Chapter Five

Un doux, triste secret, tient mon cœur sous l'emprise;
Un puissant amour dans ma poitrine a augmenté,
Inaperçu, non-dit, et personne ne sait;
Et ma douce, qui lui a donné, et surtout.

[One sweet, sad secret holds my heart in thrall;

A mighty love within my breast has grown,
Unseen, unspoken, and of no one known;
And of my sweet, who gave it, least of all.]

—Sonnet, Alexis Felix Arvers (1806-1851), French author, poet, and dramatist

(translated by Joseph Knight in "The Athenoeum," Jan. 13, 1906)

"Do you think they're in there, Mr. West?"

Jim glanced at the worried dark face of the young man crouched beside him. "It is the most logical place—if indeed Cornelius is somehow involved. The hope is that Mr. Gordon and Miss Fortune can get a clue. That's where you come in."

Alex nodded, pulling out a nickel-plated pocket watch. "Fifteen more minutes to go."

Ethan Smith was slightly behind them, also crouched among the thick brush that lined the perimeter of the Cornelius Pickle Factory. "I wish we would just barge in there and surprise them."

"That's not a bad idea in some circumstances," Jim nodded. "Nonetheless, we need more information. I'm hoping we see someone, or something, that will help give us an idea of if and where they might be being held."

"There's a man," Alex whispered, ducking lower as he pointed off to his right.

Jim looked that direction. A thin man in worn clothing had just come around the corner of one of the smaller buildings. They had decided that the largest building was probably where the cucumbers were stored in brine to "pickle." Vats of substantial size would be required to create the quantity of marinated vegetables that the Cornelius company was known to ship to various areas of the country.

"I'd guess he's a worker," Jim said after a moment. "As far as I can see, he is not armed." As they watched, the man continued to stroll by all the buildings until he finally went through a gate that they knew would take him off the company property.

"Looks like you're right," Smith murmured. "So where are they all?"

The trio fell silent, watching and waiting. Jim was tense. He would prefer to be active, perhaps searching the buildings. Nonetheless, he knew that that could be foolish and dangerous. No death threats were included in the note left for Artie at the hotel, but they were implied. The people involved were passing counterfeit bonds, with no violence involved thus far. That did not mean they were incapable of violence; desperate people often were very capable.

He saw the tension as well on the faces and in the bodies of his companions. "Alex, it seems to me you've become sweet on Etta."

Alex could not hide his grin. "I sure am, Mr. West. She's the prettiest girl I ever met. My heart just pounds every time I see her."

"Does she return your feelings?"

"Oh yeah. When I took her to spend the evening with my parents and sisters, she told me it was the nicest time she ever had in her life. She was sold away from her family down in South Carolina just before the war started. She never saw them again. Knowing that my family has been free for three generations—well, she said it makes her happy to be with them, and 'specially with me."

"What happens if she goes back to Washington with Miss Edgerton?" Smith asked, teasingly.

"Well, I suppose I'll follow her. But… well, I don't know if that's going to happen." Alex's grin was wide now.

"What about you, Smith? When did you fall in love with Miss Edgerton?"

Ethan Smith stared at Jim. "How…?"

Jim had to chuckle. "I spotted it that first night when she came to my hotel room door."

Smith sighed and settled back on his haunches. "She hit me between the eyes the first time I saw her. Kind of like Alex here. Her father took me to meet her to see if she thought I was acceptable as her bodyguard and companion. I was terrified she was going to say no—and almost equally scared she would say yes. I mean, I know I don't have a chance with a millionaire's daughter."

"But she likes you, Mr. Smith. Etta told me so."

The bodyguard looked at the young porter. "How does she know?"

Alex chuckled. "That's what I asked her. She just said, 'a woman knows.' And she told me that Miss Edgerton was crying once and wouldn't tell Etta why, but she sure was unhappy. I don't know how Etta figures it was all on account of Miss Edgerton liking Mr. Smith better, but that's what she said."

