He couldn't believe how stupid he had been. How had he not seen that which was right in front of his face. Ridiculous. The Doctor wondered if his old age was beginning to addled his mind.
"Where are we going? You still haven't explained anything," Sarah Jane asked hurriedly, as the pair quickly wound around another corner, and down another hall.
"Dining hall. I think. Unless I'm lost, which I doubt," he quickly replied. There wasn't the time to rightly explain; to much running through his head. To explain would likely cause it all to spill out at once in a stream of confusing gobbledygook. He knew how much she hated that. He just needed to get there, and look at those three portraits. Then he could gather himself, and figure it out.
"Why though? What were you saying about the paintings?" She asked, her voice full of confusion, with a hint of frustration.
"All in good time, Sarah Jane, all in good time," he answered cryptically. Even he wasn't sure... it was only a hunch, after all. But if The Doctor had learned anything over the course of his long life, it was to always trust his hunches. They had saved his life more times than he cared to think about.
The pair of Time Travelers entered the dining room, the pleasing blue light sparkling from the fireplace greeting them. They moved around the massive oak table, The Doctor stopping at the center of it. He looked up to the wall, at the three paintings he had admired earlier this evening.
A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, by Édouard Manet, Liberty Leading the People, by Eugéne Delacroix, and Sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh.
These three works had stuck in his head, even despite Pierce's bloated art collection. Perhaps it was the close proximity of three famed paintings, all by classic Earth artists. Perhaps it was that Pierce had been here when The Doctor saw them for the first time. Maybe it was just his gut, telling him something was important about this room. He could not rightly say.
"What are you thinking, because I know you didn't bring me here to look at fine art," Sarah asked, looking at the same paintings. The Doctor cupped his chin in his hand, and continued to stare, first at one, then the next, then the next, almost as though he hoped that his conundrum would reveal itself. It didn't, of course.
"I'm not sure... something about this room isn't quite right..." he answered. If only he had his sonic screwdriver. He could just scan everything , and have it over, and done with. He hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on that tool until now. He would have to try and rectify that.
"What if we take them down? See if there is something behind them?" Sarah questioned. The Doctor nodded, and set about moving a chair in front of the first piece of art, Sunflowers. He climbed atop it, and carefully pulled the priceless item from the wall, lowering it down into Sarah Jane's waiting hands. She, in turn, carefully leaned the priceless work against the wall.
As The Doctor had hoped, there was something behind the painting. A red button was hidden there, in a divot in the paneling. He smiled, a tad self satisfied. Right again.
"Ten pounds says there's buttons behind the other two," Sarah Jane winked. He nodded.
The pair moved to the next two, removing those in the same manner, careful not to damage them. His companion had been on the money once again. Beneath A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, was a blue button, and under Liberty Leading The People, a green one.
"What do you suppose this is about?" Sarah Jane asked, tilting her head.
"I'll bet it's a door key," shrugged the old Time Lord. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. He was actually getting tired, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't understand why, he had only been awake for the last hundred and thirty eight hours. Paltry amount of time. He usually went a full three hundred before even getting the least bit drowsy.
"Ideas? she proposed.
"I'd wager... one is right, and the others are wrong," The Doctor murmured.
"If that's the case, we have a one in three chance," she replied. Always the optimistic one. That was a two in three of being wrong.
"I would wager... one of these is fake... and the others are real, or vice versa..." he said absently.
"And the odd one out is correct." She reasoned with him.
"Right, it may take me a bit, but I have faith in my abilities."
Sarah Jane glanced up at the clock, and sighed. Then she looked back at The Doctor, who stared intently at the three classic works. His left hand covered his mouth, his elbow resting on his other arm. From her seat at the table, it looked as though he hadn't even moved since he started.
He had barely said anything as well, which was vary rare for him, as far as she was concerned anyway. It told her two things about her old friend. One, he was in very deep concentration, and two, he was probably very frustrated.
She wished she could help him, but fine art was not necessarily her strong suit. Could she identify most of the classic works? Absolutely. However, she normally could not tell a forgery from the genuine McCoy, not unless it was something blatant.
The Doctor however, was good at that sort of thing. He had been present at the creation of some of these works, so he knew them better than most. He had apparently even met Vincent Van Gogh; she would have liked to have been around for that one.
She heard his sigh, and saw him rub his eyes with his thumbs. He needed a break, she could tell.
"I... don't see anything... I really don't..." he announced.
"Maybe you just need to give it a rest. Take a few minutes, and come back," she suggested.
"I think... these are all genuine. Either that, or the forger is an absolute master. I don't know which," he said.
"Alright so we're going about this wrong. There has to be a method to it. Maybe it's favorite artist, or something, or the first one to die or..." she reasoned.
"Maybe its... all of them... some kind of code?" He half asked.
"What about the order they were painted in?" his companion proposed. It made sense to her. For an obvious art buff like Pierce, that would be something he could remember.
"That could be!" he replied excitedly, "let's see here... Liberty is first. That one was painted in 1830."
Sarah Jane shifted the chair over, climbed atop it, and pressed the green button. Green for go she hoped.
"Alright... next is... The Bar. That was in 1882. I've actually been to that bar... he cleaned it up for that painting," The Doctor chattered absently.
"Really?" Sarah asked, pressing the blue button.
