Post by California gal on Feb 16, 2009 20:36:39 GMT -8
Originally posted June 2008
He swam upwards, toward the light, conscious of the soft darkness around him. Wait a minute, Artemus, old boy. You’re swimming without your arms! They don’t want to move… and you’re breathing... are you a fish now? But you must get to that light…
He opened his eyes, blinked a few times against the brightness. He became aware of the tethers on his wrists when he attempted to lift a hand in order to rub his eyes. Looking down to see the iron manacles, he heard the voice, oh, so hellishly familiar.
“Why, Mr. Gordon, so glad to see you’ve decided to rejoin us.”
Artemus Gordon forced his vision to concentrate on the small, oddly striped form standing a half dozen feet away. Sunlight streamed through windows that were set high in the surrounding walls, motes of dust glittering in the beams. Then his vision focused on the vertical bars that separated him from Dr. Miguelito Loveless. Bars that formed three sides of a cage, about six feet square, with the horizontal frame bars secured into a stone wall behind him, as were the ends of the chains that fastened to the manacles on his wrists. He was seated on a narrow wooden board connected as well to the wall by strong stanchions.
“What’s going on, doctor?” Artie asked in a low, somewhat hoarse voice. His throat was very dry.
“Going on? That must be apparent. You are my prisoner.”
Gordon’s eyes scanned the surroundings outside the cage. He saw a high-ceilinged room, maybe a hundred feet long and half as many wide. Except for the stone wall behind him, Artemus might have believed it was a warehouse, or a portion of one; the stone wall might have been added for this purpose, to secure the cage and chains. Very little furniture adorned the room: a long table covered with glassware, bottles of liquid, a microscope and burner indicating it was a laboratory of some sort was situated near the far wall, closest to a large door.
Most importantly, Jim’s not here. Either Loveless has not captured Jim, or he’s being held elsewhere. He forced himself not to consider one other option to explain Jim West’s absence.
“I think I’ve figured that out.” Artie looked up at the ceiling above him, saw how the iron bars were embedded there, as well as the hard wood floor. He also saw the wires. “I take it the cage is electrified.”
Loveless beamed, blue eyes glittering. “You are an extremely bright man. Yes, indeed, the bars are highly charged. Contact could be fatal. Thoughtfully, as is my wont, I arranged to have you fettered to the wall when you first awakened. I did not want you to stumble into the bars. That would ruin everything.”
“Thanks for the warning and the solicitude,” Artemus replied sarcastically. “But the real question is…”
“Why are you here?” Loveless’s smile widened. “I think that too is obvious.”
“As bait for Jim,” the imprisoned agent responded angrily. “It won’t work.”
“That remains to be seen. I tend to disagree with you. The brotherly affection that exists between you and Mr. West will require him to at least attempt to locate you and essay a rescue. But more importantly, I have another reason for taking you prisoner first. I hope you will accept this as a compliment, Mr. Gordon. I have rather belatedly come to realize that virtually every time I have had—if you will—James West in my clutches, you have been the fly in the ointment.”
“I see. In other words, I interfered with your plans to murder or disable Jim.”
“Exactly right. So this time, you see, with you already my prisoner, you will not have that opportunity. With you as my hostage, West will have to surrender.”
“He won’t do that,” Artemus spat, and the grin on the dwarf’s face showed that he had revealed his own fear that James West would indeed yield in order to save his partner’s life.
“I will give Mr. West my word that once he is… well, no longer among the living… I will set you free. He knows that I am as much a man of honor as he is.”
Artemus Gordon got to his feet and took two steps toward the bars and the man on the other side, the limits that the chains allowed. “You cannot let me go free.”
Loveless’s smile turned beatific. “I did not say when you would be set free, Mr. Gordon. Or where. I think that Mr. West will accept the fact that you will be alive. Best of all, you will not be in a position to don one of your ridiculous masquerades!”
Now Artemus smiled slightly. “Ridiculous? They fooled you, didn’t they?”
The doctor scowled. “Of course not! I knew it was you instantly in every case!”
“That’s why you allowed me to go out into the street to face Jim as Lightin’ McCoy, and why you stood by when I portrayed the French doctor.”
The scowl turned into a glower, Loveless’s complexion darkening. “I don’t want to discuss it further. I recognized you every time. And now…” he pulled a gold watch from a vest pocket. “Now I have other mechanisms to put in motion. Vivian will bring you some refreshments in short order.”
“Vivian!” A new surge of anger coursed through Gordon’s veins. He had fallen into the trap so completely, so idiotically, with no hint of suspicion on his part.
“Yes, lovely Vivian. She carried out her assignment impressively well, didn’t she?” With a wave, the little man toddled toward the larger door on the opposite wall. It closed firmly behind him.
Artemus Gordon sank back onto the cot and quickly began to take stock of his situation. His coat and vest had been taken away, thus removing access to his picklock and the explosive wires that were secreted in those articles of attire. Maybe I should do like Jim and begin to hide some items in my boots.
He heaved a sigh. Jim. He’s going to come, Artemus. You know damn well he will. And everything Loveless said is true. If Loveless gives his word to not harm me, Jim will surrender himself. I’ve got to get out of here before it comes to that point!
The frown on James West’s face grew deeper as he stood in the hotel room, arms akimbo, and stared around. Where is it, Artie? You had to have left me something. Where is it? Where are you?
A deep sigh emanated from his chest, and he shook his head slightly. The knot of dread in his stomach was growing tighter and tighter. Twenty-four hours ago he had arrived in Denver to meet his partner, only to learn that Artemus Gordon had not returned to his hotel room after having been seen departing the lobby in the company of an attractive woman some forty-eight hours earlier.
The desk clerk’s complexion had grown rosy as he explained why he had not been concerned when the guest had not returned. “After all, Mr. Gordon is a man of the world, and…” He had shrugged his shoulders.
