Chapter Six

Why are those tears? why droops your head

Is then your other husband dead?

Or does a worse disgrace betide?

Hath no one since his death applied?

—The Farmer's Wife and the Raven, John Gay (1685-1732), English poet and dramatis

Sunday was, for once, a relaxing day. The Barbary Coast did not respect the Sabbath, so Jim and Artemus spent some time there in the quiet of the morning talking to owners of establishments. Three admitted having received fake bills. Not wishing any problems with the law, two had burned the money; the third still had the two tens he had received and handed them over to the agents. None of them were certain—or so they said—who had spent the bills the bar. No untoward problems occurred.

While walking down one of the streets, they did see Rance Ricks, who glared at them as they passed by. West and Gordon touched their hats politely and continued on their way. As certain as they were that Ivy Caruthers was somehow, for some reason, involved in the counterfeiting, they were unsure about Ricks. His behavior may have been due merely to the hatred he had for anyone representing the law.

A telegram was waiting at the hotel instructing them that new information was available if they contacted the Washington office. They knew that Sunday meant little to the department if the information was important, so they immediately grabbed a hack for the railroad depot. The information was indeed important.

"Very interesting," Artie said as he finished transcribing the message and looked up at Jim.

"I should say. She had at least four husbands who died in 'accidents' and left substantial estates to the widow. Again, in cities in which we have spent relatively little time, Buffalo and Hartford."

"Yeah. Too bad they haven't yet been able to trace her back to her maiden name. I judge she's in her early forties. These other two marriages would appear to have occurred in her early to mid thirties. How many marriages prior to them?"

Jim picked up the paper Artie had written on and scanned it. "It seems that Ivy has been supporting herself by wedding wealthy older men."

"Yep. So why is she now turning to the counterfeiting business?"

Jim dropped the paper back onto the desk. "We may not know that until she tells us."

W*W*W*W*W

On Monday and for a good part of Tuesday, they continued canvassing merchants of the city regarding the counterfeit money, having a little luck until a tailor showed them a twenty-dollar bill he had received on Saturday. He had not been certain of its authenticity and had put it aside. Better yet, he remembered who handed it to him: a man he knew worked on the docks and went by the name of Butch. He gave the agents a description as well, but spending a couple of hours on the docks was fruitless. Either Butch was not there or his acquaintances were not squealing on him. Nonetheless, the lead was better than any they had had in some time, and during a visit with Lloyd Morris at his home, they passed the information on, along with their plans for the evening.

As evening approached, they finalized their strategy, going to the Wanderer to pick up needed supplies and to check with Washington. No new news was available from their headquarters. Catching a cab near the depot, they headed to the area of Ivy Caruthers' home. Jim dismounted from the carriage a few blocks away, while Artemus ordered the cab to go a short distance and halt.

Jim made his way up the sloping street, staying in the darker shadows cast by trees and houses as much as possible. He did not want anyone to raise an alarm of a "prowler." He reached the seemingly deserted house without incident and crossed through its yard to the fence that separated it from the Caruthers property, crouching there to watch and listen for several minutes.

Finally deciding that although lights were visible in the house, no one was in the rear yard, he vaulted over the fence and crept to the slanting cellar doors at the back. Opening the padlock on the hasp was a quick and simple matter. Again, he paused, listening. The slight noise made by his picklock along with removing the lock from the metal hasp had not aroused anyone, it seemed.

He was further pleased to realize that the hinges on the cellar doors were kept well oiled. Ivy probably didn't want neighbors to be curious why anyone might be going down into the cellar in the middle of the night! I have no doubt that occurred on more than one occasion. Jim lit the small lantern he carried, and made his way down the stone steps, closing the door behind him.

W*W*W*W*W

Habitusnonfacit monachum.

[The habit does not make the monk.]

—quoted by Desiderius Gerhard Erasmus (1465-1536), Dutch scholar, philosopher, and writer

When the sharp rap sounded on the front door, Ivy Caruthers was startled. She quickly glanced around the room at the assembled guests. None were missing. With a sigh, she put her wine glass on a small table and headed toward the door. Unexpected, and especially uninvited guests were a bore, especially when one had given the servants the night off, except Jasper, of course; he was unavailable, having a more important chore to attend to.