Smith still appeared doubtful, except for the glow in his eyes. Before anyone could speak further, a coach appeared, coming around the corner of the factory buildings. All three ducked further, watching. Smith whispered. "That looks like the coach the fellow from the billiards parlor described."

"It sure does," Jim murmured back. "Alex, get ready. You'll need…" He halted his words as the driver of the coach jumped down to open a door… and the man in the planter's hat climbed out, followed by three other men who looked more like ruffians. "All right. As soon as they go inside, you get going, Alex. Artie needs to know."

W*W*W*W*W

To beguile many and be beguil'd by one.

—Othello, Act 4, Sc. 1, William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English dramatist and poet

"You see, Mr. Cornelius," the major said after clearing his throat for probably the tenth time since he entered the office, "I am not an extra wealthy man, but I want to be. I know methods exist that may not be… usual methods. I'm hoping you can help me."

Cornelius gazed at him blandly, after once more tearing his eyes away from the major's companion and her display of flesh. "I can only say what I said during your first visit, and what I told you a few minutes ago. Cornelius Pickles is a family business. We do not want outside investors. I'm sorry."

"Homer," Miss Waters spoke in that sweet voice, putting her hand on the major's arm, "perhaps you should be a little more unambiguous."

Harumph! The major reacted with the loudest throat clear yet. "I don't think I could be any more clear, dear lady. I believe Mr. Cornelius is being obdurate. Perhaps he thinks to up the ante."

"Not at all!" Cornelius protested. "I'm telling the truth. We do not need or want outside investors in this pickle business."

Artie opened his mouth to further remonstrate, but a tap on the door forestalled his words. "Yes?" Cornelius called out.

Thelma quickly stepped inside, appearing somewhat flustered. "Jonas, I mean, Mr. Cornelius, excuse me. A fellow—a colored boy—is here looking for Major Blackwell."

Artie leapt to his feet. "Ah! I told Alex to let me know if my prized pony is displaying any problems. Bad fetlock joint, you know. I should have left him in the stable, but he is so splendid drawing my carriage. I had better go take a look. Sally, dearest, stay here and chat with Mr. Cornelius. Promote my cause!" He winked at Lily and hurried from the office before anyone could protest or say anything further.

"Oh, dear," Lily sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Are you a man who puts his horses above everyone and everything, Mr. Cornelius?"

"What?" Jonas Cornelius dragged his gaze from the newly revealed scenery, aware that Thelma was still standing in the doorway. "Oh. Thank you, Thelma. You may go." The secretary and fiancée stared at him for a moment, lifted her chin and departed, slamming the door ever so lightly. "What did you say, Miss Waters?"

Sally Waters smiled and shifted her position again making the canyon above her deep neckline even more visible. "Never mind. Mr. Cornelius, I must apologize for Homer—the major. He has a terrible habit of never getting to the point. I'm still waiting for him to propose although he hints at it so many times. It's as though he expects me to ask him!" She tittered a charming giggle.

"Foolish man," Jonas beamed. He did not mind at all being left alone with this fascinating creature.

"So I will come to the point, especially because I've come to suspect that one of the reasons Homer beats around the bush where marriage is concerned is financial. He doesn't think he can support me in the manner in which I wish to become accustomed."

"Oh. I see." Although he clearly did not see.

"Homer wants to make money rapidly. He knows that that is not usually possible by… normal means. Well, there I go beating around the bush. Let me say it right out. Homer has numerous contacts in all levels of society. He learned that you are probably taking in a small fortune in a not very legal manner. He wants in."

Cornelius's complexion went crimson. "Miss Waters! I don't…!"

Lily got to her feet and moved swiftly around the desk to stand very close to his chair, her skirt brushing his hand where it rested on the chair arm. "Mr. Cornelius… Jonas, is it? You see, I want to marry Homer, but I cannot bear the thought of living in near poverty. I would also like to be… friends… with you. I find you so very attractive. I am sure there is a way in which all that can be managed. Isn't there?" Now she put her hand on his shoulder. She had not believed his face could grow more cherry red, but it did.

