Act One, Part One

Artie glanced at his watch, then looked up to see Miss Hippolyta's eyes upon him from across the front room of the Bracewell family's hotel suite. Half an hour. Her father had in fact droned on for half an hour regarding the origin and development of the name Artemus. And now Prof Bracewell suddenly asked, "But tell me, Mr Gordon, how did you come to bear such an ancient and fascinating name, hmm?"

And, as he had when the professor's daughter had asked him the very same question well over thirty minutes earlier, Artie shrugged and replied, "My mother took a fancy to it."

"Oh?" said the professor. He frowned, paused, started to say something further, changed his mind, then gave a brief harrumph and turned to the other Secret Service agent. "Well, Mr West, I suppose we should take these," and he patted the case he'd been clutching ever since they left the train, "and put them in the safe place you assured me would be waiting."

"Certainly, professor," said Jim. "Mr Gordon will lead the way."

"Mm? Oh?" The professor peered over his glasses at Artie as if he'd already forgotten the man's existence.

"Yes, Professor. This way." Artie gestured toward the door. "The security arrangements for the display of your archaeological treasures are all in place, just waiting for you, sir. You, ah, have the treasures there in your valise, I take it?"

With a merry laugh like aural sunshine, Miss Atalanta said, "Oh my, yes! Or the most important one, at least. Father hasn't let that case out of his sight or possession for days and days!"

"Nor should he!" Miss Hippolyta responded crossly. "Have you forgotten already what happened to the other two?"

Atalanta's eyes filled. "No, of course not, Polly!" Her pretty bow-shaped lips wobbled a bit. "Really, can't I ever say a thing without you taking exception?"

"Perhaps if you could manage to open your mouth without disclosing to the world at large your complete lack of brains, Lana. And you know I hate to be called Polly!"

Her sister's lips wobbled even more, accompanied by a single tear sliding down her alabaster cheek. "M-m-mother called you Polly," she ventured.

"Mother was Mother! Mother was perfect! Mother loved me! But she's gone, and I don't want anyone else, least of all you, calling me by her special nickname for me!" Hippolyta growled. She whirled on the two federal agents. "You said it was time to take the treasures down to the display room. May we please do so?" And as her father protested with a mild, "Now, now, girls, please. Please don't," his younger daughter drowned out his voice with, "Now?"

Jim gave a loud sigh. "Yes. Right now would be best." He offered his arm to Atalanta, leaving Artie to escort Hippolyta once more. But even as he was crooking his arm to her, the young Amazon only rolled her eyes and strode out past him, past Jim and Atalanta, past her father as well, and clumped off down the hallway, then on down the stairs.

"Coming?" Her less-than-dulcet tones floated up to them all.

Jim's lips set into an angry line. "Professor?" he said, managing, but only barely, to keep his temper in check.

"Oh. Oh, yes. If you gentlemen will bring those three cases as well?" And as Jim took one, leaving the other two for Artie, the old man bumbled off out the door.

"Ok, Artie," Jim added, "will you please go on down and head off that…" He paused, apparently editing himself. "…that female version of a bull in the china shop?"

"Sure, Jim, sure." As he hurried off down the stairs ahead of the rest in an attempt to catch up with Miss Hippolyta, Artie muttered, "What have we gotten ourselves into this time?"

…

Loud voices echoed from the display room, one strident and feminine, the other exasperated and masculine. "I have a perfect right to be here!" the woman's voice insisted.

"No one comes in here, lady! Not without Mr Gordon's say-so. Now you just wait out there in the hall…"

That was Dermot Parrish's voice, and Artie noted without the least trace of amusement whatsoever that Miss Hippolyta plainly never took No for an answer.

"My father will be along in just moments, Mr Whoever-You-Are, bringing with him the very items for this as-yet empty display room to which you seem determined to deny me access! But if you would take even half a second to put to the task whatever it is you have inside your head which you no doubt consider to be a brain, you would realize that if I wished to steal anything of the Lydian treasures, I would surely not bother with ransacking this room, as they are manifestly not yet here! Now do step aside and let me in!"

