Act Three, Part Four

Prof Montague settled back into his seat for the short trip to the train depot. Tiring quickly of watching the unfamiliar streets of San Francisco go by, he opened his valise and withdrew one of his scientific journals and was soon immersed in an article regarding secret writings, with one hundred sixty separate ciphers analyzed. And yet, though he found his reading thoroughly engrossing, the gentle rocking of the carriage combined with his lack of sleep from having worked through the night to gradually lull him into a pleasant dreamless slumber.

The cabbie glanced back and noted the passenger was sound asleep. Smiling, the driver kept on driving.

…

At the doorway to the hospital room, a gabble of voices instantly broke out:

"Ah, Col Richmond! Just the man I wanted to see!" That was the doctor.

"What is he doing here?"

"Why is Koch here?" Those were the colonel and Jim.

"Koch?" This came from Artie, who quickly sat down on his bed.

And from Koch himself, "Was tun sie hier?"

"Ah, yes, well… You see, Mr Koch here," said the doctor, stepping into the room, "showed up at my office bright and early this morning bearing this note." He handed a slip of paper to Richmond. The colonel read it, started to pass it on to Artie, caught himself, and instead gave it to Jim, who read it aloud:

The bearer of this note, Herr Merle Koch, wishes to know the condition of his employer, Mr Gaspar Kutman. Herr Koch is well capable of taking care of Mr Kutman at his residence in the Frémont Hotel should Mr Kutman be sufficiently recovered to leave the hospital.

"Well, Colonel?" the doctor asked. Nodding toward Artie, who was already deep in conversation with Koch, Milburn said, "Our Mr Kutman here does seem to be sufficiently recovered. Unless he's under arrest?"

Keeping up the act that their Mr Kutman was the real Mr Kutman, the colonel and Jim fell into a brief discussion with the doctor over Kutman's legal standing.

Koch, meanwhile, had gone straight to the side of the big man in white and hissed out his question again, demanding to know what they - Richmond and West - were doing here. Slipping into Kutman's voice and mannerisms, Artie replied in German, "Ah, they were interrogating me. But what can they learn? Neither you nor I stole the Phoenix."

Koch gave a grunt in response and said, "Then they will release you? You no longer seem ill. I made arrangements for you to have a proper breakfast this morning. And there is the Phoenix: you wish to locate the Phoenix, but that is difficult to accomplish from a hospital room."

Artie regarded Koch sharply. The man seemed to have accepted Artie's impersonation of his employer, eye color not withstanding, and seemed also to be thoroughly engrossed in Kutman's goal of acquiring the Phoenix. Leaning closer and lowering his voice, Artie inquired, "Have you learned anything of it?"

Koch shook his head. "Everyone who was looking for it seems only to be more anxious to find it. None give any sign of knowing its whereabouts."

Artie nodded. Well, that was to be expected. None of those who had been after the Phoenix should know its whereabouts.

Koch now swung up the carpetbag and set it on Kutman's bed. "I have brought clothes for you in anticipation of your release."

"Good man!" said Artie. As Koch began pulling articles of clothing from the carpetbag and laying them out one by one on Kutman's bed, Artie switched to English to address the others. "Am I free to go then, gentlemen?"

Richmond, Jim, and the doctor finished consulting among themselves. "You are," said the colonel, "but under certain conditions. You are not to leave San Francisco for the time being."

Artie rumbled out a laugh. "So I expected. But I would not dream of abandoning this lovely city! Not yet, anyway."

"And," added the doctor, "there are certain matters of your health care I should like to go over with you and Mist… er, Herr Koch. If you'll come to my office?"

"But of course. Koch has supplied me with attire; I will be with you shortly." And as all the others filed out, Artie glanced over at the second bed and realized with a wince that the case bearing the fake Phoenix had been sitting there in plain sight the whole time.

…

"We're here, Uncle Arthur!" called a voice.

Prof Montague woke with a start. Why, where was he? Ah, in a carriage. Here was one of his scientific journals on his lap and his valise by his feet. Here was his cabbie hopping down from the seat and opening the door for him. And yet where…? Montague frowned and shook his head. Where was the woman whose voice he had just heard? And of all things, she had called him Uncle Arthur!

Now the cabbie stood in the open doorway and doffed his hat while at the same time peeling the mustache right off his face. "Hello, Uncle Arthur," said the same soft voice. Montague's jaw dropped. The cabbie! He was not a he but a she, and what's more, she was not just any she, but she was in fact…

"My Happy Girl!" the professor exclaimed.

Her eyes twinkled as she peeled away her eyebrows as well, the heavy mannish ones giving way to more finely-arched feminine ones. "Then you do remember me! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me after the way you begged off from our dinner date last night." Her pretty pixyish face transformed into a mask of woe.

"Oh no, my dear!" Montague assured her. "Of course I hadn't forgotten you. Far from it! But I had a prior engagement last night and couldn't get free. And now that you've brought me to the train depot, I'm afraid I must return at once to Denver, so you see…" As she held the door for him, the professor stepped from the carriage and took a look around, then frowned. "Ah… This… this doesn't look like the railroad yards," he remarked to the young woman.