Deciding she had rattled Cornelius enough, Lily retreated to her chair. "Jonas, please forgive me if I'm wrong—if Homer is wrong—but he learned that you are in contact with some counterfeit money, from which you are profiting. Is that true?"

Cornelius coughed, choked, his eyes watering. He pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief to mop his eyes and face. "Counterfeit money? Oh, no, no, no. No. No. Not money."

"Oh?" Lily widened her eyes and leaned forward again. "Then… bonds? Government bonds? That is even more thrilling. Homer will be so pleased."

"Miss Waters, I can't… I mustn't… you see… it's not just… I am not in… oh dear."

"But wouldn't it be safer to… how is it said? Pass off? Would it not be safer to pass off the bonds to another party to pull attention away from you and whoever else is involved? Jonas, I'm sure you wouldn't believe it possible, but I once worked in a rather unsavory place before I met Homer." Lily fluttered her eyelashes enticingly. "I know about the things that go on away from the safe, ordinary world. Homer will be returning soon, I am sure. I would be so happy and grateful if you were able to make an offer to him. I want us all to be friends. Very good friends!"

Cornelius did not quite choke, but he came close, swallowing hard. "Miss Waters, I will… I will talk to my partner. I can't make any promises."

"Oh, that's so wonderful! Thank you, Jonas. Do you think it would be worthwhile, and perhaps, er, more effective if I met your partner?"

He shot a quick glance toward the closed office door. "No. No, I don't think so. He's on the property though and will be coming to this office before long."

"Excellent," Sally Waters beamed. "Excellent, Jonas."

W*W*W*W*W

Oh, the gladness of their gladness when they're glad,

And the sadness of their sadness when they're sad;

But the gladness of their gladness, and the sadness of their sadness,

Are as nothing to their badness when they're bad.

—Anonymous

Jim West and Ethan Smith remained crouched in the bushes while the driver of the coach mounted onto the box again to drive the vehicle further down the road that led by the factory buildings. There he gave the horses some water but did not unhitch them. When he returned and entered through the same door the other men had, Jim jerked his head as a signal before dashing out of the brush, not looking back to see if Smith was behind him. He knew he was.

They had conversed a little more after Alex's departure. Jim learned, as he had suspected, that Smith was a veteran, having served in the Army of the Potomac during the entire war and participated in the major battles like Antietam, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg. He had not been in the cavalry, but had done a great deal of reconnaissance duty as well as had served with the provost guard. Both ventures required courage along with great intelligence. Jim had no qualms about having Ethan Smith behind him or alongside him, one reason why he had readily accepted Artemus's plan.

Upon gaining the closed door, Jim leaned against it, listening. He could hear Smith's even breathing behind him as the bodyguard stood very still as well. After a moment, Jim looked back. "I can hear voices, but they don't appear to be near the door. Ready?"

Smith nodded, pulling the pistol from inside his jacket; Jim did the same. He grasped the latch and squeezed it slowly, gratified that it did not make a loud 'click' when the mechanism disconnected. Well oiled, he reflected. No squeaks emitted from the door hinges as he pushed it slowly open.

The voices became somewhat clearer, but still not near the door. He saw no one as he slipped in through the door and stepped to one side to allow Smith room to follow him. The inside of the building was not overly large, but it was filled with shiny metal vats. A faint but noticeable acetic scent pervaded the entire interior, residue from the vinegary brine that created the pickles in the vats.

Jim nodded his head to the left and Smith immediately headed that way, leaning forward in order to keep his head below the level of the vats. Jim went right, doing the same. The building was not well lighted, with the only illumination coming in through the windows at the sides where the glass was painted white. Shadows were deep.

However, he used the voices as his target and kept moving toward them. As he neared, the words being spoken became clearer, hearing one man ask rather nervously, "Well, what the hell are we going to do with them now?"

Another man cleared his throat. "I have to admit I made a mistake by not blindfolding them…"

"We sure can't kill women!" another voice wailed.

