Act Three, Part Two

Herr Koch arrived back at his employer's suite to find the place deserted. This, while surprising, was not a great worry to him, not at first. Koch spent his time alone productively. He finished tidying up the last signs of the duel in the main room, then went into Herr Kutman's room to make the bed and comb through the closet and drawers. Coming up empty there, he headed back into the main room to go through the bookshelves, furniture, and desk.

Nothing. Curious; he was sure that if anyone had been behind the, ah, liberation of the Phoenix, it would have been… Hmm. Koch sat at the desk for a few minutes more, frowning, drumming his fingers on the desk top. He then arose, grabbed hat and overcoat, and headed downstairs to inquire at the front desk as to where his employer might have gone.

…

Twenty-four hours. The time, Jim thought as he settled into a chair alongside the real Kutman's bed, was going to pass far more pleasantly for Artie than for him. Artie would be active and doing something he enjoyed - working on a mechanical gadget - and would have Prof Montague to talk with as well. For Jim, on the other hand, there was the sedentary task of hovering at the side of a hospital bed playing the worried partner of an injured agent, and unless Col Richmond or the doctor dropped by, he'd have no one to talk to but the comatose Kutman.

Well, maybe Kutman would wake up and Jim would have the opportunity to interrogate the man. While the theft of the Phoenix had been merely staged, those who wanted to steal it were very real, and who knew what sort of information Kutman might be able to provide on them?

Now, whether the man would be willing to provide such information, that was another question.

If he woke up.

Jim leaned back in his chair and let his mind roam, thinking of Bartholomew Memphis and Countess Zorana, Gaspar Kutman and Merle Koch…

…

Merle Koch gave the driver of the carriage both a coin and a piercing look as he stepped out of the cab in front of the hospital. He paused outside to light a cigarette, studying the building and its surroundings as he leisurely enjoyed his smoke. His bright eyes under the slouch hat missed nothing as he sized up the organization of this place.

It was now late afternoon. He wandered slowly around the building, watching people come and go, focusing especially on those who seemed to work here. There had to be a way to get inside and up to Herr Kutman's room, Koch thought, preferably some way that did not involve him betraying his, ahem, fluency with English. Was there perhaps some position here at the hospital, some job he could, oh, borrow for a few minutes? Say, a janitor?

And then he spotted a certain entrance around the back and smiled. No, not a janitor. Here was another way.

Koch dropped the smoldering end of his cigarette, crushing it underfoot, then strolled inside the hospital to waylay one particular employee.

…

"All right, this part's ready," said Artemus.

"Hmm?" The professor set down the section he was working on to take a look at the component Artie had finished assembling. "Ah, nice, very nice." He took up another completed segment and started integrating Artie's portion into it. And as he did, a folded sheet of paper dropped from his pocket.

"I'll get that for you," said Artie. He bent and picked it up, laid it down by the professor's side, then started fitting together another section.

They worked in silence for some time. Then, his eyes riveted on the mechanism before him, Professor Montague commented, "I, ah… I seem to owe you and James an apology."

"Apology? For what?"

"Oh, for my displeasure with the pair of you last night."

"Oh, that." Artie chuckled. "You were a touch cross, at that."

"And all over nothing! You see, when I arrived back at my hotel after dining alone, I discovered that waiting for me." Montague nodded at the paper on the bed sheet before him.

"This?" Artie reached a hand toward it, then paused and shot the professor an inquiring look.

"Oh yes, yes, yes, you may read it," said Montague, his voice a hint more querulous than usual. He harrumphed and went on with his work.

Artie set aside the parts he'd been fitting together and opened the note. Scanning it quickly, he remarked, "Hmm. She addresses it to her dear 'Uncle Arthur.' "

Now the professor chuckled. "So she does."

"She begs - nay, implores! - your forgiveness, but the aunt she'd traveled here to visit insisted she come see her that evening, and therefore she was compelled to break her rendezvous with you… Hmm, and after that, she had a note to call on an uncle as well… And now she hopes to be able to dine with you - let's see, that would be tonight?"

"Yes, but I left a message for her at the front desk of my hotel explaining that dinner tonight would be quite impossible, as I have a prior engagement - knowing, of course, that I would be here working on our copy of the Phoenix tonight."

"And once it's ready, you'll be heading to Washington with the real thing, with no time left to reschedule dinner with Miss, ah…" Artie glanced down at the note to read the signature, only to exclaim in surprise, "Why, she didn't sign her name at all! She only wrote, 'Your Happy Girl'!"

"Ah. Yes," said Montague with chagrin. "As you may recall, while I didn't - and still don't! - remember the young lady's name, I did remember that her given and family names are synonyms of each other."

"And also synonyms for 'happy'?"

"Apparently."

Artie frowned as he folded the note and slipped it into the pocket of his white dressing gown. "Happy. Names meaning 'happy.' Well, there's Felicia and its variants." He glanced at the professor, who shook his head. "Ah. Well, what about 'Happy' itself?"

Again no.