"That's because it isn't," she replied as she took up his valise and set out striding toward a large building that looked more than anything else like a great empty box.

"Now, now, my dear!" cried Montague and rushed after her. Catching up with her, he tried to take the valise from her, saying, "Just because you're my driver - and I've no idea why you've been masquerading as a man - that's no reason for me to be so unchivalrous as to permit a woman to carry my luggage!" And he stripped the valise from her hand.

She stared at him for a second, then laughed. "Very well then, Uncle Arthur. Have it your way. Follow me?" And she led the way to the building.

"Ah, just where are we, my dear?" asked the professor.

"Here? This is a warehouse," she replied as she unlocked the door. She started to pull the door open as well, but Montague insisted on getting it for her. She smiled and nodded her thanks, then swept inside before him.

"And why are we at a warehouse?" he asked, still wishing fervently that he could remember her name. He would feel so awkward to have to ask her for it and admit he'd forgotten!

"Why are we at this warehouse?" she repeated to him as they reached an inner door. She unlocked this as well, then stood aside to allow the professor to open it for her. She stepped through and he followed. She then turned and locked the door behind them. "We're here," she replied, "because there are some people who would like to meet you."

And immediately from behind the various stacks of boxes and barrels all throughout the large room about a dozen men emerged, each man armed with a gun or a stick or a knife. And as the pretty girl dimpled at him, Prof Montague suddenly realized what sort of friendship hers had truly been.

He had walked right into a honey trap.

…

Agent Stan Wilson, having been relieved of his duty of sitting with the real Kutman, followed his new orders and walked into another room of the hospital, one that had been recently vacated. Wilson picked up the heavy wooden case he found there and set out to carry it to Col Richmond's office.

He was just a touch annoyed at having to play deliveryman twice in as many days. And he couldn't help noticing that, while his current burden was somewhat lighter than the previous one, this case had the exact same dimensions as the item under the black cloth he'd borne through the fog from Col Richmond's office to the hospital. Now he was making the return journey in broad daylight.

Why his orders had been to proceed by foot, he didn't know, but it was not for him to question orders. He set out taking the shortest route possible, walking along streets and down alleyways, following also his orders not to look back.

Had he disobeyed, he might have noticed a man in powder-blue trailing after him. But Wilson resolutely looked forward only as he hurried to deliver the case to its destination.

…

"A good day to you then, Dr Milburn," said the man who looked like Gaspar Kutman. Artie walked out of the hospital accompanied by Merle Koch, who was still carrying the carpetbag. Koch swiftly hailed them a carriage and they set off to return to the Hotel Frémont.

…

Another alleyway. Agent Wilson sighed, wishing he could look back, wishing he could take another route - or better, a carriage. Well, he told himself, let's get this over with. Hefting the case, which felt like it was getting heavier by the moment, he hurried down the alley.

He reached the end. Nothing untoward had happened. He turned the corner.

Clonk! Wilson didn't even see it coming. The blackjack had whirled out of nowhere, clobbering him over the head. Down he went.

"N-no offense," said a soft whispery voice as the case was stripped from Wilson's unresisting hand. Someone scuttled away bearing the case.

Someone else dropped to one knee at the downed agent's side. "Wilson? You all right?"

"Ow," grumbled the young fellow, sitting up and pulling off his hat. There was a definite dent in the crown. "Thank goodness for Mr Gordon's steel-plated inner crown," muttered Wilson. "But let me tell you, Mr West, that still hurt!"

West gave the young agent a friendly thump on the shoulder. "But you're ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll live. I won't be happy, but I'll live."

Jim grinned at how much the young fellow sounded like Artie. "Good job, Wilson," he said, then sprang up and hurried off in the direction Bartholomew Memphis had run off with the case.

…

The carriage pulled up in front of the Hotel Frémont and Herr Koch hopped out, holding the door with one hand, helping his employer to descend. Artie put on an air of lingering sickliness as he waited for Koch to fetch the carpetbag. The German then took the ersatz Kutman's arm and guided him toward the hotel entrance.

They didn't make it. A pair of tough-looking men, each with his right hand buried in his coat pocket, stepped out of nowhere and blocked their progress. "Gaspar Kutman?" said one.

Artie frowned and drew himself up, asking irascibly, "Oh, whatever do you want?"

"You, if you're Kutman," said the tough. "You're wanted."

"Am I? By whom?"

The tough smiled; it was not a pretty sight. "By a lady."

The other chuckled. "Believe it or not," he put in.

"What lady?" asked Artie archly. The countess, he presumed. He was perfectly willing to go along with these goons, but knew he should at least put up a token of resistance. Well, Kutman's style of resistance, of course.

The toughs both chuckled now. "Well, sir," said the spokesman of the pair, "the lady in question said for us to tell you if you asked, that she'll be happy to give her name once you're face to face with her." He gave a nod. "Now move."

"But, sir, I must protest. I…!" Artie began, breaking off when one of the toughs pointed his coat pocket at him, for there was something inside the pocket, something tubular and rigid and very like the barrel of a gun straining against the fabric.