"Would you rather go to jail or have the money spend?" This came from the previous voice. Jim guessed this was the man in the hat. The responses to this query were unintelligible mutterings.

What this brief exchange appeared to indicate was that Cecelia and Etta were in the vicinity. He could see closed doors on the rear wall, probably where supplies were kept. The prisoners could be in one of those. Apparently, they are still alive, at least. However, the tenor of the boss's words suggested that might not be the case for much longer.

"Craw," another man's voice spoke up with a pleading tone, "those agents are gone. We saw them get on the train."

"Yes, but these women have seen us. They could recognize us. Don't you understand that?"

"Well, we just keep them here until we're ready to move on!" The other man was not appeased.

"Oh, shut up. I'm running this show. If you don't like it, get out. Hell, let me know if any of you have a better idea!"

A silence ensued, then the man who had protested about killing women spoke up. "You said something about moving them away from here, Craw."

"After dark."

"I think you'd all better just stay where you are," Jim stated, holding his gun at the ready as he stepped out from behind the vat that had been hiding him. Ethan Smith had circled around to appear from behind the five men at almost the same moment.

The mouth of the man in the hat dropped open. He was a stocky man, and Jim instantly saw a resemblance to the secretary in Cornelius's office, including curly hair that protruded from under the crown of the hat. "You're West!" he exclaimed.

"Correct."

"Where's Miss Edgerton?" Smith demanded. One of the men pointed to a closed door behind him, and before Jim could say anything further, Smith hurried toward it. A key was in the lock and he used it, throwing the door open. The room was dark, but the door allowed dim light to reveal the two women sitting on an overturned box, closely holding onto each other.

"Ethan!" Cecelia Edgerton cried, jumping up to run toward him and into his arms.

"Etta! Stop!" Jim barked. He was too late, however. The colored maid was on the heels of her mistress. She burst out through the door, where the man who had indicated their prison grabbed her arm to draw her close to him, quickly bringing the pistol he had not yet disposed of close to her head.

"Drop your weapons, West," the man addressed as Craw ordered. "My friend there won't hesitate to blow the little gal's brains out."

Jim hesitated just an instant; he had heard them speak of their reluctance to kill. Nonetheless, he could not take a chance; he nodded to Smith. Both men put their guns on the floor, although Ethan Smith kept his grip on Cecelia Edgerton's hand. "I guess you are Crawford," Jim said then.

The man in the hat opened his eyes a little wider. "Thomas Crawford. How'd you know that?"

"How are you and Thelma related to Adrian Crawford?"

Crawford's astonishment grew. "Well, I heard things about you, West. Reckon what I heard is mostly true. Thelma is my sister and Adrian was our uncle."

"And you got the plates from him."

"Yeah. He hid them before he got taken and told me where they were when he was sick in prison. I was pretty young at the time, but I held onto them, figuring they'd come in handy one day soon."

"And now you are becoming wealthy—with Cornelius's help."

Crawford grinned. "Shows you what love can do. Of course, Jonas doesn't mind the idea of becoming rich, either."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Artemus said, stepping out from behind one of the vats. Alex was right behind him. Artie held his pistol steady. "Drop your weapons, gentlemen. And you, let Miss Wilson go." Artie was still garbed in the major's clothes, but had cleaned the hair and makeup from his face as he had made his way to the building.

As Jim had done, Crawford considered a second, then decided that the gun the agent held was pointed much too steadily in his direction. He let his gun drop to the floor, his men following suit. The one holding Etta let her go—and she dashed straight for Alex who emulated Smith in taking the woman he loved into protective custody.

"I don't get it!" one of the henchmen cried out. He was, Artie realized, a man they had seen at the railroad station.

"How can I help you, my man?" Artie replied genially as Jim and Ethan began to pick up their own and other weapons.

"I seen both of you get on that train headin' for Reno. No stops 'til Sacramento. How the hell did you get back here so quick like?"