"Yes, far more vomit in real life," he replied, screwing up his face, "that leaves Sunflowers, from 1888." Sarah Jane moved, and pressed the final button.
At first, nothing seemed to happen, and she climbed down. That was unfortunate, they would have to try something else.
Just as that thought entered her head, the blue flames of the fire place puffed out, darkening the moody room. A loud grinding came next, like stone on stone. The pair hurried in front of it.
They watched in awe as the back of the fireplace slid open, revealing a box entombed in the wall. Made of simple metal, like an old style lockbox, one would never give it a second thought.
Cautiously, The Doctor stepped forward, and placed both hands on it, almost as though it was going to burst into flames. When it didn't, he clicked both front latches open.
Sarah Jane smiled, as she saw the contents. A small, strange key laid inside. It was curved like a half moon, with sickle teeth on both the top and bottom. She could make out a computer chip in it.
"This is definitely what we're looking for," The Doctor grunted, holding it up, and squinting, "probably need all three to interrupt the deadlock. Nice job Sarah Jane, brilliant."
"Thank you," she nodded, a bit of pride filling her. She knew him so well; he just over thought things some times. Symptom of being two thousand years old, she supposed.
"Doctor, I'm a bit concerned with something, if you don't mind," she asked. He slipped the moon key into his pocket, and looked at her, a soft smile on his hard face.
"You can always talk to me, Sarah, what is on your mind?" He asked, kindly.
"I'm worried we're jumping to conclusions here, about the killer. What if it isn't a robot in disguise as a person? What if it's stalking us, or it's invisible? I mean, you cannot really know, can you?" He looked at her for a few seconds, and shrugged.
"For sure? No. But I think that it is likely. Most of the invisible robots use EMP pulses, not plasma, because it is quieter. The Raston Warrior seems invisible, but all of it's weapons are metal, and what are the odds of us running into another one of those, honestly? Now as for one just sneaking about..."
"It's a big house Doctor, I think it could be likely." She answered earnestly. She wanted him to take all possibilities into account. It could hurt them, and the others, in the long run if he didn't.
"My reason for that one isn't very comforting..." he started, "think back to the old days. When we used to kick around together, and someone was lurking about, what usually happened?" She started to chuckle a bit at her forthcoming answer.
"Usually they cracked Harry in the back of the head, and we'd have to go save him," she joked. He chortled a response.
"True... but point is, we usually have poor luck with that, and find out about our stealthy friends the hard way." He knocked his knuckles on his head.
"So, until one of us takes one in the noggin, your going to operate under the imposter theory?" she couldn't believe how laughable that was.
"Yes. As stupid as it is, yes." he nodded.
"Too bad Harry isn't around, he'd just take the hit and..." she started
"Get drug off by Zygons, so we'd have to save him," The Doctor finished. They both laughed.
"All jokes aside, aren't you worried that your theory is wrong? And that the killer is hiding somewhere?" she asked. He sighed a bit.
"It has crossed my mind, I'd be lying to you if I said it didn't. However, I do believe that my theory is correct. And even if it isn't, and our killer has been listening to us talk, it doesn't know we have thought of that. And that's an advantage, if that's the case."
"Something else has been bothering me," she started, rubbing the back of her neck, "do you think Pierce was the actual target? I've been starting to wonder ever since Varrillo was killed. What if Pierce isn't the real target? What if he was just a cover?"
"I think it's more about not leaving any witnesses than anything. That was why I warned everyone to be careful, and that if we weren't it could try to pick us off. That is exactly what it is doing, as I believed it would," he argued.
"Maybe that's what it wants us to think. What if Pierce was just a smoke screen? To hide who tbe real target is?" she reasoned.
"Varrillo?" The Time Lord asked.
"No, I think she's the same thing."
"If your hypothesis is correct... then who is the target?" he asked.
"I... don't know," she admitted. She rubbed her hands across her face, closing her eyes. She was so tired. A trek through a mine, and a real-life murder mystery dinner had done her in.
"Are you all right Sarah? You're not getting sick, are you?" he asked, with genuine concern in his old eyes. He raised his hand to check her for a fevor, but she waved him away. So fussy.
"I'm just tired," she answered.
"You should get some rest, Sarah. It will do you good," he replied.
"I can't... it's not safe," she argued.
"Here, come on," he said. She followed him, as he led her out into the hall. Near by, there was a cream colored sofa sitting in the hall.
"Here, lay down," he said, motioning to the sofa, "it's alright."
"But Doctor..." she started to argue.
"No, you need sleep," he interrupted, with finality. "You're no good to anyone exhausted."
She looked at him for a few moments, before finally laying down. She curled up on the soft piece of furniture, trying to get comfortable. It was difficult in her dress, but she managed, tossing her heels to the floor.
The Doctor sat down next to her, placing his hand on her cheek, gently giving it a comforting pat.
"What about you? You can wake me up if you need to sleep later," she said. She didn't need him exhausted, not on her account.
"I don't need to sleep Sarah. I'll be fine. Besides, someone has to keep you safe from the killer robots," he shrugged, with a genuine smile.
"You've always taken that job," she smirked.
"Always will, what else is your best friend for?" The Scotsman asked.
She settled in, closing her eyes.
Sleep took her before long, blissfully unaware of the night's activities. The horrors of the morning were far away.