Act Two, Part Four

Three men had gone into the room, but only one emerged again from the janitor's closet. One man, his face obscured by an impressive walrus mustache and pushing a large cart bristling with mops, brooms, and buckets. He toured through the halls with it, stopping here and there to sweep up some trash or polish a doorknob.

Softly, as though muttering to himself, he whispered, "You ok in there?"

"We're fine," came an equally furtive voice. "Just a bit cramped is all."

"Well, we're nearly there. Kutman's room is just around this next corner." The purported janitor wheeled the cart on round the corner and headed straight for the room in question, completely ignoring the guard.

"Halt!"

The janitor paused in the act of reaching for the doorknob. "Hmm? Something wrong?"

"Who are you? What are you up to?"

"Who am I? I'm the janitor. I've come to clean up the mess in there."

The guard shot a glance at the door. "What mess in there?"

Jim shrugged. "The usual, I suppose. Blood. Bedpans. All sorts of stuff comes out of a body in the hospital, y'know. Won't know till I get in there what's there to be cleaned up." He gave a sniff. "Of course, whatever's there, you'll be smelling it pretty soon here."

The guard sniffed as well. "I don't smell any... Ugh!" He yanked out a big bandanna and jammed it over his nose.

Jim did the same. "Yep, that's a bad one. I'll just take care of it." He reached for the doorknob again.

"Halt!" the guard ordered from under his bandanna. "You can't go in there!"

The janitor stared back at the guard for a long moment, then sighed and started pulling off cleaning supplies - a bucket, a mop, a large cake of soap - and piling them on the floor by the door jamb.

"Now what are you doing?" said the guard suspiciously.

"Well, if you won't let me in there to do my job, I guess you're planning to do it for me. And you're going to need all these things." He added a brown bottle to the pile, saying, "This'll get the blood up, but you have to work fast. Once it dries, the stain is permanent." He met the guard's eyes and held them as a whiff of that nasty odor swirled around them once more.

"Ah…" said the guard, his eyes watering. After a moment's indecision, he nodded. "Ok. All right. You can go in. Just… just don't let anyone know I let you."

"Good choice, son," said Jim as he gathered the supplies and packed them back onto the cart. "Get the door for me?" And with the guard himself holding the door for him, Jim pushed the heavy cart into Mr Kutman's room.

As soon as the door latched shut behind them, Artie and Professor Montague popped out of concealment within the depths of the cart. Jim gave the professor a hand with the case, and soon they had all his appurtenances spread out on the unoccupied second bed here, ready for the professor to continue his building project. Jim and Artie then turned their attention to Mr Kutman.

Artie first checked the man's vital signs. "Well, his pulse rate isn't all one could wish, but I think he'll survive the ride back to my room."

"All right. Let's get him into the cart." As Montague held the cart steady for them, the two agents struggled to shift the deadweight of the big unconscious man.

It wasn't easy, but they managed it. "By the way," Jim said to Artie as they took a brief rest afterwards, "I suppose that I have you to thank for that perfectly timed stench."

Artie just grinned and displayed a small vial, now - thank goodness! - securely stoppered.

"All right," said Jim, rearranging the janitorial supplies to better hide the occupant of the cart, "I'll be back shortly."

"Ok, Jim," Artie said, then snapped his fingers and winced ruefully. "Oh, wait a minute! I was forgetting."

"What's that?" asked Montague, pausing in his work.

"Kutman's rings," said Artie. He lifted one of the big man's hands, then the other, sliding the jewelry off.

"He was wearing them even in his dressing gown when Koch and I woke him up," Jim observed.

"Right. And if I'm not wearing them, anyone who knows Kutman well will wonder why." He slipped on the rings, then shook his head. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of."

"His fingers are too big?"

"Yes, or mine too small. Let me think…" He patted at his pockets, then pulled out a ball of string. "This should do."

"You're going to wrap the rings then," said Jim.

"Right." He clipped off a length of string and began doing just that.

"Well, time to see Mr Kutman to his new room," said Jim. He pushed the cart to the door, glanced back to note that the professor and his equipment were now hidden behind the curtains and that Artie had hopped into Kutman's bed and was playing unconscious. Jim nodded and called out to the guard, "Mess is taken care of. Get the door for me, will you?"

…

The carriage drew up before the hotel at just the right moment as a small man with large eyes held the door for an elegant lady. "Ah, here is a cab!" he exclaimed and whistled to the cabbie, then helped the lady into the carriage. "The hospital, please," he said to the driver before settling into his seat.

The driver smiled to herself as she took her latest fare off to the hospital.

…

Artie finished wrapping the string around the band of the opal ring and slid it on. "Ah, much better," he observed to himself as he cut a second length of string for the diamond ring.

"My my my!" he heard Prof Montague exclaim. "Why, isn't this curious!"

"Hmm? What is, Professor?"

"Ah, well, have a look, Artemus. What do you make of this?"

Artie came and stood over the bed where the professor had all his materials spread out. "Well, you've taken the cushions out of the case, I see, though I'm not sure why."