Jim grinned as he glanced at his partner. "It pays to have friends in high places."

"We arranged beforehand for the train to stop about ten miles out of the city, where our own train was waiting to bring us back." The man stared at Artie, his expression plainly indicating he did not believe any of it.

"Now," Jim said, "who's going to tell us where the plates and the already printed bonds are? A judge might look favorably…" Hearing a slight sound, almost like a gasp from his partner, Jim looked that way. "Artie?" Artie's expression was one of surprise and befuddlement. Alex, still standing alongside Artemus with Etta, was staring, it seemed, at Artie's back.

Jim was just about to speak further when the entire question was answered for him. Thelma Crawford stepped out from behind Gordon, holding a very large pistol with both her hands. She had apparently jammed it against Artie's spine.

"Now," she said, "you put your weapons down or I will use this one." She altered the direction of the barrel so that it pointed directly at Etta. Alex pulled the young maid toward him, but the weapon altered its direction to stay with Etta.

Artie sighed and stooped to put his gun on the floor. Jim and Ethan did the same; those weapons as well as the ones previously confiscated were quickly gathered by Thomas Crawford and his men. Jim, Artemus, Ethan and Alex, along with the two women, were pushed into a middle spot, with all of the guns of the counterfeiters'—and Thelma—pointed at them.

"Good job, sis!" Thomas crowed. "Where's Jonas?"

"I left him in the office with that floozy. Who is she, Gordon?"

Artie's chin came up. "Not a floozy, I assure you."

"Never mind," her brother went on. "We'll lock this bunch up and clear out of this part of the country. We have lots of other places we can cash in those bonds."

"Thomas!" Thelma took a step toward her brother. "We can't leave them alive. They'll come after us, alert the law all over the country."

The expression on Thomas Crawford's face was stark. "Thel, we can't just…" While he had coolly discussed killing the two women earlier, suddenly the thought of six deaths seemed too much for him.

She waved the big pistol in a motion of dismissal. "We'll lock them in that storeroom and set fire to the building. We'll be long gone."

"Hey, boss," one of the men protested. "That wasn't nothin' we bargained for."

Thomas stared at his sister a long moment then swallowed hard. "She's right. If we're going to have a chance to really make a haul, we have to."

Jim glanced at Artemus. Something needed to be done immediately, something desperate. Artie nodded almost indiscernibly, then both agents moved at the same time. Jim grabbed Thomas Crawford's arm to hurl him toward another man, while Artie spun to knock the weapon out of Thelma's hand. She shrieked in startled rage. Alex jumped for that gun, pushing Thelma aside as she attempted to do the same.

Two of the other men had reacted by jumping on Jim, knocking him to the floor. He was on his feet in an instant, swinging a hard right—and ignoring the tinge of pain from the still-healing bruise—into the nearest man's chin before whirling to slam a boot into the stomach of the other man.

Crawford in the meanwhile was on his hands and knees scrambling for the gun he had dropped. Artie stepped forward to kick it out of the way. At the same time, his strong left fist connected with the jaw of the third man. Thelma was wrestling with Alex, each trying to gain control of the big pistol. Both Cecelia and Etta backed away from the melee. Smith pushed a man toward Crawford, causing both men to yell as the impetus of the push caused that shoved man to fall backwards over the crawling man to the floor.

Jim then saw that Thomas Crawford was trying to reach the weapon that had slid under a vat, but he was too involved with the pair he was battling to do anything about it just now. Using his right arm for a couple more blows had exacerbated the injury so that his wrist was throbbing, thus he was trying to do more with his left, which was handicapping him slightly. Nonetheless he was holding his own against the pair, and in his peripheral vision he saw that his partner was handling his foe as well. Jim was further aided when Smith waded in to take on one of the agent's sparring partners.

In fact, with one smooth left-right combination to the midriff and jaw, Artemus downed his foe. Artie then strode quickly toward where Crawford was sprawled on the floor, grabbing the back of his coat and one arm to pull him to his feet and shove him aside. Artie quickly grabbed a nearby iron rod—perhaps used to stir the vats—and used it to scoot the wayward weapon out from under the vat.