Opening the door, she stared at the man now visible in the illumination from the foyer. "You—your… Your Excellency!" she stammered.

He pulled off his beaver hat with the plume jutting from the band, held it to his chest, and bowed slightly. "Madam. Please forgive me for this intrusion. I have so long been wanting to converse with you. May I?" He then appeared to hear the tones from the piano in the parlor. "Oh. You have guests…"

Ivy could not remember when she had been more flustered. Like everyone else, she knew the man known as Emperor Norton I was a fraud, possibly somewhat insane. She also was aware of his esteemed status in San Francisco. If she turned him away, everyone would know, and even though she planned to be gone from this benighted city by daylight…

"Your Highness, please come in. You are very welcome." At least he would depart with the other guests.

The young woman ceased playing the piano as soon as her hostess and the latest guest entered the parlor. Every person there converged to meet—and bow or curtsy to—the celebrated "Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico." They knew that Norton attended few parties, and for him to appear here was a distinct honor. For several minutes, the parlor was in an uproar, until the emperor moved to sit in the largest, most comfortable armchair—which the mayor had occupied a few minutes ago. Norton instructed the young lady to continue her recital as Ivy brought him a glass of wine and several cookies on a small plate.

Artie smiled benignly as the girl took up the melody on the piano again. He wanted to wince. She was butchering the piece. However, everyone else was smiling admiringly, especially Mayor Selby and his wife, who beamed at his goddaughter. Chances were others realized how badly she played, but none wanted to insult the mayor.

Ivy was definitely nonplussed, he saw. He thought his entrance disguised at the renowned emperor would cause a stir, and it had. How strange that a madman could hold such sway in this sophisticated city. Or perhaps it was not as sophisticated as it would claim to be. Norton made San Francisco the only city to claim its own emperor; that was certain. Portland, Oregon had recently attempted to steal him away; another coup that he chose to remain in the Bay City.

Most importantly, right now, everyone was concentrating on the presence of the emperor, and if any odd noises sounded from below the house, it was unlikely anyone would notice. Move fast, James. I'm not sure how long this "enchantment" will endure.

When he noticed Ivy serving the guests, refilling their glasses, bringing more cookies and other bakery delicacies, Artie realized that she must have sent Doreen home early, which was rather odd. Did a reason exist for having no one around once the guests departed? Perhaps we will find out!

W*W*W*W*W

Jim smiled when he spotted the items on sturdy benches, shrouded with cloths. He quickly plucked the cover off one to find, to no surprise, a printing press. The one next to it was the same. Each held a finely etched plate, one for the front of a ten-dollar bill, the other for twenty. He quickly removed each plate, found the reverse sides of the two plates carefully wrapped in cotton batten alongside each printing press. Without hesitation, he departed from the cellar, returning ten minutes later empty handed.

For about the next twenty minutes he prowled through the cellar, all the while hearing movement as well as some music from above. At one point, all was still, and he judged that was the arrival of the emperor. Because music resumed after a few minutes, he could only believe that Artie's disguise was successful—as usual.

He found boxes of printing paper, bottles of ink, along with some lists of names, one of which included "Mouse Naiman." These must be distributors, or potential distributors, he decided. Even more interesting was a small but thick ledger that seemed to divide profits between Ivy Caruthers and Rance Ricks. Jim poked it into an inside breast pocket, knowing it would be excellent evidence. He would secrete it with the plates when he left the basement.

The question remained: why had Ivy Caruthers turned to counterfeiting? A secondary puzzle was how she might have come into contact with Rance Ricks. She apparently had been getting away with murdering elderly wealthy husbands for some years. Why change tactics now and enter into something she ostensibly knew little about? He shook his head slightly as he closed a cupboard, finding nothing of interest in it.

At that moment, he heard sounds. Not from upstairs, where the piano was still tinkling, but apparently from outside the cellar doors. Voices, he was certain. Then, even more certainly, he heard the rattle of the door and a man's voice speaking in alarm. "This isn't locked! Someone's down there!"

W*W*W*W*W

In revenge and in love, woman is more barbarous than man.

—Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (1844-1900), German philosopher

Emperor Norton departed from Mrs. Caruthers' home along with the other guests, after a pleasant evening of music and conversation. Ivy was relieved that all went as scheduled. When she heard the last carriage drive away, she latched the front door and hurried into the kitchen. Just as she gained that room, the door from the cellar opened—and James West strolled in.

Only a moment later, Heck Bertram emerged behind the agent, his pistol pressed against Jim's spine. Before Ivy could speak, Bertram did. "He was in the cellar, Miz Ivy. And he got the plates!" Two other men emerged behind Bertram.

Ivy stared at the burly man she had inherited from Ricks, looked at Jim, then back at Bertram. "What do you mean?"

"They ain't there. He won't say what he did with 'em."

"That's because I haven't the faintest notion of what he's talking about, Ivy." Jim gazed straightforwardly at the woman. "I found the printing presses, the paper, the ink… no plates."

"Why were you down there?"

One of Jim's brows lifted. "I should think that would be obvious. Looking for proof you were involved in the counterfeiting. I found it."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where's Gordon?"

"Following up another lead. We know Ricks is involved as well. Tell me, Ivy, why did you move into this line of business? You seemed to be rather successful in marrying rich men and killing them."

Now Ivy Caruthers smiled, a rather bitter smile. "Because I faced facts, James. I am growing older. I no longer attract those old goats as easily as I once could. My brother once introduced me to Rance Ricks, so I contacted him. You knew my brother."

Jim cocked his head. "Did I?"

"You knew him and you murdered him!"

"I'm sure I would have remembered that. What was his name?"

"T."

Now Jim West's eyes widened. "T. Wiggett Jones? T was your brother? I see it now. Both Artemus and I felt we knew you from somewhere. Your resemblance to T is what we have been seeing."

"We were twins. We were also very close. When I heard how you killed him, I knew that some day I would get vengeance."

"I didn't kill him. You might say he killed himself."

She shook her head vigorously. "That's not what Roche said."

"Roche? Ah, he was there that night, one of T's assassins." That explained the other puzzle they were experiencing.

"One that escaped. He looked for me and told me what happened. I knew that I would kill you one day."

Jim shook his head slightly. "I won't even try to explain what happened that night, knowing you wouldn't believe me. So murder runs in the family."

Ivy smiled. "T and I learned when very young how easy it was to kill, and how profitable. At sixteen, we pushed our grandmother down the stairs. She had been our guardian since the deaths of our parents, and much too tight with the purse strings."

"But at sixteen, you would not gain control."

"True. However, the aunt who was appointed our new guardian was much easier to manipulate. That is in the past now. Tonight you will tell us where you hid those plates."

Jim shook his head, expressionless. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Want me to knock him around some, Miz Ivy?" Bertram asked, grabbing Jim's shoulder.

"Not yet. Mr. West is no fool. Just answer the question, James, and your death will be quick, much as I would prefer to see you suffer."

"Sorry," Jim shrugged.

Ivy Caruthers gazed at him for a long moment. "I doubt you are as impervious to pain as you would like me to believe. You see, we were planning to leave San Francisco tonight. I was putting aside my opportunity for revenge in order to save our 'business.' Now, however, I don't have to forego the pleasure of seeing you die before we leave. I want those plates. However, I'm not stupid enough to risk my safety over them."

"A very practical woman."

"I am. I would not have been so successful if I were not. You may as well reveal the location of the plates, James. You won't be stopping anything, only delaying it. We will obtain new plates."

Jim was about to make a response, when a knock sounded at the front door. Ivy looked at the three men behind him. "That must be Jasper, although I don't know why he came to the front door." She walked swiftly from the kitchen.

Jim waited, wondering if this was his best chance to make a move against the trio guarding him. They had taken the gun from his holster, but had not searched him, so he still had one under his jacket. He was just tensing to spin around, with surprise on his side, when he heard the murmur of a voice from the front of the house. Biting back a smile, he relaxed.

W*W*W*W*W

When Jim did not return to the waiting cab at the agreed on time, Artie grew concerned. He knew his partner well enough to know that Jim would not miss the deadline in this situation—if he could help it. He remained in the cab another ten minutes, then climbed out to give the driver specific instructions. Standing on the curb as the vehicle pulled away at a rapid pace, Artie adjusted his disguise as best he could in the dark and without a mirror. He had been successful earlier; he hoped that the surprise of his return would prevent Ivy from looking too closely.