Artie gave it a bit more thought as he went back to work. "Allegra?"

"No, not that either."

"Hmm… I don't recall many names that mean 'happy.' Given names, that is. As for family names, well, all that springs to mind immediately is Benedict - and that, admittedly, really has more of a meaning of 'blessed' instead of…"

Again Montague shook his head. "Oh, no, no, my dear Artemus, none of those names strikes the least chord with me at all, I'm afraid!"

"Well…" Artie sighed and set out to bring up a topic regarding the mysterious lady that he was sure the professor would not want to hear. "I, uh… you know, Professor, whoever this young lovely may be, I really think you should consider the possibility that she's befriended you as part of a hon…Hide!"

Artie hissed out that last word, dropped what he was working on, and scampered for his bed. For just then, before he could finish warning the professor of the potential honey trap, the doorknob gave a rattle and then the door itself began slowly to open.

From outside, the guard's voice said, "You've got it? Ok."

Artie risked cracking open one eye, checking to be sure nothing could be seen of Prof Montague. Yes, all was well. And at the door someone was entering pushing a cart before him, a cart with a number of covered dishes.

Dinner? Artie hadn't even thought about dinner. Should he be awake and eat it, or be unconscious still, he wondered.

And then he took a good look at the man pushing the cart and instantly chose unconsciousness. Merle Koch! What was he doing here? Or more importantly, what was he doing here pretending to be an orderly delivering Kutman's supper?

Artie closed the eye and let himself go completely limp. Of all the people he would need to convince with his Gaspar Kutman disguise, Merle Koch was the greatest challenge. Would he be able to fool him? He wasn't sure, but for now, he would simply be comatose and see if the makeup job and fat suit, at least, would pass muster.

The cart came to a halt and footsteps approached the bed. "Herr Kutman?" came the man's voice, raspy as usual, but hushed - to keep the guard from overhearing, no doubt, thought Artie. "Mein Herr," Koch said, and his hand took hold of Artie's wrist, feeling for his pulse. Koch gave a grunt, then touched the side of Artie's neck as well. "Sein Puls ist regelmäßig," he murmured to himself. A moment later a hand rested on the side of Artie's face, just below the temple, and a thumb gently lifted his eyelid. Artie found himself looking up into Koch's face. He forced himself to stay relaxed, making a great effort to keep his eye unfocused and dull.

Koch frowned and murmured, "Braun…" He released the eyelid and Artie let it fall shut again as naturally as possible.

Koch straightened up and shoved his hands into his pockets. He stood there at the bedside for a very long time, frowning, saying nothing. Then, with a sigh, he murmured, "Besser der Spatz in der Hand als die Taube auf dem Dach," and he turned and left the room.

The guard's voice called out after him, "Hey, aren't you gonna take the cart with you?" And when his only answer was the receding sound of Koch's footsteps, he called a second time, "Well, don't expect me to clear it away!"

Artie waited a moment more, then got up and went to the cart to inspect the food. The curtains slid open and Prof Montague joined him.

"What was that all about?" asked the professor as he turned up his nose at a bowl of very bland-looking broth.

"That was Merle Koch, my - as in, Kutman's - bodyguard." Artie cocked an eyebrow at a plate full of wiggly, bright red gelatin.

"And what did he say? I didn't catch all of it," added Montague, seizing on the only item of food that looked at all appealing.

Artie watched sadly as the professor made off with the plate of asparagus spears. At least they were plain; if hollandaise had been involved, he certainly would not have given them up without a fight! "Oh, what he said?" Artie repeated, dragging his attention away from the pilfered asparagus. "Ah. First he said that my pulse was strong. Then he looked in my eye and said, 'Brown.' "

Montague nodded vigorously. "Ah, yes! That much I understood perfectly. The words are pronounced alike, aren't they?"

"Exactly, Professor."

"Oh, but…" Montague paused and gestured with a forkful of his asparagus. "But, Artemus, what did he mean by that? Why did he say, 'Brown'?"

"He meant, no doubt," said Artie with a sigh, "that my eyes are brown although Kutman's are palest blue."

"Oh! Oh dear. Dear, dear me. Is that a problem?"

"I don't know," said Artie, finally deciding to sample the gelatin. "I had planned to wear a pair of tinted spectacles and claim the light hurts my eyes to disguise the fact that my eye color is wrong, but Koch caught me by surprise. However," he added after pausing long enough to take a taste of the gelatin, "it was the final thing he said that was the most curious of all."

"And that was?"

"Mmm," Artie replied, wrinkling his nose at the gelatin. "An old saying: Better the sparrow in the hand than the dove on the roof."

"Ah? Sounds rather like 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' "

"Yes, it's the German equivalent." Artie frowned at the broth, then spooned up some of it anyway.

"But what is that supposed to mean?" asked the professor. "What bird does Koch have in hand?"

Artie grimaced at the broth and gave up on supper. "That, dear Professor, is what's likely to keep me awake all night. What indeed did Koch mean by that?"