Act Three, Part Two

Jim was beginning to suspect he was being led on a wild goose chase. Down the main stairs the stalker had gone, then on through the lobby and along the hallway beyond, hurrying by the multitude of meeting rooms in which the multitude of presentations were even now being made. But the man only pushed on, giving occasional quick glances behind him; each of these times Jim was able to slip into a recessed doorway or behind a piece of bric-a-brac, and so he escaped his quarry's notice.

Shortly they left behind the public areas of the hotel and entered the employees-only section, passing along service corridors and down narrow back stairways. Jim continued to track the man, keeping out of sight.

And then the fellow came to a door. With a clandestine glance both ways that sent Jim ducking back beyond the corner he'd been about to turn, the man tapped at the door: rat-a-tat, pause, rat-tat-a-tat.

A second later the door opened and the stalker slipped through. A second after that, Jim was at the door and pressing his ear to it. No, it was too quiet in there; he couldn't hear a thing. Surreptitiously he tried the knob, and found it locked.

All right. He hadn't come this far to learn nothing. Swiftly but quietly Jim made use of the trusty lock pick from under his lapel, then eased the door open an inch to hear what he could hear.

What he heard was the all-too-familiar ka-click of a gun being cocked, followed by a voice behind him. "Well, if it isn't Mr West! About time you showed up. Y'know, we've been chasing around after you all day long, hoping you or Mr Gordon would lead us to that last Apple. And now… well, come on in and make yourself at home, sir — because you're going to tell us everything you know." And the cold metal muzzle of a gun was pressed to Jim's head, impelling him toward the darkened room beyond the door.

…

Slowly and deliberately Artemus Gordon loaded a certain amount of white powder into the hidden recess behind the gemstone of a special ruby ring, latched the ring shut, then slipped it onto his finger. There. With a deep breath he straightened his vest and jacket, smoothed down his hair, and checked his reflection in the mirror of the main room of his suite. Fine, fine, that would do. He stepped out into the hall and locked the door behind him. Then down the hall he went, only to pause a long moment before the door of the Bracewell suite. He closed his eyes for a bit, took a breath and let it out, then drew himself up and put on a bright smile and even brighter voice as he knocked on the door. "Miss Hippolyta!"

"Go away!" came her growl as response.

"Oh, but… but, Miss Hippolyta! I'm… I'm sure you'll want to hear this. Jim and I have, er…" His mind raced briefly as he sought the very thing that would get him inside that suite. "We've… well, we've discovered some evidence. The sort of evidence we were talking about. The kind that… that proves, uh, that… that you were right and we were wrong."

For a long second there came no sound from the Bracewell suite. Then the lock clicked over and the door opened, revealing Miss Hippolyta staring down at him, her face wary but on the verge of joy. "Indeed?" she said cautiously.

After the briefest of pauses, he nodded. "Yes. Yes indeed. May I, er, come in?"

"By all means, Mr Gordon, by all means!" Hippolyta ushered him inside and locked the door behind him.

…

Jim paused in the doorway. The voice of the gunman behind him was vaguely familiar. Hoping that a larger sample of the man's talk might give him a valuable clue, Jim inquired, "And who is this 'us' you expect me to tell everything to?"

"You'll figure that out soon enough, I suppose," grunted the gunman. "And once you have… Well, we'll just have to make sure you don't pass that knowledge on to anyone else, right? Now, get moving!" He pressed the gun muzzle more firmly against Jim's head, and gave him a shove with his other hand to boot.

Somehow, Jim lost his balance. He stumbled forward through the doorway, his head suddenly no longer where the gunman thought it ought to be. And even as his captor yelped, "Hey!" and tried to get a bead on him again, Jim whirled, his balance not really lost at all. Up came one forearm, smacking into the gunman's wrist, blocking him from regaining his aim. Up came Jim's other fist as well, crashing into the guy's chin. Down went the gunman in one direction, his revolver in another. And just as Jim sprang to try to recover the weapon within this darkened room…

The room became no longer dark. In the far wall a door burst open and both light and men spilled through it, among them the man Jim had been tailing. As Jim came to his knees with the lost gun in hand, the others filled their hands too, charging into the room and all around its perimeter, all guns but his own pointed straight at him.

Then two more men emerged from the far room. And the moment he saw them, Jim realized instantly which of the Bracewell sisters he should have been listening to all along.

…

Dinner was served. Artie had not found it easy to convince Miss Hippolyta to share this late meal with him here in her suite. Nor was it pleasant now having to watch her — she was displaying the most appalling table manners! — and to hear her as she gloated over Artie's claim to have found the evidence that proved her right.

At last, inevitably, she asked the question he had been dreading. "So where is this evidence? Lay it before me, that I may see it!"

"I, ah… I can't show it to you just yet. I need Jim to be here as well. We should show it to you together."

"Oh?" She took a swig of her wine. "Then where is he? Why didn't you arrive together if you need to present it to me together?"

"He's, er… busy. A bit tied up. Just for the moment, you understand."

In fact, where was Jim? Artie would be much happier if he could only consult with his partner! Jim needed to know what Lana had revealed to Artie about the hankie and about, well, everything else too. He'd be much more confident about the course of action he'd decided to take if only Jim were aware of what was going on. But as things stood now…

Hippolyta held out her glass. "More wine," she demanded.

With an only minimally fake smile, Artie took the goblet, poured it full, and laid his hand over the mouth of the glass as he passed it back to her. The fact that she immediately took a big gulp of the wine showed plainly that she hadn't noticed the fine white powder that had fallen from Artie's ring into her drink.

Well, the die was cast now! It was only a matter of time from here on in, Artie knew.