"I said move it, fat man!" growled the tough.

Koch's hand tightened on Artie's arm, and Artie wondered how much of the conversation the bodyguard had understood and whether he was making ready to fight. Softly, in German, he advised Koch, "It seems we are being taken to see a lady."

"Wegen der Phönix?" Koch breathed back.

Who knew if this was regarding the Phoenix or not, Artie thought, but aloud he said, "I hope," then translated his reply into German for Koch's benefit.

With the two toughs escorting them, they caught a new carriage and set off for parts unknown.

…

Memphis was so happy! The case. He had the case now. Zorana of course would want the other contents - perhaps she would even be able to keep them - but about that Memphis cared not a whit. He had the case again! He scuttled along the alleys heading back toward the hotel. Once he had regained his own room, he would use his keys, the duplicate keys he'd had made when he'd supervised the construction of the case in which the Phoenix was to make all its travels, the case he had altered with his own hands to include the false bottom for his treasures, his babies, his precious precious mice. Oh, he could hardly wait!

Here was the hotel, the back entrance. He rushed towards it, his eyes so full of the anticipation of opening the case that he didn't notice anything until…

Whump! He ran right into two big men. They were blocking the doorway. Why were they blocking the doorway? "Ex, ah, excuse me," he murmured, trying to get around them.

One great hand closed on his arm. "You're coming with us," rumbled an immense voice.

"What? Wait…"

"Come along," said the other. His hand closed on - no! - on the case, wresting it from Memphis' grasp.

"No!" he wheezed. "No, give it back, give it back!"

"Come on, little man," said the man with the case. "Never keep a lady waiting." He started off, and the other hauled Memphis after him. Indeed, Memphis hurried after the first man, his huge woeful eyes locked on the case that held not just his mice but his soul.

A carriage was waiting at the end of the alley. In it sat a man and a woman. The man Memphis did not know, but he recognized the woman.

"Zorana?" Memphis all but wailed out her name as the men thrust him into the carriage, then climbed in after him. "Zorana, what have you done?" the little man implored. "What is going on here? Why have you sent these men to…?"

"What are you babbling on about, Bartholomew?" she replied, her voice cross but her head held high as the carriage started out. "What have I done? I have done nothing but lived to see the day when ruthless American hoodlums kidnap me and take me from my hotel room! My only consolation is that they have taken you as well!"

"But, but, but… but they said a lady…"

As the carriage turned out of the alleyway, before it could begin to pick up speed, a blur of powder-blue darted out of the alley and hopped onto the boot of the carriage. Wherever Memphis and the countess were being taken, thought Jim West, he was going along too.

…

Professor Montague clutched the valise to his chest and tried to stare in every direction at once. "Who… who are these men?" he gasped.

The young lady smiled. "My insurance," she replied. She moved on into the room where a grouping of chairs had been set up on and around a large Persian carpet. The chairs faced a small elegant table, behind which stood one more chair, this one the finest of them all.

She seated herself in that chair. "You see, Uncle Arthur - or would you prefer I cease calling you that? Professor, I should say, there was a reason I was on that train coming in from Denver when we met, a specific reason. I had been hired, you see, to steal the Florentine Phoenix. And when I noticed you on the train with all your reading material, your books and journals and pamphlets, I said to myself, 'Here is a man of learning. Perhaps he can tell me some things about the Phoenix my employer hasn't, things that will make my business go more smoothly.' And so I struck up that conversation with you, sounding you out, flattering you." She smiled. "Ah, well, I really do like the look of an older man. I wasn't lying too badly to you.

"But then," she said, and now she leaned forward. "Then I brought up the Phoenix. And for a second - just a split second, mind you - your eyes lit up with delight. And from that I knew the Phoenix was a subject on which you had made a special study. But you know what you did next?"

"Oh, now now now, I, ah, I'm sure that…" he babbled. For he did know what he'd done next. Of course he knew!

Her pretty eyes grew dark. "You said to me, 'Florentine Phoenix? Why, whatever is that?' And from that moment on, my dear Professor, I knew you were lying to me. And why, I reasoned, would you deny knowing anything about something you obviously found delightful?" She smiled at him. "The only reason I could think of was that you were coming to San Francisco because the Phoenix would be here, just as I was. Either you were a thief like me and also planning to steal the Phoenix, or else you were part of the government team coming to protect it on its way to Washington. Time, I knew, would tell me which of those possibilities was the correct one. In the meanwhile, I wanted to keep track of you. So I made the dinner date with you and through that learned the name of your hotel. I broke that date and suggested the following night, and from that learned you would be busy. But busy doing what. Hmm?" Her eyes twinkled at him. "I also took on the role of a cabbie and by that means was able to track not only you, but several others who are here in connection with the Phoenix. And now, here you are, and here those others shall be shortly." She waved a hand at the chairs. "And my men are here." A nod to her minions. "The only question remaining then, dear Professor, is where is the Phoenix? But you will tell me that now, won't you?"

And she dimpled at him prettily as she reached under the table to produce a gun of her own, aimed it straight at his heart, and pulled back the hammer.

End of Act Three