"Oh, I did that back in your old room to be able to pack my equipment more efficiently. I put the parts for the new Phoenix into the case so nothing would be lost in the move, then put the real Phoenix and its key into the cushions and tucked them into the pillowslip there to carry them. But now that I've taken all the parts back out of the case, does anything strike you as odd?"

Artie frowned as he looked over everything on the bed. He hadn't examined the case closely before, but did so now. It was a foot square in length and breadth, and a foot and a half tall. The lid itself comprised the half-foot, leaving the main portion of the case a perfect cube. It was open currently, the two cushions, the white linen gloves, and the purple cloth all lying beside the case.

Artie glanced up at Prof Montague and saw how the man's eyes were glittering with anticipation. There was obviously something the professor expected Artie to notice.

He looked over it all again. The case. The gloves. The purple cloth. The Phoenix itself, nestled into its hollow in the smaller cushion. The larger cushion, only a couple of inches taller, sitting by its side…

He frowned. Only a couple of inches taller? Artie picked up the larger cushion and slipped it back into the case. Its top surface, as he expected, as he remembered seeing earlier without noticing, was flush with the upper edge of the case.

He took the cushion out again and stuck his hand in, feeling about, rapping his knuckles against the bottom. It gave back a hollow sound.

Prof Montague's eyes were positively glowing now. "Good, good! You see it too!"

"The inner floor stops a good three or four inches above the outer," said Artie. "This thing has a false bottom!"

Montague nodded. "So I too surmise. But why? And who's responsible for this?"

"Let's get it open and maybe we'll find out." Artie tilted the case, examining it closely. "Nothing on the outside, no trip or latch. But then I wouldn't expect one outside, since it might well get triggered by accident. Inside though…"

He felt around the interior, his probing fingers touching and poking and pressing every square inch of the inner surfaces until, "Ah!" One particular square inch gave way with a soft click. Artie and the professor both peered inside as the false bottom came free and Artie lifted it out completely.

Beneath was another cushion. Artie lifted this away as well. "Hmm, what have we here?" he said. For under the cushion were a set of five items, each well bundled, arranged in a quincunx: one lying in each corner and the fifth in the middle. Artie took up one and held it out to the professor. "Care to do the honors?"

Professor Montague slipped on the linen gloves, then accepted the item. Carefully he unwrapped it.

"Oh!"

Artie frowned. "What is that?"

"Gold, Artemus. And from the workmanship, quite old. Far, far older than the Phoenix, I would say."

"Well, yes, I knew when I picked that little thing up and felt how heavy it was that it was likely something made of gold." He gave a snort. "Explains why the case has been so unwieldy! But what is it?" He leaned closer. "It looks like a sphere extending into a cone on one side." He thought for about half a minute, then shook his head. "What on earth is it supposed to be?"

"Why, Artemus my boy," exclaimed the professor, "don't you know what we have here?"

"Ah, no."

Montague stared at him for a long moment before responding with, "That's quite all right, my dear fellow, for neither do I."

…

At the sound of voices out in the hall, Prof Montague disappeared within the curtains and Artie jumped for his bed just before the door opened. Someone who was no longer a janitor charged in with a bellow of, "Kutman, you louse, what did you do to my partner?"

Jim stormed across the room toward the bed in which lay the big, pale-skinned man. Conscious of the fact that the door hadn't shut behind him yet, he grabbed the fake Kutman by the collar of his fine white dressing gown and hissed into his pallid, non-responsive face, "I oughta…!"

At last the door shut. Instantly Artie's eyes popped open. "Hey, Jim."

"Hey, Artie." He released the collar and gave him a hand up.

The fake Kutman stood and straightened his dressing gown. "So, James, did you have any problems getting our friend into my old room?"

"None whatsoever. Col Richmond had the guard hold the door for me, and once he left, the colonel and I put Kutman to bed."

"With no small struggle, I can imagine," said Artie. "You know, the doctor's going to be heartily surprised when he finds out what we've done."

"Well, he was already in on the trick anyway. You may be the best actor I know, but even you can't fake a concussion that well."

"Hmph! I appreciate your confidence in my thespian skills!" Artie huffed good-naturedly. "Oh, but have a look at these, Jim! What do you make of them?" he added, excitedly showing his partner what Prof Montague had discovered.

Jim took up one and turned it over in his hands, studying its shape and the fine lines etched on its surface. "What are they?"

"That's what we were trying to figure out when…"

The sound of a feminine wail out in the corridor interrupted them. The three men exchanged startled glances, then Jim passed the chunk of gold to the professor and headed for the door.

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" came the voice of the guard outside.

"My… my ankle!" cried the woman's voice.

"Jim!" hissed Artie. "That's Zorana!"

Jim changed directions instantly, going instead to the professor. Swiftly he hid Montague and all his equipment along with himself within the curtains of the second bed. Artie was just hurrying for the first bed to lie down and play sick…

When the door sprang open and Bartholomew Memphis darted inside. He shoved the door shut again and looked around, his large eyes settling quickly on Artie dressed as Kutman and still upright.

Memphis' face suffused with anger as he sputtered out, "You, you louse! So you were faking it after all!"

End of Act Two