He made his way to the Caruthers' porch and lifted up the knocker, letting it drop several times. He was just about to repeat the gesture when the door opened. Ivy Caruthers stared at him.

"You're back!"

Artie bowed gallantly, again removing the plumed beaver hat. "Madam, forgive me for this unforgiveable intrusion, but it seems I may have left my gloves in your house. Might I come in to seek them?" When Ivy simply gaped, Artie smiled broadly, murmured "Thank you, Madam," and moved by her.

Lamps were still lit in the parlor so he entered there first. However, he had noticed the lights down the corridor from the kitchen, and caught a movement through the open door there. Someone was in that room. After a moment of looking around the parlor, he came back to the door.

"Nothing there. I wonder—oh, I remember! I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. I must have left them there."

"No, wait!"

Ignoring Ivy's frantic protest, Artie strode down the hallway, jauntily twirling his cane. He knew that the woman was hurrying behind him. He was not especially startled to find his partner standing in the kitchen. Three thugs were with him, all of who quickly tried to hide the pistols they were holding. Artie pretended not to notice the weapons.

"Why, Mr. West, how good to see you. I did not notice your presence at the musicale earlier."

"I was late," Jim replied drily.

Ivy entered behind the "Emperor," completely flustered. She certainly wanted to seize the illustrious personage by the arm and drag him back out the front door, but she also knew what a commotion that would raise, now and later. As she reasoned earlier in the evening, even if she was leaving town tonight, she did not want that much attention directed toward her departure. Emperor Norton would certainly report such an incident to his newspaper friends.

"Ah, my gloves," Artie said, crossing to the sink. With a bit of sleight of hand he slipped the gloves from his pocket to the counter and back into his hand, turning with a beaming smile. "These are favorites, a gift from your neighbor, Mr. Stanford. Mrs. Caruthers, did I tell you how much I enjoyed this evening? I do want to thank you again for allowing me to attend uninvited. I'm sure if you had known how much I love piano recitals, you would have sent me an invitation."

"Yes, yes, of course," she replied, hands clutched together at her waist.

Artemus pulled a gold-plated watch from his pocket. "And it is getting late. I should be going. Mr. West, will you accompany me and share a cab?"

Jim felt the hard end of a pistol jam into his back and smiled. "Thank you, your highness, but I think I'll stay a while yet. Seems my presence is demanded."

"Ah," Artie nodded, completely understanding. He could not see the weapons now, but they were present, he was certain. "Mrs. Caruthers, did I tell you about the time I witnessed Miss Amy Fay on piano? Magnificent performance. I don't know if your young friend will ever approach such proficiency, but that's certainly something for her to strive for, do you think?"

"Yes. Certainly. Will you allow me to see you to the door, Your Excellency?"

Artie was trying to think of a reason to stall longer, knowing the cab driver would have needed time to carry out his mission, but before he could say anything, the kitchen's back door opened and Jasper entered.

"Ivy," he said, apparently seeing only the woman first, "I got the wagon. We can…" Jasper looked around; seeing West surprised him, but he was absolutely startled to view the Emperor. "What's he doing here?"

"Emperor Norton was just leaving," Ivy said pleasantly.

"That ain't Norton! I seen Norton and his Chinaman friend down on Montgomery Street not a half hour ago! Can't be him!"

"Nonsense!" Artie protested quickly and loudly. "That must be an imposter! Both of them!"

"Uh-uh," Jasper shook his head. "Norton was carrying his special stick. The one with the snake."

At a quick nod from Ivy, the three men behind Jim spread out slightly, producing their weapons in full view. "So I wonder who this is?" she said, reaching up to yank at the whiskers on Artie's chin. He could not move fast enough to stop her—not that that would have been of any avail. The prosthetic beard came partially loose. She jerked again. "Unless I am very mistaken, this happens to be Mr. Gordon. Roche warned me of his proclivity for disguises."

