Act Two, Part One
Both men spun toward the door into which the saber had been embedded. Standing in the now open doorway was a heartily appalled Gaspar Kutman. The big man, dressed in a rich white dressing gown, his pale eyes bulging from their sockets, advanced with measured steps into the room. He surveyed the damage, then sputtered heatedly in German at Merle Koch, waving his hand at the overturned sofa, the disarrayed carpet, the cut in Koch's shirt and the saber in his hand.
Koch seemed almost to deflate, the hunch appearing in his shoulders again, the sullen look settling once more over his face. He murmured out what was apparently an explanation of the recent events, then crossed the room to replace his weapon on the wall. He turned back for a moment to look at West, tilting up one eyebrow at his worthy opponent. He then exited the room, disappearing through one of the other doors.
"My profoundest apologies, Mr West! I don't know what could have gotten into Koch that he would behave in such a dreadful fashion! He knows I do not like to be awakened before ten." He drew a deep breath and banished the displeased look from his face. "Still, as I am now thoroughly awake, I believe some breakfast is in order." He crossed to ring for a bellhop. "And what of you, sir? Have you eaten?"
"I've had plenty enough for now," Jim replied. He hung up his own saber just as Koch reentered, now wearing a different shirt. The German studiously ignored West as he went about picking up the furniture and generally setting the room to rights.
"But come, come, Mr West! I presume you have some business with me?" Kutman gestured to the desk, waiting until Jim was seated in front of it before settling himself into the massive throne-like chair behind it. Folding his neatly manicured hands together and resting them across his waist, Kutman leaned back and with a placid smile asked, "You have perhaps news of the Phoenix, Mr West? For I see you do not have that precious item itself."
"Correct," said Jim. "But before we speak of the Phoenix, I have a question for you, Mr Kutman."
Kutman's brows arched. "Indeed? Well, ask it. Ask away, my dear chap." The smile never left his face.
"All right. What were you doing between the hours of one and seven this morning, Mr Kutman?"
Now the big man's brows knitted. "What was I…? Why, sleeping, of course! Why? What business is it of yours?"
"Because," Jim said evenly, his eyes locked on the big man's face, "sometime between one and seven this morning, somebody attacked my partner and he is now in the hospital. I want to know who did it."
Kutman blinked, his smile abruptly vanishing. "What? Attacked?" His eyes snapped to the other man in the room and he roared out, "Koch!"
The German left off his tidying to stride to the big man's side. "Jawohl, mein Herr?"
There was a brief conversation as Kutman spoke in rapid-fire German to Koch, and Koch responded with the same. After a few exchanges, the big man waved Koch away.
"And?" said Jim.
"He knows nothing of the matter either. He too was sleeping."
"And you believe him?"
"But of course I do. I have no reason to doubt his word."
"Because he's been a faithful family retainer for lo, these many years," said Jim.
Kutman's eyes swiveled toward the German. "In fact, he has been with me only since I arrived here in San Francisco. I barely know the man at all."
He continued to regard Koch pensively as the man moved about the room, finishing the task of straightening up. "Ah, Koch…" said Kutman at last.
"Jawohl, mein Herr?"
Kutman said another sentence or two in German and gave a wave of his hand. Koch frowned in response, but then went to the coat rack and took from it his overcoat and the slouch hat. With a nod and a muttered, "Auf Wiedersehen, mein Herr," Koch left the suite.
"Where is he going?"
"Out. I have given him the remainder of the morning off. And now, Mr West…" Kutman leaned back in his seat once more, the easy smile returning to his face. "What news do you have for me of the Phoenix?"
"Oh, that," said Jim, watching the big man closely. "It was stolen."
"St-stolen!" Kutman gaped at him, a fine sweat breaking out over his pale white forehead. He produced a handkerchief from the pocket of his dressing gown and dabbed at his glistening face. "The Phoenix, stolen?"
"Yes," said Jim. "Apparently by the same person who attacked my partner. We had stored the Phoenix for the night in the safe in Col Richmond's office. My partner was there guarding it and…"
"Stolen!" Kutman whimpered, no longer listening to the bearer of such distressing news. Still patting the handkerchief over his brow and cheeks, the big man blinked and drew a heavy breath. "Frightfully… frightfully warm in here, isn't it, Mr… Mr West?" he said, gasping. "Would you… would you mind terribly opening the window?"
"Not at all," said Jim. He stood and crossed to the window. First he glanced outside to assure himself there was no one waiting out on the fire escape to jump him, then he unlocked the window and opened it. He turned back to the desk.
"Mr Kutman?"
The big man was sitting back in his chair, his face twisted into a grimace, one hand clutching at his chest. His eyes rolled to peer at Jim. "W-west…" he croaked. "Pain…"
His eyes rolled again, this time up into his head. He slumped over onto the desk with a great sigh.
"Kutman!" Jim sprang to the man and levered him backwards into the chair again, then felt his pulse. Weak, barely there.
Kutman's eyelids fluttered and he strove to look up into West's face, his lips trying to frame some word or another.
"Don't move," said Jim and sprinted for the door. He ripped it open and was about to charge down the corridor when he saw the summoned bellhop approaching from the elevator.
"You!" Jim bellowed, pointing a finger at the startled bellhop. "Quickly, go get a doctor!"