Jim had had to bite back his anger, aware that keeping track of the affairs of the guests was not necessarily the clerk’s duty. The two agents had used this hotel previously, so the man knew them by name. He had seen them wine and dine lovely ladies in the hotel dining room on other occasions. If in this instance Mr. Gordon had chosen to go to the lady’s residence…
At least the clerk had gotten a good look at the woman. Petite, small-waisted, with curly hair the color of a ripe carrot. Well-dressed, such that he was sure she was a member of finer society. He thought that Mr. Gordon had met her in the dining room, but he could not swear to that. He had not seen the woman prior to noticing her on Mr. Gordon’s arm as they headed for the front door of the lobby. Because the hour had been early afternoon, he had rather assumed that Gordon had been taking his midday meal.
Problem was, none of the restaurant staff could remember seeing either one in the dining room at that time on Monday, the day he was seen leaving the hotel. They, too, knew Artemus Gordon, and every waiter who had been on duty at the time stated he had seen Mr. Gordon have breakfast that day, as well as dinner Sunday evening. One stated he had been puzzled and surprised when Mr. Gordon did not appear for supper Monday night, because he had been informed during breakfast that the special that evening was going to be Beef Stroganoff, a forte of the chef and a dish all were aware Mr. Gordon favored.
However, not one of them remembered waiting on Gordon, or a redheaded woman, at lunch that day.
Jim could not believe that if Artemus had merely gone off on a romantic assignation he would not have left some kind of message, either at the desk or here in his room. Worse, none of Artie’s clothes, beyond what he would have been wearing, were missing. Surely, if he expected to be gone a couple of days, he would have taken his shaving gear, a clean shirt…
As much as he would like to believe that his partner had made a romantic conquest and was now snuggled in a cozy nest with some beauty, Jim West sensed otherwise. He knew Artemus Gordon much too well. This was not like him. Especially because Artie was virtually betrothed to the beautiful actress, Lily Fortune, he would not do such a thing. His sense of honor would not allow it.
So where was he? Who was the woman with the carrot-shaded hair? Jim had talked to the police and contacted hospitals and, with dread, the morgue. No one fitting Gordon’s description was in any of those institutions, nor was a woman with the rather easily recognizable hair. Who was she? Why had Artie gone off with her?
One question after another, and Jim West had no answers. He had asked the city police to contact their local sources to find out if either the man or the woman had been seen in the city; thus far, the answers from those sources had been negative. Almost as though they had vanished into a puff of smoke.
The light tap on the door swung Jim around and he opened it swiftly, hopefully. The hotel manager, Mr. Grace, was there, a scruffy young boy at his side. “Mr. West, this is Harold Durbin. He often shines shoes for hotel patrons, and maintains a stand outside, on the sidewalk. Harold, tell Mr. West what you saw.”
The boy’s eyes grew big. “Are you really James West?”
“I am. Did you see Mr. Gordon?”
Harold swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, Mr. West. That day… Monday, I reckon it was, I shined two pairs of boots for Mr. Wallace. He let me take them out to my stand so I could wait on other customers while I was doin’ the boots. Anyhow, I seen Mr. Gordon come out of the hotel. I shined his boots the day before, and he tipped me real good. So I sez hello to him when he strolls by with the dish… the lady. Mr. Gordon, he smiles and says hello back, and they go on down the street to Mrs. Tilly’s Tea Room.”
“Did you see them come out?”
“No. That was funny, on account of I was kinda watchin’ for them, on account of I like Mr. Gordon and I wanted to say howdy to him again. But I worked out there for nigh onto two hours, and they didn’t come out. Then I had to take Mr. Wallace’s boots back to him, and then I went home, ‘cause my Ma, she needed me to look after the young’uns while she delivered laundry. Is Mr. Gordon hurt?”
“That I don't know, Harold,” Jim said quietly, digging into his jacket pocket and producing a gold piece, which he pressed into the boy’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. West!” The youngster glanced up at the manager, and upon receiving a nod, dashed toward the stairs.
“I do hope that is of some assistance, Mr. West.”
“It may be. Do you know anything about this tea room?”
“I know it’s been quite popular since it opened a few weeks ago. Mrs. Tilly’s husband prepares excellent pastries to be served with the tea, along with tasty soup for the midday meal. I myself have patronized the place a time or two. I’m sure that Mrs. Tilly will be anxious to help you. I am so concerned about Mr. Gordon.”
“That makes two of us,” Jim murmured, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door closed. “Are you sure you don’t recognize the description of the woman he was seen with?” he asked as they started down the carpeted hallway toward the stairs.
“I really cannot, and I’m sorry. I do not believe she was a guest here. Not recently in any case. Her appearance sounds rather striking, and unforgettable.”
“My thoughts exactly.” In the lobby Jim parted company with the manager and exited through the front door, pausing for a moment to get his bearings, and spied the ornate sign on a building half a block down: “Mrs. Tilly’s Tea Room.” Opened just a few weeks ago, according to the hotel manager, and definitely since the last time the agents had stayed in this hotel several months back.
Artemus Gordon and James West had been in Cheyenne testifying at a trial, and upon completion of that, planned to come to Denver for a few days of relaxation before heading to their next assignment in Nevada. However, the defense attorney for one of the men had asked Jim West to remain over a couple of days to prepare a deposition regarding his client, a young man who appeared to have gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. The youth had been of some help to Jim, in particular, during and after the gang’s capture, so the lawyer wanted details of that assistance to present to the sentencing judge. Jim had been more than willing. He too had seen something in the lad, and regretted that the youth was being lumped in with the more hardened criminals.
Rather than ask Artemus to hang around, Jim had suggested that his partner take the train on down to Denver to set up some much needed maintenance at the Denver rail yards, allowing the crew to take some time off as well. He himself would ride the relatively short distance on horseback from Cheyenne, meet Artie, whereupon they could take in a couple of shows, look up some ladies, and take a break from the stress of their usual life.
Some break!
