubiquitousness, deftly removed the china from her numbed fingers and refilled it and handed it back to her. She looked up at him with a grateful smile.
Janos Bartok was tapping his chin, pondering. "I wonder if Mr. Allen would be so swift to dismiss your work if he knew that it was you who actually wrote Sir Franklin history books?"
Mary Jane shook her head and set her cup down. She crossed her arms over her chest as she rubbed her shoulders. "It doesn't matter, Professor Bartok. I don't care about the books anymore. I just want to get away from Gutridge. He won't let me out of my contract. The best I can hope for is to run away and hope he never finds me."
"I'm sorry that you have had to endure such abuse, my dear," Janos said softly and honestly, "But it has been my experience that running away from problems does not solve them." The Hungarian scientist's eyes lifted briefly to meet Ernest's, then he looked at the girl again and gave her an encouraging smile. "Besides, I suspect that getting free of your contract will not be as difficult as you think."
"What makes you think that?" Mary Jane gulped, trying to keep back the tears she had managed to control while she had told them her story. She was still shivering, despite the heat from the furnace.
"That would be the professor's famed clairvoyance kicking in," said Ernest with a touch of fond sarcasm. He found a quilted blanket and wrapped it around the lady's trembling shoulders. "We'll think of something, Mary Jane. Don't be afraid."
"I came out here to ask you for help... I know you aren't really Nicodemus Legend, but I had hoped..."
"Ah, my dear lady," Ernest said brightly, standing up to give her a gallant bow, "I am Nicodemus Legend, or rather we are..." Ernest clapped a hand on Bartok's shoulder. "Between us we should be able to figure something out. The way I see it, the best thing to do would be to get you out from under Gutridge's heel. Do you have a copy of the contract document?"
"It's back at the hotel, among Sir Franklin's papers. It's in a locked strongbox. I haven't a key..."
Pratt and Bartok smiled slyly at each other. "That won't be a problem, miss..."
"We'll just go and borrow it for a while. I'm sure Sir Franklin won't mind..." said Janos.
"Especially if he doesn't know about it!" added Ernest.
xxxxxxxxxx
Gutridge smoothed the fabric of his waistcoat over his copious midsection, adjusting his fob chain fastidiously. The watch read five minutes after 8. Gutridge sighed and turned his head, calling out over his shoulder, "Mary Jane! We are late for dinner! Aren't you ready yet?" No answer came back, so he crossed the room and pounded on the door with his fist. "Come on! You've spent all of the day in that room. Come out this instant, or I shall have the landlord force the door open!" He rattled the knob for emphasis.
Gutridge had discovered the door between their suites closed and locked when he had returned from breakfast. He figured that the woman needed some time to cry herself out, so he had left her alone. He didn't enjoy listening to her sniveling. But she needed to come out now; they had an appointment with E. C. Allen's public relations man.
"Come out this instant! It is time to meet Mr. Farber for dinner. Mary Jane!"
"Go away! I'm not hungry," a high-pitched voice called out.
"Fine! Stay in there and starve!" grumbled Gutridge, and he proceeded downstairs alone.
Inside Mary Jane's suite, Skeeter puffed a sigh of pure relief.
xxxxxxxxxx
The sky was growing dark outside at last; Mary Jane had been gone for hours. There was no way on Earth that he would go outside in daylight dressed like this! There wasn't a stitch of clothing in the room that wasn't dripping with lace or embroidery, and if he was lost in the desert and three-days dead he wouldn't be caught in any of them!
He had finally found a plain dressing gown in the wardrobe that at least kept him from freezing, but he couldn't bring himself to step outside where he might be seen. Once night fell, he planned to slip out in the shadows of the verandah and let himself into Mr. Legend's room, where he could at least borrow clothing that didn't threaten his masculinity.
Skeeter padded in his sock-feet back to the window, peeking out for the hundredth time to see if the girl might be coming back. He saw only the usual dusty cowhands and townsfolk, moseying around as the businesses closed for the night and the nightlife stirred in anticipation of sunset. Just a few more minutes...