Artie carefully peeled off more of his whiskers, less painfully than the jerking away had been. "Poor Mr. Roche," he said. "What did he do to deserve being killed?"

Ivy looked at him coldly. "He was stupid! He allowed Mouse to bait him into stealing Norton's cane—which led to your involvement." She smiled slightly then. "In retrospect, I should have thanked him first, for he has given me this opportunity to gain sweet revenge."

Artemus was surprised. "Revenge? For what?"

Jim answered this one. "Seems lovely Ivy had a relative we knew well. T. Wiggett Jones."

"Well, I'll be…!" Now Artie stared at the women. "Of course! Why didn't we see the resemblance before? You want vengeance for T's death, Ivy? I'm sure you are aware he was an insane monster."

For a moment he thought she was going to spring toward him, claws bared. However, she controlled herself. "He was my brother," she snarled. "My beloved twin brother. We were very much alike."

"It appears Ivy enjoys murder as well, Artie," Jim said blandly.

"I see."

"I will particularly enjoy killing Mr. West," Ivy said then. "I am aware you were not an active participant, Mr. Gordon, but you were there. I cannot now allow you to go free."

"Of course not." Artie moved slightly, ostensibly to deposit the fake whiskers he was holding on a small table nearby. He remained near the table. "So you are leaving San Francisco? Do you dislike this city so much?"

"As a matter of fact, I quite enjoyed my time here. T always told me how wonderful it was and I am only sorry I did not heed his advice to join him. Who knows? He might still be alive."

"You never know about things like that," Jim said, casually moving slightly away from the gunmen at his back. The three of them remained rather close together yet despite having parted slightly to display their weapons to Gordon. "You might have died along with T. Or at least been arrested if you were part of his assassination club."

"I was an honorary member," Ivy smiled fondly. "He was so clever, providing a service for the world, and growing wealthy while doing so."

Now Jim turned slightly to face her more directly. "You did well yourself. How many husbands did you have all total?"

Ivy smiled, lifting a hand to tick off on her fingers with the other hand. "Let me see. Ralph, Lorenzo…" She continued on, touching one fingertip after another while murmuring names. "Seven. Seven rich men who helped me to live the lifestyle I wanted—by dying. Oh, wait. I forgot poor Ernest. Eight altogether."

"Who was Ernest?" Artie asked. "How was it you forgot him?" They had to keep her talking, keep stalling for time.

"Ernest was my first husband. I was barely twenty when I married him. He was young, handsome, and quite well off. He was killed three years into our marriage when an explosion occurred at the factory he had inherited from his father. I had nothing to do with it, but my inheritance from that incident caused me to realize just how easy I could build my fortune. So I moved to another city, found an older man with a lot of money and no heirs."

"And continued to move from city to city," Jim put in, "so that your previous… er… peccadilloes would not be known."

"That seemed wise. I planned for San Francisco to be my final home, but thanks to you two, I'll have to move on."

"Why is that?" Artie asked innocently. "If you kill us, who will know of your latest business venture?"

Ivy looked at him with a frown. "You have told the police. I'm sure of that. Haven't you?"

Now Artie turned a bland gaze to Jim. "Have we, James?"

"You know, Artie, I can't remember."

Ivy Caruthers' expression was one of disgust. "Really, gentlemen. You cannot expect me to believe that you have not been working with the police. I will be moving on. That is not to say I am getting out of the counterfeiting business. I will be taking the supplies with me…"

"Miz Ivy, we still don't know where the plates are!" Heck Bertram was the one who brought this up.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr. Bertram. I had almost forgotten. Mr. West, do you wish to tell us where you hid those plates?"

Jim shook his head, a puzzled expression on his face. "I simply don't know anything about them, Ivy. I didn't see any when I was searching your cellar. Perhaps one of your men knows something about them."

Artie prevented himself from smiling. He had no doubt Jim knew the whereabouts of the counterfeiting plates. Clever of him to hide them! If nothing else, this was consuming more time. The police should be showing up at any time now, if things went well. Lloyd Morris had been alerted well beforehand to be ready for a summons.

"Want us to loosen him up, Miz Ivy?" Bertram inquired eagerly.

Ivy lifted a staying hand. "A moment. James, surely you do not want to endure a beating."