Jim almost physically shook his head as he approached the front door of the shop. Trouble seemed to find them, regardless of where they traveled, no matter what their purpose. Glancing in the front window, Jim saw a shelf on the windowsill full of figurines and vases of flowers. Beyond he could see white-covered tables.
Upon entering, his senses were immediate treated to the aroma of freshly-baked cakes and cookies. The décor was decidedly feminine, but not so much that a man would feel overly uncomfortable. Several men, in the company of women, now occupied the tables. Jim pulled off his hat and approached the white-haired woman at the counter near the cash register.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she beamed at him. “Would you like a table?”
“Thank you, no. I’m wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for someone.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Well, yes, of course, if I can. Who is it?”
“A man named Artemus Gordon. The name may not mean anything to you, but I believe he came in here on Monday, early afternoon, with a young lady. Mr. Gordon is in his late thirties, with brown hair and brown eyes. A well dressed man. The lady he was with had hair that has been described as carrot-orange in color.”
“Oh, yes, of course! The lovebirds!”
“Lovebirds!” Jim was startled. Lovebirds! What in the world?
“They were so obviously in love,” she sighed. “Never took their eyes from each other, holding hands across the table. I was so sorry to see something disturb them so seriously. The young lady was trembling in fear.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had just served them a pot of tea and some angel cookies… that’s what we call the ones with the pink frosting… when suddenly the lady looked out the window and cried, ‘Artemus, there he is!’ I’m sure that’s the name she called him. Artemus. I remember the name because it’s unusual.”
“Then what? Did you see who was out there?”
“Not at that moment. Your friend got to his feet, put some money on the table—entirely too much, you know—and asked me if there was a back door they could use. Of course I allowed them to go through the kitchen.”
Jim raked his fingers through his hair. “Did you see them again? Either of them?”
“No. I was busy with other customers, so I did not follow them. I did take a peek out the front window though.”
“See anyone?”
“Not a soul. Oh, except for that funny little peddler man.”
Ice washed over Jim West’s soul. “Little peddler man?”
“Yes. He’s been around here often. He sells little figurines. Like those in my window. Charming, aren’t they? He can be so persistent. I really have bought too many of them.”
“Man so high?” Jim held his hand about four feet off the floor. “Blue eyes?”
“Why yes! Do you know him?”
“I’m afraid I do. May I talk to your cook?”
“Certainly. Go on back. I need to help another customer.” She pointed toward a curtained doorway.
Jim strode toward that doorway and pushed through, finding himself in a small kitchen where a middle-aged man and a young woman were busy. Jim introduced himself and related his purpose. The pair said they were Mr. Tilly and daughter Edna. Both vividly remembered the incident on Monday afternoon because they had been startled by the sudden entrance of the pair.
“The poor lady was sobbing awfully,” Edna sighed. “Mama told us afterwards that she seemed to be terrified about something.”
The man and woman had barely acknowledged their presence and dashed out the back door. Mr. Tilly went to the door and saw them hurrying, hand-in-hand, in the direction of the hotel. He assumed that they intended to gain entry to the hotel through the rear door that led to the stables. Tilly led Jim outside and pointed out the route the two had taken. He was certain they had not turned off in any of the alleys that would lead them to the street, nor headed further to the rear, which would have taken them beyond the stable to some storage buildings and a couple of shacks.
Jim thanked them and followed the indicated path. He paused at the shacks, rapping on the doors, but no one responded. Neither looked occupied. Tilly had said that sometimes hotel employees, such as stable workers, lived in them, but he was unsure about their status right now.
Loveless! Loveless is here in Denver!
Those words reverberated in Jim’s brain as he entered through the rear door of the hotel. The little doctor had a way of vanishing and reappearing, especially when they thought he might well have died. Jim had no doubt that the “little peddler man” Mrs. Tilly described was Miguelito Loveless. Chances were very good that Loveless had a hand in the disappearance of Artemus Gordon. The why was fairly easy: to lure Artemus’s partner into a trap.
Mrs. Tilly must have been wrong when she described Artie and the woman as lovebirds. Perhaps Artie was comforting his companion because of whatever distress she was in. If she is involved with Loveless in any manner, her distress could be acute. Had Loveless grabbed both of them? But I’ve been in Denver for over twenty-four hours. Why haven’t I been contacted, or…
He paused in the hotel kitchen to speak to the staff there. All assured him that no hotel guest, or anyone else, had come through their working space on Monday, nor on any other day. The chef knew Mr. Gordon, who often took the time to compliment him on his preparations, discussing the particular dish and variations.
Why would Loveless allow Mrs. Tilly to give me such an overt warning… if she’s in on the game?
Wearily, Jim West climbed the stairs and once more entered the room Artemus Gordon had occupied. He had already gone through the closet and bureau drawers. But maybe he missed something. Surely Artie was aware that Loveless was in the vicinity. Especially if this redheaded woman described the little man, he would have left a message for his partner before venturing out.
Unless, of course, this woman led him into a trap without warning. If she was being pursued by Loveless, and had informed Artemus, he would have left a note for me. But if she was leading Artie down another path…
Jim sat down on the bed and rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw. He had shaved very hastily and not very thoroughly this morning. Had this woman put on an act for Artemus Gordon? What kind of act? If she had told him straight-off that Miguelito Loveless was in the vicinity, Artie would have been on his guard.
Was Mrs. Tilly being truthful about what happened in her restaurant? If only it was possible to learn who else had been present—other than the husband and daughter—at the time. Might be worthwhile going back and asking.
I’m clutching at straws now. I don’t know which way to turn. Where the hell are you, Artie?
Artemus Gordon sat quietly on the bench and watched as the woman opened a small enclosure on the wall to the left of his cage. She had just brought him a meal, a bowl of fairly tasty stew in a wooden bowl, with a wooden spoon, two slices of buttered bread, and a cup of coffee, the same meal that had been served to him approximately every six hours since his capture. The guard with the rifle who stood by when Vivian opened the cage door changed from one man to another with each visit, but one always remained on sentry while the prisoner ate. Vivian would leave, returning later for the utensils. Loveless had had the chains removed, but warned that if Mr. Gordon misbehaved, they would be returned promptly. The electrified bars were an excellent deterrent.