He had just picked up the gun and was straightening to point the weapon at the combatants when a loud report echoed throughout the room. A woman screamed. Artie immediately realized it was Etta, who broke away from Cecelia to speed across the floor while at the same time all the men ceased their battling to stare towards the source of the gunshot.

Artie spun, and was horrified to see Alex on his knees, clutching his bleeding arm. Etta immediately knelt beside him, sobbing even as she tried to help him stop the effusion of gore by grabbing his arm as well. Above them, a triumphant Thelma again held the pistol—once more in two hands—pointing it toward West, Gordon, and Smith. Crawford and his henchmen scrambled to pick up guns, except for the one man who was still unconscious due to Artie's solid right fist.

"Move back, gentleman. Go in through that door. It's time for us to be warming this place up with a lovely fire."

"I don't think so," Lily Fortune stated, coming out from behind the popular hiding place of the pickle vat. She held her own pistol comfortably in her right hand. Like Artie, she had removed some of her disguise, in particular the blonde wig and the fox fur stole, but still was attired in the most revealing gown.

Thelma spun around. "Well, I guess this isn't much of a surprise. Whatever your name is, you can't shoot all of us."

Lily smiled. "No. But they might." She waved her left hand lightly toward the shadows behind her.

Lieutenant Lloyd Morris and a half dozen uniformed officers, all bearing weapons, emerged into view. "Drop your guns, folks."

"We can shoot it out!" the man who had protested the killing of the prisoners cried.

"You could try," Morris rejoined calmly. "Consider this, however. At this time, none of you are wanted for a hanging offense. Anyone who survives a shootout, however, would not escape the gallows."

"Oh damn it!" Thomas moaned, letting his gun fall from his hand. As it clattered onto the floor, the others followed suit, Thelma being the final one to dispose of her weapon.

Jim, Artie, and Ethan once again collected their own pistols. Artie crossed to his fiancé and kissed her cheek. "Nothing like the cavalry coming to the rescue. Where's Jonas Cornelius?"

"In the company of a pair of officers," Lily smiled. "Lloyd and his cavalry arrived on cue."

"We also found the plates and the bonds that were already printed up," Lloyd told them as his men proceed to cuff the prisoners. "Mr. Cornelius is singing like a bird."

"That's not very ladylike," Jim commented as he heard Thelma cursing under her breath while an officer placed manacles on her wrists. Her brother simply stood with his head down in a most disconsolate manner. The four henchmen were also quiet and dejected, the one having roused but was still sitting on the floor, holding his jaw in his hands. Their dreams of acquiring a fortune had disappeared in an instant.

"All right," Morris said as the last of the counterfeiting gang was handcuffed. "Let's get this lovely group to the Black Maria."

"If you don't mind, Lloyd," Artie spoke up, "We'll take these ladies back to the hotel. I'm sure Miss Edgerton and her maid would like to freshen up and rest, and I know Lily wants to change clothes… although I find her garb quite attractive." He grinned devilishly.

Lily wrinkled her nose at him. "You would!"

"Go ahead," Morris smiled. "I doubt you need to come back to the station until tomorrow. It will take us that long to get these boys—and the lady—signed in. We will take good care of them, and their equipment."

Lily went to Etta, who was sitting next to Alex, having produced some cloth—from her petticoats Lily suspected—to wrap around Alex's arm. Her mistress. Cecelia, was back in the bodyguard's strong arms. "Etta, are you all right?" Lily asked.

The maid's smile was weak. "I'm still shaky, but I'll be fine now, Miss Fortune. I think Alex's wound is worse than it looks."

"It's really just a scratch," Alex proclaimed. "Just needs a little bandage."

"I'm so grateful you all came to save us," Etta proclaimed.

"Me too," Cecelia cried, huddling closer to Smith. "It was a terrifying experience. Thank you so much for coming. Mr. Crawford said that Mr. Gordon and Mr. West left San Francisco!"