"I don't," Jim agreed. "But I have to say, it won't do any good. I did not see those plates. Where were they supposed to be?"

"Inside the printing presses."

Jim shook his head. "I opened those presses specifically looking for counterfeiting plates. Nothing was in either one of them."

"He's lyin'!" This came from one of the other two thugs.

Ivy was plainly nonplussed. "You are very convincing, James. But I'm sure you are practiced in telling stories in similar situations." She glanced toward Artemus. "Perhaps you would be more forthcoming if it was Mr. Gordon receiving the painful blows."

"I probably would—if I knew anything. Ivy, are you certain you can trust these men? I'm certain I've seen a couple of them in Rance Ricks' place."

"You're right, Jim!" Artie put in quickly. "The big fellow there—Bertram is it? And the other one with the crooked nose. He was in the alley that day."

"You're right, Artie. I remember him now. He held me from behind."

Ivy stared at the trio, who gaped back, first at the two agents, then at the woman. "Miz Ivy!" Bertram exclaimed. "We didn't take the plates! Why would we?"

Before she could reply, Artie did. "Under orders from Ricks, I'd say, if he knows Mrs. Caruthers is leaving town tonight."

"Naw! That ain't so. He trusts her."

"Ivy," Jasper spoke after being silent through this. "I got a notion these two is blowin' smoke, maybe stallin' for time."

She looked at him, then stared hard at the agents in turn. "Perhaps. But I prefer to have those plates before we leave rather than require time for new ones to be prepared."

Jim shook his head. "Don't look at me. I…"

He halted his words as a rumbling sound emanated from beyond the front of the house. Everyone looked that direction. "Jasper!" Ivy rapped. "See what that is!"

The man trotted toward the front of the house where he peered through the glass at one side of the front door. Immediately he whirled and sprinted back. "Ivy! It's the coppers! They got a Black Maria out there!"

Immediately the three thugs reacted. "Let's get out of here!" one squeaked, and they headed for the kitchen door despite Ivy's shouted protestations. Almost at the same time, new sounds came from the front, that of axes striking the door there. One of the men jerked open the back door and immediately slammed it.

"They're out there too!"

Ivy Caruthers' face twisted in rage. "No! I won't be denied!" Her hand dipped into a pocket of her skirt and came up with a small pistol, which she leveled at Jim. "You're going to pay for killing T!"

Artie saw that weapon and immediately swung his stick, bringing it down on Ivy's hand. However, the blow was an instant too late as she pulled the trigger. At the edge of his vision, Artie saw his partner stagger backwards, a hand clutching at his chest. Ivy screamed in pain as she dropped the weapon and grasped the struck hand. Police burst in through both doors.

Artemus paid no attention to the commotion that occurred, striding to where Jim had collapsed on the floor. His heart constricted when he saw how still Jim lay. Ivy's shot had been pointblank into the chest. Jim was on his side and carefully, as he knelt down, Artie turned him over, fleetingly at a loss when he saw no blood. He then saw Jim's eyes flutter and open.

"What happened?" Jim gasped, reaching again for his chest. He seemed to be trying to get his breath.

Artie helped him sit up. "You were… shot. Ivy shot you."

Jim gulped in some air, and now his hand slipped inside his jacket. It came out with the small ledger book he had picked up in the cellar. With a wry grin, he handed it to Artie. "I hope the evidence inside wasn't damaged."

Artie looked at the book and observed the hole in it, a hole that contained a lump of lead. All he could do was shake his head. "It stopped the slug!"

Jim was gingerly feeling inside his coat again. "I think I have a nice bruise. It knocked the breath out of me." Again, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Hello, Lloyd."

The policeman had crouched down alongside the pair. "You okay, Jim?"

"Yeah, fine."

"I saw her shoot and thought you were a goner for sure."

So did I. Artie did not dare speak the words aloud, knowing they would have been choked through the lump in his throat. For that one instant, he had been as sure as he ever had that Jim West had been shot dead. He extended the ledger to Morris.

"What's this?" Lloyd asked.

Jim answered. "It's what saved my life, and also contains a record of the transactions between Ivy Caruthers and Rance Ricks. Hold onto it."