The woman who served him now was a far cry from the charming woman who had approached him in the hallway outside his room as he was preparing to leave the hotel in search of a midday meal. He planned to have supper at the hotel later, having been informed that his favorite dish was to be served this evening, but he was in the mood for something different for lunch. A restaurant he knew of often served trout fresh from the nearby mountain streams.
“Please forgive my boldness,” she had said with a rather shy and very sweet smile, “but when I heard your name mentioned by one of the staff, I knew I just had to meet you, Mr. Gordon. My name is Vivian Ambrose. You once helped a very dear friend of mine, Laurie Morgan. Do you recall?”
Certainly Artemus remembered the delightful, if somewhat naïve, young woman whom they had encountered living at the hideout of one John Avery, a corrupt politician they had been assigned to capture and bring back to Washington. Vivian stated that she had met and worked with Miss Morgan in San Francisco, and assured Artemus that Laurie was doing quite well. In fact, she was to be married in a few months to a fine man who owned a theater there.
Artie knew now that he had been caught completely off guard, with absolutely no suspicion that the pretty young woman with big brown eyes and startlingly red hair was anything other that what she said she was. He invited her to join him in the quest for the trout, but she sadly told him that she would not have time. Her train taking her back to the west coast would be leaving within the hour. However, if he did not mind, they could get a bowl of soup at the little tearoom just down the street. She did so want to talk to him about his theater career, claiming that she met several people in the acting profession who either knew him or his reputation from back in the days when he trod the boards.
Vanity, thy name is Artemus. Easy to look back now and see how easily she had snared him by appealing to the pride he owned regarding his theatrical career. He did not even become suspicious when they reached the tearoom and, upon finding it not yet open for business, Vivian insisted on rapping on the door until the owner, a handsome white-haired woman opened it. Nor were any qualms aroused when Vivian prevailed upon Mrs. Tilly to admit them early, “just for some tea until opening time,” because they had so much to talk about and her train was due to depart soon. He had even admired the way Vivian hinted, though never said outright, that they were sweethearts soon to be parted, playing on Mrs. Tilly’s sympathies.
Nothing seemed amiss until he took the first swallow of the very aromatic tea. He recognized the acrid taste instantly, it having been disguised by the odor of the strong herbal brew, but by then it was too late. The powerful drug began its insidious work, and he was helpless as two large men emerged from the rear to hoist him by shoulders and legs. That was really about all he remembered until awakening in the cage to find Dr. Loveless outside the bars. He had no idea where this building was located.
Artemus leaned down to pick up the bowl of stew from the floor where Vivian had placed it. As tasty as the concoction was, he was growing more than a little tired of it. He wondered if Loveless devised this diet in an attempt to confuse him about the passage of time, although the sunlight through the windows, or lack thereof, was a good indication of day and night. He knew he had been here at least two days.
After each meal, when Vivian returned to pick up the bowls, the prisoner was allowed to use a small closet at the side of the room opposite from the power switch. A second guard came back with Vivian, and the two men kept their weapons trained on him all the while until the cage door closed behind him again, and the electrification of the bars reactivated. Thus far, Artie had not seen one single opportunity to attempt a break.
I’ve got to get out of here. Although I am not certain of the time elements, I’m pretty sure Jim has either arrived from Cheyenne by now, or soon will. I can’t let Jim give himself up in an attempt to save my skin.
Jim West would be fully aware of Loveless’s craftiness, that while the little doctor had a sense of honor, it was also often warped. Yet he would surrender himself to Loveless if he thought it would afford his partner any chance to escape.
The wooden bowl and spoon were pretty useless as weapons. Perhaps if he could hang onto the spoon long enough to sharpen it… but that was not possible. Everything was taken from him as soon as he finished eating, including the heavy porcelain cup that held the coffee. When he occasionally asked for some water, it was brought to him in a tin cup and then immediately removed from his hands. Vivian and the guards were under strict instructions, and they carried those orders out efficiently.
The first time Vivian had served him, Artemus had engaged her in conversation, trying to find out why she had aligned herself with a man like Loveless. That was the first time that Artie became aware that one of the guards, a powerfully built young man, had an interest in the redhead. His eyes had never left her. He also seemed ready to protect her if the need arose, even from the caged man if necessary. Artie had since learned that the man’s name was Barton.
Vivian had cast a couple of glances toward the guard, but at that time Artie was unsure if she was returning Barton’s interest or was simply nervous that her conversation was being witnessed. She had stated that Dr. Loveless promised to take her away from her existence as a saloon girl, to help her become established in society, have a fine home and clothing.
“Are you aware that Loveless intends to murder an agent of the United States government?” Artie had asked sternly. “Indeed, even participating in a kidnap of another agent is a federal offense!”
That was the first time he had witnessed a flicker of doubt in her big brown eyes. He wondered if the little doctor had not been completely honest when enlisting her cooperation. Or was she simply having second thoughts? What about Barton? Artie had noticed a deep frown on the young man’s face then and later.
As Vivian departed with the utensils, Barton lingered a moment, then started to follow her. Artemus spoke his name. At first he thought Barton was going to ignore the call, but then he paused and looked back.
“What do you want?”
“How about a cup of water? The stew seemed a little salty today.”
Barton hesitated, glanced toward the door that had closed behind Vivian, then appeared to mentally shrug. Holding his rifle in one hand, he went to the bucket on the stand in the far corner, filled the metal cup, and brought it over to carefully extend through the bars.
Artie accepted it with a nod of gratitude, then drank about half of it. He did not hand it back immediately, knowing that Barton would wait for it. “Vivian is quite a lovely lady. Certainly entranced me long enough to lead me into the trap. Too bad she’s mixed up in this, though.”