"We did," Jim smiled. "But as Artemus mentioned, we were able to have the train stop outside of the city, where our own train was waiting to bring us right back. Fortunately, the final people to walk in here with weapons were the right ones." He winked at Lily.

"Well, when I realized that Thelma had left the office—after coming into whisper something to Cornelius—something that made him very nervous—I knew I had to follow her. Thankfully, Lloyd arrived just as I was trying to figure out what to do with Mr. Cornelius."

"Everyone right on cue, just like a stage play," Artie nodded. "If the situation wasn't so dire, I would compare it to a comic presentation." He looked at Thomas Crawford, who scowled back at him; to him the circumstances were nowhere near humorous.

Epilog

I symvoulí mou pros esás eínai na pantrefteí : an vreíte mia kalí sýzygos tha eíste efcharistiménoi ? an óchi, tha gíneis filósofos

[My advice to you is get married: if you find a good wife you'll be happy; if not, you'll become a philosopher.]

—Socrates (470-399 BC), Greek philosopher

Lloyd Morris sent an officer to bring back a pair of cabs for the party to return to the hotel. Smith had some quiet words with Jim, who then ushered Artie, Lily, Alex, and Etta into one coach while the bodyguard and the heiress mounted into the other. When Lily raised her brows in a query, Jim smiled.

"Ethan said he and Cecelia had something to discuss in private."

Etta clasped her hands at her bosom. "I do hope she doesn't continue to be so foolish. I know her Papa wants her to marry Mr. Gordon, but she adores Mr. Smith."

"Not to mention I have no intention of wedding her," Artie stated firmly.

Lily patted his arm. "I should hope not."

Artemus had directed the driver to stop by the nearest hospital, where Alex and Etta left the coach in order to get his arm attended to. Etta said she would see Alex to his home afterwards.

At the hotel, a telegram was awaiting Miss Edgerton. She read it quickly, evincing some dismay that shortly overcame the exuberant joy she had been displaying since emerging from the cab with the beaming Ethan Smith. An expression of determination quickly replaced the consternation.

"Papa wants to know if the betrothal has been secured." She cast a sly smile toward the man beside her. "I will respond with an affirmative. First, I really must have a bath and a good meal.

I know that Alex's family will take care of Etta. She was so brave throughout. I could not have survived without her."

The hotel staff was soon very busy preparing hot baths for the young woman. Lily went to her room to change her garb, as did Artemus to his. Jim walked down the street to the telegraph office to inform his superiors that the counterfeiting ring was in custody, along with the plates. When the women returned, the entire group retired to the dining room.

The following morning they traveled to the police station, after a detour to pick up Etta and Alex at his family's home, to give their statements about the kidnapping and knowledge of the counterfeiting. The federal agents would, of course, report their findings officially to Washington, but the abduction of the two women was a San Francisco crime.

Ethan had accompanied Cecelia to the telegraph office after dinner so that she could inform her father of her engagement and plans. Because of the time differential, he obviously did not get the message until this morning, whereupon he fired back a terse demand that she not do anything until he arrived. He was boarding a train today.

Cecelia shook her head as she read this missive upon their return to the hotel. "I suppose we can wait until Papa arrives to have the ceremony," she sighed. "Is that all right, Ethan?"

Smith's smile was strained, but he nodded. "I want to get off on the right foot with your father, sweetheart. If that's possible at this point."

They were all in Lily's suite enjoying coffee and sweets after the midday meal they had partaken of after they had returned from the police station. Lily had risen to pick up the coffee carafe and refill cups. "You could use the time to find yourself a place to live." The couple had already announced they were going to stay in California, possibly in San Francisco if Ethan was able to find work.

Jim already had ideas about that and had spoken to Lloyd Morris. Smith's participation in his regiment's provost guard during the war meant he had law enforcement experience, which he had mentioned to Morris. Lloyd already had a good impression of Ethan Smith, thought that the young man would fit in his department, and would move up the ranks quickly.