Skeeter turned and caught a glimpse of himself in the large vanity mirror set in the wall. Idly, he regarded his reflection, turning this way and that with a bemused expression on his face.
A noise outside the window sent him scurrying behind the dressing-screen. Through the glass he could see figures creeping past, though it was now too dark to see who they might be. Skeeter grabbed a bonnet and jammed it over his wild hair, then crouched down and prayed.
xxxxxxxxxx
"Not this room. It's on the other corner."
"I know which room is his... and quit stepping on my heels!"
"Shhh!"
"And don't 'shhh' me! Nobody'll hear us... they've all gone down to dinner. Now stay close and keep quiet-- ouch! Dammit, Stan! Not on my heels!"
"Sorry, Bucky."
The two men crouched and ran along the night-shrouded balcony, pausing beside the darkened windows of corner suite. The man called Bucky reached into his vest, extracting a long, thin wire, which he used to unfasten the window catch. Carefully, he opened the tall window and slipped inside, his companion stumbling behind him.
"Will you be careful?" he hissed, catching Stan before he could fall over a table. "You'll have everyone in the hotel down on us!"
"Sorry, Bucky! I'm just not used to all this creeping around. I'd much rather be robbing a bank... it's a lot less work!"
"Well, thanks to those idiots Jenk and Wylie, we ain't going to be robbing any banks soon! We gotta make a living in other ways, 'til the ink fades off them wanted posters. And once we catch up with those two, I'll make 'em sorry they ever crossed Lucky Buck Malone!" Buck prowled around the darkened room, making sure that they were alone. "Legend's not here. Let's find what we came for and skee-daddle. We ain't gettin' paid by the hour."
"What are we lookin' for, Bucky?"
"Papers, Stan. Look for a stack of papers with writin' on 'em." Not for the first time, Buck cursed his fortune that got him stuck with the most dim-witted of his gang. Stan had been a good bag-man, but during the last heist he had been standing a little too close to the charge when the bank-vault was blown up. The boy had never quite been the same since. "Look, just stand here and listen at the door. Let me know if you hear anyone coming, okay?"
"Okay, Bucky."
Buck opened a roll-top desk and began to shuffle through the contents.
"Bucky?"
"Yeah? You hear someone coming?"
"Naw. Why are we lookin' for papers?"
"'Cause the fat man is payin' us to get 'em! This Legend fella is a famous writer or something."
"Why does he want them?"
"I dunno, Stan. Maybe he is keen on dime novels and he doesn't want to wait to read 'em. Now shut yer yap and watch the door!"
"Okay, Bucky."
Outside the window, a coil of rope suddenly descended to the balcony. Two figures, one tall and broad-shouldered, the other of slighter build, shimmied down the knotted cord to land with a soft thud on the boards. The smaller of the two shadows tightly bound the rope to the rail and then followed the other to the far end of the verandah, coincidentally on the opposite side of the building as our friends Buck and Stan had made their nocturnal intrusion.
xxxxxxxxxx
No mere wire was worthy of the Bartok Institute Covert Insertion Team; Janos had prepared an elaborate device that would use small currents of electricity to unlock the window, which was rendered useless as the sash turned out not to be latched, but was indeed wide open. Janos sighed with disappointment, then gestured for Ramos to proceed him.
"Be careful, Ramos," said Janos softly. "I realize that you are new to this, but Ernest and I have done this many times. Just move as quietly as possible and..."
"Professor, with all due respect," Ramos's whisper was barely louder than a breath, "I do have some experience in this kind of thing."
"Don't tell me they had a class on breaking and entering at Harvard?" muttered Janos, winning him a grin from his assistant.
"Not hardly."
"You'll have to tell me more about this later." Conversation abated, they crept into the room and began their search. Using the Bartok Arctic Mist with a precision focused spray, they quickly broke the lock and removed the document.
Both men leaned over the papers, reading by the faint light of the shielded lantern they carried, so both were startled when the suite door opened and a voice called out:
"Professor Bartok?"
Bartok and Ramos both jumped in alarm. Skeeter stood there, dressed in a lacey housecoat and a straw bonnet. "Skeeter? What on earth are you doing wearing... that?"