The scowl returned to Barton’s face. “She knows what she’s doing.”
“Does she? Do you? Miguelito Loveless is a dangerous man. His ultimate ambition is to destroy the world and everyone in it… save himself.”
“That’s crazy.”
Artie laughed softly. “You said the magic word. How long have you been with Loveless?”
The guard shrugged. “A few weeks.”
The imprisoned agent gazed at him. “You don’t strike me as the type of man Loveless usually has on his payroll.”
“What’s that mean?” Plainly Barton was unsure whether to be insulted or complimented.
“A hardened criminal, one who will not hesitate to follow Loveless’s orders to kill, no matter what the situation, nor who the victim is. He’s not very loyal, you know.”
“Who’s not loyal? Loveless? What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve seen him murder men and women he hired to help him in some scheme… just to prove a point.” Artemus was pleased to see a shadow brush through Barton’s eyes with this information. “Loveless lets nothing stand in his way. Not the lives of innocent citizens, nor the lives of his employees. If he thought doing so would further his purpose, he would kill you… or Vivian… in a flash.”
“You’re crazy! He’s going to pay us…!”
Gordon smiled. “Oh, I imagine if his scheme succeeds in the way he has it planned, he will honor his agreement. But you have to understand. He will change his plans in a flash, and do anything, to anybody, in the name of success. I’ve seen it too many times. His aim right now is to capture and kill my partner, Jim West. Jim is a very clever man, and won’t be taken in easily. Loveless knows that, and I’m sure he has backup plans in place. Plans that may call for the sacrifice of his men… and women.” To allow time for his words to sink in, Artie drained the cup, and pushed it back through the bars, asking pleasantly, “Am I going to get my usual trip to the closet?”
“As soon as McAfee shows up,” Barton growled.
At that moment the outer door opened, but instead of the second guard, Loveless entered. He had come into the cavernous room previously since his first visit, but always went to the table and puttered around there, barely glancing at and never speaking to the prisoner. If he had expected his captive to plead for mercy for himself or his partner, Artie had not given Loveless any satisfaction. He had remained silent.
Now Loveless jerked his head toward Barton, who hurriedly left. The small man approached the cage, hands behind his back, a pleasant smile on his countenance. Pleasant, unless one was well acquainted with the little man. The expression caused a chill to creep up Artemus Gordon’s spine.
“Mr. Gordon! I hope you are well and that the accommodations are suitable.”
“I wouldn’t mind a shave and a bath,” Artie retorted. His jaw was coated with several days’ worth of whiskers, and his clothes were in dire need of laundering.
“I am so sorry about that,” Loveless crooned. “But it won’t be for much longer. Your good friend and mine, Mr. James West, is in Denver, frantically running in circles seeking you.”
“I doubt that,” Artie growled.
“Would I lie about such a delightful event? No indeed. Mr. West is being watched closely, and I’m receiving hourly reports on his activities. He is following up the clues I left quite diligently. He is such a superb agent.”
Artemus frowned. How was Loveless receiving such prompt reports? He looked up toward the windows, then back at his captor. “Where are we?”
Loveless chuckled. “Not in Denver, I assure you. You were unconscious for quite some time, Mr. Gordon, while you were being transported. I can also assure you that there’s no chance Mr. West will find you before I want him to do so. I intend to extend his torment over his helplessness at being unable to locate you to the limit. When the time comes, he’ll receive the final clue and find his way here… to my lair.” The blues eyes were glowing with anticipation.
Artemus got to his feet, gazing at Loveless. “Why do you hate Jim West so?”
The question seemed to surprise. “Isn’t that obvious? He has foiled me at every turn!”
Artie shook his head slightly. “No. It’s more than that. I’ve been there right alongside him, and you’ve already admitted that I have been almost a bigger fly in your ointment of world domination. Yet you don’t seem to despise me as strongly. I’m pretty certain you’re not going to simply release me into the world, to allow me to take up the pursuit. I don’t understand why you would give your word to Jim that I will be freed at all.”
Loveless came closer to the cage, now folding his arms across his chest. “You are a brilliant man, Mr. Gordon. I admire that in you. If I thought you could be turned, I would take you into my organization. But I know that, like Mr. West, you are disgustingly moral and righteous. I could never trust you.”
“Why don’t we give it a try?” Artie asked brightly.
Loveless chuckled dryly. “Ah, Mr. Gordon. Always ready to do whatever is necessary to foil me, aren’t you? No, I’m afraid such as association would never work, much as I would enjoy having the benefit of your intellect.”
“But we are getting away from the question at hand, aren’t we?” Artie said. “And that was, why do you despise James West so intensely?”
“And I answered you,” Loveless snapped back. “I will leave you now. I have work to do. Mr. West is waiting for the next clue.” He started to turn away, then paused. “Do not fear, Mr. Gordon, I am not entirely heartless. I know of the friendship you and Mr. West share. I will allow the two of you a few moments to make your final farewells when the time comes.” Whistling a cheerful tune, he almost skipped from the room.
Artemus Gordon sat down again. I’m no alienist, but I think I know human behavior well enough to comprehend why Miguelito Loveless despises James West as deeply as he does. The abhorrence goes behind the fact that Jim has played a major role in blocking Loveless’s despicable plans. In Jim’s handsome features and perfect, athletic body, Loveless sees the man he would be, if fate had not played such a vile trick on him. I have no doubt that had he the choice, Loveless would give up his brilliance for the opportunity to be the man Jim West is.
James West awakened with a start and for a moment was confused as to where he was. He sat up, looking around his hotel room. He had not intended to sleep, only to rest for a few minutes. The weariness caused by a lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours, piled atop the ride from Cheyenne to Denver, had overtaken him.