"As well," Cecelia smiled toward her former employee who was sitting demurely alongside her now betrothed, Alex Foster, "we can help plan Etta's wedding." Alex already owned a small cottage inherited from his grandfather. Although he expected to continue his employment at the hotel for now, his future plans included opening a restaurant with his family, all members of which had been saving money toward that end.

Artie lifted his coffee cup. "A toast to two wonderful couples, along with my heartfelt wish for success and happiness." He looked at Jim. "Two more entries into our resume for the matrimonial bureau!"

"Artie…!" Jim began, but was interrupted when the others wanted to know what he was talking about.

Artemus was happy to explain how so many couples came together in the course of the career of the two agents. "We seem to be a magnet for romance," he said, then looked hard at his partner. "Except in one case."

Jim sighed. "Artie, how many times do I have to tell you that we had nothing to do with these couples coming together? In most cases, it would have happened whether we were there or not."

Artie waggled a finger at him. "We don't know that. We do know, however, that it happened when we were present."

Cecelia giggled. "After all, Jim, if I had not followed Artemus across country, Papa would not have hired Ethan to watch over me. Etta and Alex might never have met."

"Don't encourage him!" Lily cried. "You have no idea how many times I've had to listen to the list of couples Artemus believes happened only because he was there."

"And Jim, don't forget about New Orleans." Artie beamed. "Lily, my dearest, you should be the last one to belittle our accomplishments. After all, we were on a case in New Orleans when I encountered you and our romance was rekindled."

The actress opened her mouth, closed it, and looked across at Jim, who merely shook his head and sighed dramatically. She sighed herself and put the carafe back on its warmer. "Very well. I suppose my only solace is that this so called matrimonial agency is not going to occur until the two of you retire from the Secret Service. Perhaps during that time, I can dissuade you from this foolish endeavor."

Artie's grin widened. "Or else we will rope you in to join us in the agency. A woman's touch is always welcome."

Etta spoke up for the first time. "Perhaps, Miss Cecelia, it is time we express our deep gratitude to Mr. Gordon for refusing your father's initial offer."

"I should too," Ethan Smith quickly chimed in. "Mr. Gordon, thank you for holding out for more money." He gazed toward Artemus soberly.

Artie blinked. "Oh! That wasn't the reason! I didn't want…"

Smith laughed aloud then. "I am teasing you, Artemus."

"All right," Artie said then. "Laugh. But I am sure I will have the last laugh when I become quite wealthy with my matrimonial agency."

"Artie," Jim cocked his head, "has it ever occurred to you that when you retire you will not have the opportunities that have arisen these last few years, when it happened that certain couples met and married?"

"What?"

"Presumably you'll be sitting in an office," Lily took up the theme. "How will you meet the men and women that you want to match up?"

Artie looked at his partner and fiancée, noting that the two couples were also gazing at him with great interest. "Well… I suppose I could interview people singly. Yes. That's it. I will interview them, learn about them, their likes and dislikes, and then match men and women who are similar."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Alex commented. "What about people who are not alike but who fall in love anyway? You haven't met my parents. You've never met two people who were so different in personality and the things they like and don't like. Isn't that true, Etta?"

"Oh, very true. They are so different from each other I did not immediately realize they were married to each other. But they are so in love after all these years."

Although realizing they were still twitting him, Artie determined they were not going to get the best of him. "I am sure I can figure out a formula for that. I have time, after all. I don't plan to retire for a number of years yet."

"A formula for love?" Lily challenged.

"I am a scientist, after all," Artie sniffed. He got to his feet. "But enough of this. I propose another toast. Simply, to love." He raised his cup, gazing adoringly at the lovely actress who wore his ring.

"I don't think we can argue with that," Jim smiled, lifting his coffee cup. "To love."

"And to marriage, James?" Lily inquired, one brow lifting.

Jim eyed her. "To love, Lily."

Laughter filled the room.

~END~