"Excellent," the policeman beamed. "We'll pick up Ricks too. About time!"

The four men surrendered rather peacefully, but Ivy Caruthers was another story. She shrieked and cursed, especially upon realizing that she had not killed James West. Two officers had to restrain her while a third shackled her hands behind her. She was still screaming as they dragged her out the front door toward the waiting wagon.

Epilog

Glory long has made the sages smile; 'tis something, nothing, words, illusion, wind.

—Don Juan (XC), Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824), English poet

When Doreen arrived at the Caruthers' home in the morning, she was shocked to find policemen carrying boxes out of the cellar, while others searched the house itself. The maid was further appalled to realize she not only no longer had employment, she had little chance of receiving references from her late employer. However, her tears of dismay did not last long. Lieutenant Morris saw her weeping and asked about it.

Upon learning her situation, he had a solution. His wife was expecting their second child, and they had been discussing hiring household help for the first time in their married life. They could not pay as much salary as Mrs. Caruthers had, but the help would live in and have all meals. Doreen immediately agreed to talk to Mrs. Morris, and Betty Morris quite promptly hired her.

Police arrested Rance Ricks the morning after the raid on the Caruthers house, and upon searching his saloon and home, found further evidence of his complicity in the counterfeiting scheme, as well as in the murder of Roche and the attack on the two Secret Service agents. A number of men in Ricks' employ were arrested as well.

Jim, of course, retrieved the counterfeit plates from the spot he had hid them—under a rock near the fence between the Caruthers' yard and that of the empty house behind it. Matching the plates to the recently circulated bills was an easy matter. Building the case against Ricks and Ivy Caruthers would be as simple.

In discussing the prosecution's case, it occurred to Artemus that he needed to reveal to Emperor Norton how he had used His Excellency's identity to fool the criminals. "It'll come up in the trial, certainly," he told Jim, "if not in the newspapers beforehand. Do you think he'll be offended?"

"That's hard to say," Jim replied. "But I think we can soften the blow."

They invited the Emperor to spend an evening with them before they left San Francisco, giving him the choice of opera or theater. He chose the former, and enjoyed it thoroughly, especially the salutes he received from the other members of the audience, as well as the cast. Afterwards, they went to a fine restaurant nearby for a late supper.

As they enjoyed after dinner drinks, the agents told His Excellency how they trapped the counterfeiters using his identity. Norton listened silently, but wide-eyed, looking from one agent to the other as each spoke. When they finished, he remained quiet for a few seconds before speaking.

"I warned you that Mrs. Caruthers was evil, Mr. Gordon."

"You did, sir," Artie nodded solemnly, "and we greatly appreciate that warning." He remembered then the Emperor's reference to Mrs. Caruthers' brother. He had paid little heed at the time but now knew how important that mention had been.

The Emperor leaned forward slightly. "Did you fool them completely disguised as me?"

"He did," Jim answered for his partner. "Until one man returned and said he saw you downtown."

"What a shame. Had I known…"

"I do want to apologize, sir," Artie said then. "I should have come to you to ask permission, but time was of the essence…" That was not quite true but Artie knew it would avoid a longer conversation about incident.

Norton settled back then, picked up his glass of liqueur and sipped it, then spoke thoughtfully. "I wonder if my subjects will believe I was the one actually helping you with this nefarious case."

Jim and Artie glanced at each other, and Jim spoke soberly. "It's entirely possible, sir. After all, we know of your bravery." Emperor Norton had faced down angry crowds looking to lynch Chinese citizens during riots.

"I see no reason to disabuse them of such a notion," Artie smiled. "At least not until the trial, when we will have to tell the truth."

"Yes, yes, of course." A pleased expression settled on the Emperor's countenance. "But until then…"

Jim lifted his glass. "Your Excellency, thank you for your assistance. Without you, we may never have closed down this gang."

"Here, here," Artie cried, raising his own glass.

Emperor Joshua Norton beamed.

There is a pleasure, sure,

In being mad, which none but madmen know!

—Spanish Friar (act II, st. 1), John Dryden (1631-1700), English poet and dramatis

##The End##

NOTE: Joshua Norton was a real historical character. An Internet search will reveal quite a bit about his life and times.