But something had disturbed him. He knew that. Some sound…
He saw the folded piece of paper on the floor just inside the closed and locked door. Something slipped under the door. Had that been it? Or had someone knocked to make sure he noticed? Jim sat for a long moment and stared at the starkly white square against the darker carpeting. The sense of dread he was experiencing was strong. He knew without looking at it that this was not good news. In fact, he was certain he knew from whom it came.
Jim pulled his pistol from the holster he had placed on the stand beside the bed and went to the door, even while knowing that whoever delivered it would be long gone. Opening the door, he peered both ways down the hall. No one was in sight. Only then did he close and lock the door, before picking up the missive.
Just a plain sheet of paper, folded once. Opening it, Jim West stared at the familiar bold scrawl. Just eight words: What will you trade for Mr. Gordon’s life? No signature. None was needed. No explanations were required. And apparently, no immediate response was expected, for instructions for contacting the writer were not included.
This is just the beginning. He’s going to draw it out as long as he can. More of Loveless’s arrogance. He was always certain he had the perfect plan, the perfect hiding place. Maybe he did this time. Always before, somehow, James West and Artemus Gordon located Miguelito Loveless and foiled his plans. Working together, they had been successful in every aspect except that of stopping Loveless altogether, either by imprisoning him or killing him.
Working together… But they were not together. Artie was Loveless’s prisoner somewhere. The portent of the note was clear. Loveless wanted to bargain. And he had the greatest bargaining chip. The question was, what would he ask for in exchange for Artemus Gordon’s freedom? Jim West was pretty sure he knew the answer to that.
Putting the note in a bureau drawer, Jim splashed cold water on his face and dried it, then donned his jacket and strapped on his gun belt. More often than not, both agents preferred hidden weapons—a sleeve gun, an under-the-coat shoulder holster—while in a city like Denver. In this instance, he wanted a visible and powerful weapon at hand.
Going downstairs, he asked the clerk at the desk if any unknown person had been seen entering the lobby and ascending the stairs within the last hour or so. The answer was negative. Only Harold delivering some newly-shined shoes. Jim thanked him and strolled out the front door, turning toward the shoeshine stand next to the alley that flanked the hotel. The boy was busily shining a gentleman’s shoes. He glanced in Jim West’s direction, but continued his work. Harold had not, however, been able to disguise the startled expression in his eyes.
Jim climbed into the second seat on the stand, picked up a newspaper and quietly feigned reading it as Harold finished with his customer. On the periphery of his vision, he saw the boy cast several looks at him. Jim was pretty certain Harold gave his client an extra-long shine on boots that were already reflecting the afternoon sun. Finally the man put an end to it himself, saying the job was fine, paying, then striding away. Harold immediately busied himself sorting and arranging his polishes and rags.
“How about a shine, Harold?” Jim said pleasantly after a couple of minutes.
“Oh. Oh sure, Mr. West. Only… only…” Jim could almost see the boy’s brain working as he sought an excuse to flee. “I gotta go home. My Ma is expecting me!” Now he got to his feet, grabbing the wooden box that held his supplies.
“Harold.” The quiet, authoritative voice halted the boy in his tracks, but he stood with his back to Jim. “Harold, did you just bring me a note?”
Harold shook his head vehemently. “No sir! No sir! I been here all the time. I didn’t put a note under your door!”
Putting the paper aside, Jim stepped down, grasped the shoeshine boy’s shoulders firmly, turning the lad around to face him. “Who said it was put under my door?”
Realizing his slip, Harold’s face crumpled, tears welling and tumbling down his grimy cheeks. “I need the money, Mr. West. My ma… we got three little ones at home and Pa ain’t been home for nearly a year now!”
Jim glanced around. He saw no one overtly watching them, but that did not mean that no one was. “Harold, so far as I know, you have done nothing against the law. I just want to know who paid you to bring that note to me.”
Harold swallowed hard, wiped his mended shirtsleeve across his eyes. “I dunno his name.”
“What did he look like?”
Jim was not at all astonished that the description came nowhere near fitting Miguelito Loveless. Harold said that the man was “fat,” wore a checkered suit and a derby hat, and had a large black handlebar mustache. He paid Harold a five-dollar gold piece to take the note upstairs on one of his deliveries. He was not, the man emphasized, to make a special trip, but he should keep the note hidden inside his shirt until he put it under the door of room twenty-six.
“That’s all I did,” Harold wailed. “Honest, Mr. West. I didn’t know it was something bad!”
Yes, you did, Jim decided. Otherwise you would not have been so fearful. He kept his voice quiet and soothing. “Is this the same man who paid you to tell me about Mr. Gordon going to Miss Tilly’s?”
If Jim’s hand had not been resting firmly on his shoulder, Harold would have bolted. His thin body went tense, eyes widening even more than before as he realized he had been found out. When he managed to speak, too afraid not to under Jim’s direct gaze, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “He paid me ten bucks, Mr. West! I couldn’t say no! An’… an’… he said if I didn’t do it, he might hurt me… or ma or my sisters!”
“I understand, Harold. Did you truly see Mr. Gordon go to the tearoom?”
“Yes, sir! Yes! He did! I seen him. He was with that lady, Miss Ambrose.”
Jim’s gaze narrowed. “Who is Miss Ambrose? How do you know her?”
“She used to work down to the Red Hat Club, over on East Fourth Street. I’d see her there when I’d go fetch Pa home for supper. He always went there after his job at the feed and grain store.”
So not a woman of higher society as the hotel employee believed. “And you did not see Mr. Gordon come out of the tearoom.”
“Well… no. Not exactly.”
“What did you see?”
“Um, well, um, there was a wagon. Like a peddler’s wagon, ya know? It stopped in front of Miss Tilly’s, an’ some men went in, an’ they carried this big box out and put it in the wagon. I ain’t never seen that before. I mean, I see folks go in and carry out little boxes of cookies and such.”
“Harold, have you ever seen a small man, probably about your height, with gray hair and blue eyes?”
