Act Six, Puzzlements and Predicaments
Mary Jane hovered in the background as Professor Bartok examined the injury that had been done to Ernest's neck. Janos frowned and squinted through his magnifying glasses until Ernest scowled at him. They were still gathered in Ernest's rooms at the Silver King, along with Ramos and Skeeter, who had quickly changed out of Mary Jane's housecoat and into a borrowed pair of breeches and shirt.
Janos snapped his lenses up and stood up. "Well, I can see no serious damage, Ernest, but you are going to have some rather vivid bruises for a few days. You're lucky, you know. He could have crushed your windpipe."
Ernest coughed slightly, then said in a raspy whisper, "Lucky me."
Mary Jane came forward, laying her small hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Pratt. It's my fault that you were hurt."
"No--cough-- 's not," Ernest said, shaking his head sharply.
"Stop trying to talk," Janos chastised his friend. "But Ernest is correct, Miss Plain; you are not to blame for this incident. I believe that the subject of your contract and this attack were entirely unrelated. There is something very fishy going on here. It requires a good deal closer study. I suggest we retire to the Compound and do some research. Ramos." Bartok's assistant was already moving, slipping quietly out of the room. "Miss Plain, I think it best if you were to stay here..."
"S-stay...?" Mary Jane was clearly frightened of the prospect of being alone.
"You will be safe; Sir Franklin has no reason to suspect you. Endure, dear lady, for a little while longer. And be brave, for I foresee that you will play a very important role in our plan. I am clairvoyant, you know." Bartok took Mary Jane's hand and gently kissed the back of her fingers. "Now I think we had best get you back into your room before your missed." Ramos had returned, having made sure that Mary Jane's rooms were safe. He gave her a short bow and escorted her to her door.
"Skeeter." Ernest's voice crackled like a crumpled sheet of paper. The young man turned toward him. Ernest held up a silvery coin. "You keep an eye on her. Let us know if anything happens."
"Yes, Mr. Legend." He caught the coin that Pratt tossed him, then fingered it thoughtfully. "You couldn't spare another two bits, could you? I'm thinking of picking up one of these cotton gowns for myself. I like the breezy air-flow..."
"Out."
"... Yessir."
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Milton Farber was walking the boards in the deepening Colorado twilight, taking the air after dinner with Sir Franklin Gutridge. Normally, Farber would not step outside of his hotel rooms after dark, but after hours of stuffy conversation and cigar smoke, he felt the need for cleaner air, even if that air was full of dust and the aroma of cattle.
Farber was a man of the city, but he liked to think of himself as a bit of a pioneer as well. He boldly went out on the assignments that E.C. Allen required of him, be it in Boston or all the way out to the wild streets of San Francisco, and any cow-ridden and tumbleweed-infested trading post in between. Farber was used to handling editors, agents, accountants, lawyers, lawmen, gunslingers, writers-- all manner of lowlifes. His employer valued him for his ability to obtain results no matter how difficult the situation. He believed that he was prepared for any obstacle the frontier could place before him.
But he had met his match with Franklin Gutridge.
'Sir' Franklin, he muttered bitterly. The man's pretentiousness was offensive. A writer of books could name or title himself whatever he could copyright as his own, but that didn't mean that Farber had to believe he had earned that title.
Farber looked down the main street of Sheridan, toward the horizon where lightning bolts usually shot upward into the sky. Bartok's rain tower was silent tonight. Grimly, Farber wished that Pratt's dime novel hero really were real. He could use a rescue from this boorish client. With a resolved sigh, he turned to go back into the hotel dining room.
At the table he had shared with Sir Franklin, Farber saw two strange men in close conversation with Gutridge. As he approached, they departed swiftly. Gutridge was holding a sheaf of papers, which he quickly folded and placed inside his vest.
"Won't your niece be joining us, Sir Franklin?" Farber asked politely.
Gutridge grunted, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "She was over-tired from the journey. I don't expect her to..."
"Am I too late for dinner?" Mary Jane approached the table, dressed and composed. Farber rose to assist her to her chair. Franklin stared. She seemed taller somehow; her face was glowing, her cheeks full of colour and her eyes sparkling. She placed a gloved hand on Farber's extended arm. "Please forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive, miss," Farber said gallantly. "Waiting is it's own reward to see loveliness such as yours."
"Oh, Mr. Farber... you're just saying that!" Mary Jane said.
"Of course he's 'just saying that'! Sit down and stop fluttering! It's unbecoming of a girl of your class."
Earlier this day she might have paled and stammered after such cruel words, but after a few hours with Ernest Pratt and his friends, Mary Jane Plane had found a strength within herself she hadn't known she possessed. She held her head high and ignored her 'uncle'. She seated herself gracefully while Farber beckoned to the serving woman to bring food for the lady.
Gutridge grumbled as pushed himself away from the table. "I have neither the time nor the desire to sit and watch you eat, girl. I'm going. Farber, if you'd care to continue our conversation..."
"I'll stay and keep the lady company, Sir Franklin." Farber welcomed the excuse to escape another of Gutridge's arrogant monologues.
"Very well," Sir Franklin growled.
Farber smiled at Mary Jane and poured her a glass of wine. "I suddenly feel my appetite returning."
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After a quick ride back to the Bartok Compound, there was a debate going on in the laboratory. Ramos checked their prisoners as Ernest and Janos helped them selves to a stimulating drink. Talking over the aspects of their strange day, they soon fell into a depressed state. The situation seemed quite hopeless, and both Ernest and Janos were at wit's-end to figure a solution.
"If she got married, wouldn't that get her out of her contract?" Ramos suggested as he poured more coffee for Janos. Ernest refused a refill, opting instead for a drink from his pocket flask.
Janos shook his head in answer to his assistant. "I remember reading a clause that forbids entering into any other contracts, including matrimony."
Ernest was appalled. "That's just not right."
"Indeed. There are many things about this contract that directly contradicts basic human rights. I am surprised that Mr. Allen permits Gutridge to maintain this contract."
"I have a feeling he doesn't even know about it. I think we should send him a wire and illuminate him about his precious history-book writer 'Sir' Slave-driver Franklin. In the meanwhile, how do we get Mary Jane away from that monster?"
"We could fake her death, like we did for Mr. Hickock."
"Do you think we have a body-bullet barricade in her size?" Pratt said with heavy sarcasm. "I think we should be able to help her without shooting her!"
"Just an idea..."
"It seems obvious that Sir Franklin has other interests than his books," Ramos said. "He has tried to steal research from you, professor, and tried to steal the newest Legend manuscript. These things alone should warrant him for arrest, if we can connect him to his agents."
"And he were to be bound by law, the contract will be broken automatically," Janos said, "but he failed to steal anything. These two criminals have merely made the attempt. Even if we could connect them to Sir Franklin..."
"We'd need hard proof." Ernest turned his flask over and gave it a shake. It was empty. Ernest stuck out his lip in a pout. "Even if we could get Wiley and Jenk to confess, I doubt that their word alone would be enough if Gutridge denies that he hired them."
"Yes, and the two rascals in town got away completely. What did they call each other?"
"Bucky Malone." Ernest rubbed his throat, remembering the incident. "And his buddy Stan."
Janos was tapping his lower lip thoughtfully. "Four new criminal in one day, showing up at roughly the same time as our unwelcome friend Sir Franklin... this cannot be a coincidence.