Act Two, Part Three

Bartholomew Memphis stood before the mirror in his hotel room adjusting his cravat, arranging his curls, checking his teeth and generally making himself presentable. His bags were already packed, and once he and the Countess Zorana had enjoyed breakfast downstairs, they would be ready to head for the railroad yards to board the Wanderer for their cross-country trip to Washington and the Smithsonian. A twinge of worry marred his smooth round face for a moment; supposing something should go wrong?

"Nothing can go wrong," he told himself firmly. He crossed to the door and set out along the hall to the countess' room.

Farther down the hall the elevator chimed and its door slid open to reveal…

"Ah, Mr West! Good morning! So good of you to come to escort us to your train. I was just going to see the countess."

"Good," said West, his eyes sharp, his face stern. "Let's see her together."

"Fine, fine," murmured Memphis. His big soulful eyes searched the hall beyond West. "But where is Mr Gordon this morning? Isn't he here?"

"We'll discuss that with the countess," said Jim. He took Memphis by the arm and steered him toward the woman's room, then knocked.

Moments passed, and then the door opened to the sight of the Countess Zorana, her hair perfectly coifed, her gorgeous beaded dressing gown flaunting an impressively low neckline. "Why, Mr Memphis! Good morning. And Mr West as well!" She smiled and stepped back, inviting them into the room, then looked about in puzzlement. "But where is Mr Gordon?"

"I already asked him, but he didn't tell me," said Memphis. He and the woman stood side by side, she slightly taller, as they both turned their curious faces toward Jim.

And Jim, watching them both carefully, dropped the news on them. "Mr Gordon is in the hospital."

"What?"

"Oh no!"

" 'Oh no,' Countess?" said Jim, fixing his piercing gaze upon her. "I'm curious that you would be so upset over my partner's health, considering the way you once threatened his life with a shotgun."

She shot a furious look his way.

"Or perhaps," Jim went on, "it's only that his sudden indisposition delays our trip to Washington."

"Delay!"

"But, but what…" said Memphis, his big eyes blinking rapidly. "What is wrong with Mr Gordon? He seemed perfectly healthy yesterday."

Now West's eyes settled on him. "He was. Until someone decided to clobber him over the head and leave him under the desk in Col Richmond's office for me to find."

The countess pressed her dainty fingers to her mouth. "Oh! Oh my!"

And Memphis' large eyes grew even larger. "Col Richmond's office! But… but isn't that where we were yesterday?"

And now the countess caught on as well. "Oh! The office with the safe where…?"

Jim nodded. "Where the Florentine Phoenix was placed for safe-keeping, yes. Also the place from which the Florentine Phoenix was taken during the night, presumably after the thief tried to scramble Artie's brains for him."

Again the countess pressed her delicate fingers against her mouth. "No! Oh no!" she cried and sank onto the nearest chair in shock.

But Memphis outdid her. With a sickly whimper of "No…!" the little man fainted.

…

As Richmond left the hospital carrying Artie's list with him, Artie turned to the professor and said, "I suppose you'll need to revise your estimate of how long it will take to finish the replica, since I won't be here to work on it with you."

"Quite all right, my boy, quite all right. If you continue to work on it with me now, I believe we just might have it nearly half finished by the time Col Richmond comes back with your things."

"What?" said Artie. He stared at the professor for a moment, then said, "But you told the colonel it would take us another two or three days."

"Well, yes… But I may have overestimated things. Slightly."

"Slightly," said Artie as he pulled up a chair at the hidden bed and began assembling gears. "Tell me, Professor, do you always overestimate things slightly?"

Montague chuckled. "But of course, Artemus! How else do you suppose I maintain my reputation as a miracle worker?"

…

"Quickly! Take him up and lay him on the divan!" the countess directed as she turned and swept from the room. Jim watched her leave, then picked up little Mr Memphis. He was just placing the man on the sofa when the countess returned bearing a basin of water and a small towel. She seated herself on the sofa as well and cradled the unconscious man's head in her lap, then dampened the cloth and began to bathe his face.

"Mr Memphis!" she called. "Mr Memphis! Oh dear, Bartholomew, do wake up!"

Jim stood silently by, observing the charming tableau of Countess Zorana striving to revive the man, washing his face, calling his name, patting his cheeks. Jim was on the verge of suggesting she take the remainder of the water in the basin and dump it over Memphis' head when the little man's eyelids at last fluttered open.

"What… what has happened?" he quavered.

"You fainted," said Jim succinctly.