“Oh sure! He was driving that wagon, Mr. West!”
Jim gripped the boy’s shoulders hard with both hands. “Harold, this isn’t something else you were paid to tell me.”
“Oh, no sir! No sir! I just seen it. Nobody said I should say it or not!”
Jim released the lad and dug into his pocket. “Harold, stay home the next couple of days. This should help make up for your lost work.”
Harold took the gold coin, but did not put it into his pocket immediately. “Mr. West, I got clients who ‘spect me to be here.”
“I know, Harold, and I respect your devotion to your business. But you’d be better off at home looking after your mother and sisters.”
The shoeshine boy reluctantly agreed, gathering up his materials and hurrying down the street. Jim watched him go, then looked around the area again, still unable to see whether anyone had been observing the conversation. Too many windows could have been hiding an observer. He found it difficult to believe that Loveless did not have someone watching him at all times.
He walked down the street to the building where the sign designating it as the tea room was still hanging. The front door was locked, and when he peered in the window he saw that all the bric-a-brac that had been on the shelf by the window were gone, as were the snowy cloths from the tables. The room was dark, no one was in sight.
Jim West returned to the hotel where he asked for his horse to be saddled. He then rode to Fourth Street and found the Red Hat Club, a rather sleazy-looking joint that may have seen better days, but Jim doubted it. At this time of day, the tavern was fairly empty, with just a half dozen hardy drinkers at the bar or tables. The odor of stale tobacco and alcohol mixed with perspiration and something Jim could not identify—and did not want to—was pervasive.
Though initially reluctant to talk to him, the bartender became more cooperative once Jim identified himself and his official status. Vivian Ambrose had not exactly worked at the Red Hat, the bartender said. She drew a commission for enticing men to drink, and if she earned anything else on the side, that was her business. He had not seen Vivian in close to a month now. He did have a faint recollection of seeing a man that matched the description of Miguelito Loveless, but could not exactly say when that was. As far as he knew, Vivian lived at the Royal Hotel two blocks down. A number of the women who entertained the clients at the Red Hat lived at the Royal.
Thus warned, the state of the hotel was not unexpected; it was a typical fleabag establishment. The desk in the tattered lobby was unoccupied, but after Jim banged on a bell a number of times, a slump-shouldered, balding man emerged from a door behind the desk, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “We ain’t got no rooms,” he grouched.
“I’m not seeking a room,” Jim replied, his voice pleasant but face and eyes hard. “I’m looking for a woman named Vivian Ambrose.”
The clerk glared at him. “You’ll likely find her at the Red Hat!”
“But she has a room here?”
“She did.” He shrugged.
Jim knew they could go in circles, so once again he displayed his official identification; once more the change in attitude was immediate. The clerk related that Vivian Ambrose kept a room at this establishment until maybe a month ago. Maybe a little longer. She just did not return one day, and after a couple of days, her room was cleared out and rented to someone else.
“You say cleared out. Do you have her possessions?”
“They’re in a box until she comes and pays her back rent.”
When Jim asked to see them, the clerk shrugged again and led him to a small room down a corridor, a room piled with boxes, trunks, and battered suitcases. “You just keep all this stuff forever?”
“Naw. The owner, he comes by ever so often and takes the oldest stuff. I guess he sells it somewhere. That there one, the crate with V.A. on it, that’s Vivian’s. Help yourself.”
Jim did. He could not say he came away disappointed, because he had not really expected to find anything helpful. He was also only slightly surprised that Vivian appeared to have left virtually all her possessions behind. Jim knew that Loveless would have been offended if a woman in his employ was clad in cheap, tawdry togs such as those in the crate. More especially, Vivian could not have worn these clothes to trap Artemus Gordon.
The only item of interest was the folded piece of paper that he found laying on top of the clothing stuffed into the box. A slip of paper identical to the one that had been placed under his hotel room door, with an almost identical message: What will you trade for Mr. Gordon’s life? Your own?
On his way to police headquarters, Jim thought about the various women who had become associated with Loveless over the years. A couple were in prison, others, like Antoinette, simply disappeared. He had always been most curious about Antoinette, the woman who had been devoted to Loveless, and he to her. Sometimes she had seemed to be nearly as mad as he, the perfect companion. Other women who came after Antoinette often appeared to merely be the sort of accomplice Loveless needed at the moment, from the incredibly naïve Priscilla Ames to the hard and knowing ones like Belladonna and Triste.
The police sergeant who spoke to him was very helpful, showing Jim the complete dossier on Vivian Ambrose. In her mid twenties, she had been arrested twice for graft and prostitution. The particular incident that caught Jim’s attention was when Vivian had been arrested for trying to pass herself off as the heiress to a local fortune, where she posed as a well-educated woman with all the social graces one would expect of a woman of the social class of which she was purporting to be a part. She had spent a few months in the city jail for the fraud. So passing herself off as a “lady” might not be a stretch.
When Jim returned to the hotel in late afternoon, he was wondering if he had been right to withhold certain information from the local police. They knew, of course, that he was looking for his missing partner, and the department was extending all the help and cooperation they could. Every officer had a description of Artemus Gordon and the woman with whom he had last been seen. Jim was appreciative of that assistance, all the while aware that the police were not going to find Artie. He was going to find his partner, and quite possibly not until Miguelito Loveless was ready, so not telling them about Loveless was probably not a mistake. That knowledge would not assist the police in any manner.
Leaving his horse in the stable again, Jim entered the hotel and went to the desk to ask for hot water to be sent to his room. He would wash up and shave, get a good meal… and go to bed. The fact that he dozed off earlier today was one indication of just how tired he was. Another was that he was having more and more difficulty sticking to one train of thought. A good night’s sleep would work wonders.
The sight of the white square of paper laying on the bed shook the cobwebs from his brain, momentarily at least. Closing the door behind him, Jim West stood with his back against it for a long moment before crossing the room and picking up the paper. He knew that it was not the same one he had secreted in the bureau drawer. No reason for someone to drag that out and leave it here. This had to be a new one.