"My clothes were kidnapped," Skeeter responded dryly. He hitched the dressing gown higher under his armpits and said, "Tell me... do you think this colour makes me look fat?"
xxxxxxxxxx
Whereas Ernest's skills would not have gone unwasted with his colleagues, he was busy at another task. Few had opportunity to hone to perfection the skill of smuggling women into a hotel room without being seen; Ernest Pratt was one of those few. Years of practice paid off, and soon he was softly closing the door between them and the empty hallway.
Unfortunately, Ernest's rooms were not empty. Ernest turned at Mary Jane's gasp, and found the two intruders standing with guns drawn.
"Oops! Sorry... wrong room!" Ernest moved to open the door again, but Stan prodded him with the barrel of his gun, forcing him further into the room.
"Not so fast, mister. Git over there next to your lady-friend."
"Well, well, Stan," commented the other man as he recognized Ernest from the cover of the dime-novel he had found. "If it isn't Mr. Nicodemus Legend himself. This must be my lucky night."
"Yeah, you're lucky, Bucky." Stan snickered at the joke, but Ernest and Mary Jane just stared at them. Ernest drew Mary Jane to his side, slowly backing them both away from the men and closer to his writing desk. Buck and Stan followed, still leveling their guns menacingly.
"Look, fellas, whatever you're after, just take it. I don't carry a lot of cash..."
"We ain't here for cash, Mr. Legend," Buck said, coming closer. He stood so that he was toe-to-toe with Ernest, his gun cocked but pointed upward. "Where did you hide the papers?"
Mindful of what his associates were currently trying to steal, Ernest put on his best poker-face. "What papers?"
"You're a writer, ain't ya? Where's the book yer writing?"
Ernest looked at him blankly, then as it dawned on him what they meant, he drew a deep breath. Behind his back, he had worked open a drawer and got his hand on one of the professor's Fulminators. He palmed the bulky device and side-stepped to keep it out of view. "Oh... those papers! Why, they're right here in my desk... let me get them for you..."
"Not so fast, Legend," warned Buck, waving the dangerous pistol. He smashed the barrel into a glazed porcelain vase standing upon a wall-table. Ernest froze and let him move forward. "I already looked in there... I didn't see no papers."
"Oh, well, then they must be right here." When Buck turned to look at Ernest, he brought his hand around and thumbed the button on the Fulminator. Arcs of blue lightning leapt out and danced over the bandit. He yelled and dropped his gun.
The pistol hit the carpet butt-first, discharging into the air. Mary Jane screamed and Ernest would have, but Stan had tackled him when he saw what appeared to be Legend drawing down on his friend Buck. The Fulminator was knocked out of Ernest's hand and it slid across the room and under the bed.
"Wha'cha do to Bucky, mister?" He may have been slow-minded, but Stan was as strong as a young bull, and he closed both hands around Ernest's throat. Ernest could do nothing but try vainly to pry Stan's fingers away, his face darkening as he fought for air.
Frightened but fierce, Mary Jane picked up a large vase from the desk and broke it over Stan's head. He slithered to the floor, leaving Ernest gulping greedily for air. She grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet.
The door burst open then, spilling the crowd of Bartok, Ramos, and Skeeter into the room. They had heard the gunshot and came running, Skeeter stumbling a little as he trod on the hem of the long housecoat he still wore. In his hand, Bartok held the document that he had taken from Gutridge's strongbox.
Buck recovered himself and his pistol as they stood staring at the disarray of Ernest's room. Before anyone could utter a word, he leaned forward and tugged the papers out of Bartok's hands. "I'll just take that, mister." He shoved the folded papers into his belt, then grabbed a handful of Stan's shirt. With the pistol he waved Bartok, Ramos, and Skeeter further into the room, then propelled Stan out of the door, backing out himself to keep them covered.
Watching them leave, Bartok sighed. "Well, there goes a fine night's work! At least I got a chance to read the thing before we lost it."
Ernest coughed, then managed to whisper out, "At least we're all still alive. Thanks for coming in right then. We were running out of ideas... and vases."