"Fainted! But I…" Memphis sat up. "I don't remember…"

"Mr West had just explained to us," said the countess, "about the attack on his partner and the theft of the Phoenix."

Memphis blanched; taking the damp cloth from Zorana, he dabbed at his wan face. "Oh! Oh, yes. I… I apologize. How very embarrassing!"

Jim shrugged. "Perfectly understandable. At least you didn't suffer a heart attack at the news the way Mr Kutman did when I told him."

"H-heart attack!" exclaimed Memphis.

"Why, the poor…" The countess' voice trailed off. She shot West a piercing look, her eyes narrowing as her chin rose. "But who is this Mr Kutman?" she inquired.

"Someone who has expressed an interest in the Phoenix," said Jim. "He collapsed once he learned the Phoenix was missing, and is in the same hospital as Mr Gordon." He watched as the two before him exchanged surreptitious glances.

"But, dear me, what are we to do now?" said the countess.

"Our trip East is canceled, obviously," said Jim, "until Mr Gordon is better and the Phoenix is found. In the meantime, I'll be investigating."

"Ah. And us? What are we to do?" Memphis spread a hand to include the countess as he turned his large mournful eyes toward Mr West.

"You wait here. And if you should think of anything that might be useful to this investigation, anything that might help us recover the Phoenix or find Artie's attacker, you let me know." He nodded a farewell to them both. "Good day."

Jim drew the door shut behind himself, then paused, listening. The pair in the room were buzzing to each other, their sibilant syllables too soft, unfortunately, for him to make out the words.

Still, the point had been to stir up a few hornet's nests while Artie and the professor were working on getting the fake Phoenix ready. Having accomplished that, Jim donned his hat and strode out to the street to catch a cab back to the hospital to check in with Artie.

And as he gave his destination and settled back into the seat of the carriage, his cabbie only nodded mutely. Indeed, she kept her mouth shut the entire time as she drove Jim West to the hospital.

…

The guard snapped to attention as Jim approached the door. "Good morning, Mr West, sir!"

"Good morning," Jim returned. "Any word on how Mr Gordon is doing?"

"No sir, but Col Richmond is with him now, sir."

"Good. I'll like to go in, then."

"Yes sir." The guard opened the door and Jim stepped inside. At the one bed with the curtains half drawn sat Prof Montague busily assembling various gleaming components as Col Richmond looked on. The only other occupant of the room, standing before a mirror peering closely at himself, was… Gaspar Kutman?

Jim frowned and tipped his head, then ventured, "Artie?"

"Yeah, Jim?" said Kutman.

"What are you up to?"

"Getting ready to switch places with the real Kutman." A twinkle in his eye, Artie added, "You wanna help?"

Jim grinned. "Do you even need to ask? What do you have in mind?"

Grinning in return, Artie told him.

…

They were ready. Richmond went out first. The others could hear him chatting pleasantly with the guard for a few moments. Then, just as they'd planned, Artie went into a raging coughing fit. Professor Montague's eyebrows shot up as he gave a soft whistle of appreciation. "My word, Artemus!" he whispered. "One would swear you were coughing up a lung!"

Richmond stuck his head in at the door, then whirled to the guard. "Quickly, Sergeant! Go fetch the doctor!"

"I'm not to leave my post, sir!" the guard cried, but they could all hear the worry in his voice over the state of the patient.

"I'll keep your post; you go for the doctor, Sergeant!" the colonel ordered.

"Y-yes sir!" And from within the room they heard the sound of the guard's rapidly receding footsteps.

Richmond waved them all out. "I'll reassure the doctor once the sergeant brings him. Good luck, men."

The three set off through the halls, Artie dressed as Kutman, Jim carrying the case for Professor Montague, and the professor carrying the rest of his paraphernalia bundled up in a pillowslip. "Well, getting out of that room was simple enough, but how are we to get into Kutman's room?" he dithered. "Won't the guard there stop us?"

"Now, Professor!" Artie chided gently. "You're an instructor on secrecy and subterfuge. Don't you remember some of the most basic lessons you give our young agents?"

"Well… of course one of the primary ones is to walk into a place like you own it. Attitude is extremely important."

"Right," said Jim. "And another is invisibility."

"Invisibility?" The professor lifted an eyebrow, intrigued.

Artie grinned. "Precisely!" He stopped in front of a door and took a peek inside. "Ah, this should do admirably."

"But this isn't Kutman's room, is it?"

"No. But the contents of this room should get us into that one," said Jim.

"Yep. However," Artie added as they all three crowded into the room, "as I am already in disguise, I'm afraid the role-playing this time is going to fall to you, James my boy."