"Lady…!" Parrish began, his tone of voice showing that his reserve of patience was about to run dry.

But now Artie strode briskly around the corner and caught up with the younger Bracewell sister. "Miss Hippolyta," he said cordially, somehow managing to catch her hand and tuck it through the crook of his arm, all the while juggling the two cases he'd brought down with him.

She glared down at him, then back toward the corner as the rest of their party came into view. "It's about time," she grumbled. "I suppose Atalanta asked you all to take her sightseeing."

Artie only smiled, then turned to Parrish and made introductions.

"Oh, well!" said the security man. "Pleasure to meet you, Professor, ladies." He nodded toward Miss Atalanta with a big grin on his face — a grin that melted like snow on a griddle as soon as he glanced toward the other sister. Resolutely ignoring her, Parrish turned to her father and said, "Right this way, Professor." He led the way into the display room.

As soon as they were through the door, Miss Hippolyta dropped Artie's arm, gave him a pointed glare, and set off briskly to inspect the display cases.

"Mr Gordon here designed the theft-proofing," Parrish said. And then, pleased for the opportunity to show off all the devises he'd made, Artie went about the room arming and tripping each trap.

"Wonderful! Simply marvelous!" exclaimed Prof Bracewell. "And into which case shall we entrust the Apple?" He set down his valise and began fumbling with the latch.

"Oh, here, Father, allow me," said Miss Atalanta. She drew off her dainty lace gloves and helped him with the lock, even as Artie cast a glance Jim's way and asked, "Ah… Apple?"

"Oh yes!" Atalanta beamed as she succeeded in opening the valise. "The most amazing of the discoveries Father and Mother made this season: nothing less than the Golden Apples of the Sun!"

Across the room, Hippolyta gave a sniff and continued scrutinizing the cases.

"Golden Apples of the Sun? Really?" Artie repeated in astonishment as Atalanta carefully lifted out something about the size of — what else? — an apple, which was wrapped in a linen cloth. Slowly, for the item seemed rather weighty, she cradled it in her hands and set it down atop the nearest display case.

"There!" she said, and smiled at them all. "Would you care to have a look?" Gently she folded back the cloth and exposed the treasure within.

It certainly looked like an apple, and it also gleamed like gold. Artie stepped closer and bent to examine it. "This is what you found on your archaeological dig, Professor?" he asked.

"Well, that among many other precious things, yes. And originally there were not one Apple but three. Only…" Bracewell sighed mightily.

"The other two were stolen," said Jim. "One of them while the Bracewells were still in the field, the other apparently during their voyage across the Atlantic on their way to this conference."

Artie nodded. "Yes, I had heard two items were stolen from you. Ah… may I?" He gestured toward the Apple, clearly asking permission to pick it up.

Prof Bracewell shot an alarmed glance at James West, but Jim smiled in reassurance. "My partner is an expert on all things metallurgic, Professor. He can be trusted to handle the Apple without injuring it in any way."

"Ah. Well. Very, er, very well then." From the depths of his valise Bracewell produced a pair of linen gloves. "He must wear these, of course."

"Of course, Professor," Artie concurred. While Prof Bracewell and Atalanta took a few more of the Lydian treasures out of the valise, Artie brought the Apple up to his face and inspected it minutely. From his pocket he fetched forth a jeweler's loupe and screwed it into his eye. He ran his gloved fingers lightly over the gleaming surface of the precious item, clicked his tongue, then set the treasure back down atop its carrying cloth and drew off the gloves. With a shake of his head, Artie tossed the gloves down aside the Apple and glanced at Jim. "I… don't exactly know how to tell you this, Professor Bracewell, ladies, but — well…" Again he glanced at Jim.

His partner read his mind and spoke for him. "The Apple is fake." And as Artie gave a glum nod of his head, the professor and Miss Atalanta broke out into loud vociferations of denial.

While across the room, Miss Hippolyta sighed and gave a small shrug of her shoulders.