And it was. The same scrawl covered the page, a still longer note this time. Well done, Mr. West. I have always known you were a fine detective. But you are no closer now than you were this morning. Do not contact the federal authorities. Lessen your contact with the city police. Mr. Gordon is well and sends his best. Will you trade your life to ensure his?
Jim West sank down on the bed, barely aware that he knocked his hat onto the floor as he raked his fingers through his hair with one hand, the other still holding the note, which his eyes were fixed on. I was right. He’s watching me. But what is he waiting for? Why doesn’t he tell me what he wants me to do?
He shook his head slightly. The ransom was not a mystery. Loveless wanted him to surrender himself, supposedly to gain Artie’s release. Jim knew Miguelito Loveless well enough to be certain that if the diminutive doctor gave his word that Artemus would be released, that would happen. However, Loveless had bizarre notions about honor, and just what giving an oath meant.
He would have done brain surgery on me to alter my personality, my entire being. What’s to say he would not do such a thing to Artemus Gordon before setting him free? I would have to be very explicit about what I was ransoming myself…
“No.” Jim spoke the word aloud as he got to his feet. I can’t allow Loveless to win. Not now. Not after all this time, all the battles we’ve waged and won. Artie would not want his life, his freedom, at the cost of mine.
A tap on the door startled him for a moment, until he remembered ordering the hot water. Still, he opened the door cautiously to admit a man with a steaming pitcher. On a hunch, Jim asked him if the maids had been on this floor this afternoon. Yes, indeed. Was there a problem? Jim then inquired if any new maids had been hired. The answer again was yes.
“If she did something wrong, I can send the manager up,” the fellow stated.
Jim thanked him, said he would talk to the manager later, tipped the man and sent him on his way. Chances were that that new maid was no longer on the premises, nor would she return. Better to ask Mr. Grace to inform him if and when a replacement was hired. Could well be that Loveless was using some needy women just as he had used the shoeshine boy.
He shaved automatically, his gaze on his reflection in the mirror, but not really seeing it. The plans for supper and sleep had flown out the window. He would eat, but he knew he was not going to be able to settle down for a good rest, no matter how badly his body and mind screamed for it. Not yet.
Loveless knows I’ve been in contact with the city police. Obviously he also knows I have not been near a telegraph office. Funny, I had not even really considered calling in help until I got that note. Now I know I need some. And he thought he knew of a pretty good way to send a telegraph message without Loveless or his spies becoming aware. He also knew who to summon.
THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY RANSOM
“Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
(John 15:13)
“Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
(John 15:13)
He swam upwards, toward the light, conscious of the soft darkness around him. Wait a minute, Artemus, old boy. You’re swimming without your arms! They don’t want to move… and you’re breathing... are you a fish now? But you must get to that light…
He opened his eyes, blinked a few times against the brightness. He became aware of the tethers on his wrists when he attempted to lift a hand in order to rub his eyes. Looking down to see the iron manacles, he heard the voice, oh, so hellishly familiar.
“Why, Mr. Gordon, so glad to see you’ve decided to rejoin us.”
Artemus Gordon forced his vision to concentrate on the small, oddly striped form standing a half dozen feet away. Sunlight streamed through windows that were set high in the surrounding walls, motes of dust glittering in the beams. Then his vision focused on the vertical bars that separated him from Dr. Miguelito Loveless. Bars that formed three sides of a cage, about six feet square, with the horizontal frame bars secured into a stone wall behind him, as were the ends of the chains that fastened to the manacles on his wrists. He was seated on a narrow wooden board connected as well to the wall by strong stanchions.
“What’s going on, doctor?” Artie asked in a low, somewhat hoarse voice. His throat was very dry.
“Going on? That must be apparent. You are my prisoner.”
Gordon’s eyes scanned the surroundings outside the cage. He saw a high-ceilinged room, maybe a hundred feet long and half as many wide. Except for the stone wall behind him, Artemus might have believed it was a warehouse, or a portion of one; the stone wall might have been added for this purpose, to secure the cage and chains. Very little furniture adorned the room: a long table covered with glassware, bottles of liquid, a microscope and burner indicating it was a laboratory of some sort was situated near the far wall, closest to a large door.
Most importantly, Jim’s not here. Either Loveless has not captured Jim, or he’s being held elsewhere. He forced himself not to consider one other option to explain Jim West’s absence.
“I think I’ve figured that out.” Artie looked up at the ceiling above him, saw how the iron bars were embedded there, as well as the hard wood floor. He also saw the wires. “I take it the cage is electrified.”
Loveless beamed, blue eyes glittering. “You are an extremely bright man. Yes, indeed, the bars are highly charged. Contact could be fatal. Thoughtfully, as is my wont, I arranged to have you fettered to the wall when you first awakened. I did not want you to stumble into the bars. That would ruin everything.”
“Thanks for the warning and the solicitude,” Artemus replied sarcastically. “But the real question is…”
“Why are you here?” Loveless’s smile widened. “I think that too is obvious.”
“As bait for Jim,” the imprisoned agent responded angrily. “It won’t work.”
“That remains to be seen. I tend to disagree with you. The brotherly affection that exists between you and Mr. West will require him to at least attempt to locate you and essay a rescue. But more importantly, I have another reason for taking you prisoner first. I hope you will accept this as a compliment, Mr. Gordon. I have rather belatedly come to realize that virtually every time I have had—if you will—James West in my clutches, you have been the fly in the ointment.”
“I see. In other words, I interfered with your plans to murder or disable Jim.”
“Exactly right. So this time, you see, with you already my prisoner, you will not have that opportunity. With you as my hostage, West will have to surrender.”
“He won’t do that,” Artemus spat, and the grin on the dwarf’s face showed that he had revealed his own fear that James West would indeed yield in order to save his partner’s life.
“I will give Mr. West my word that once he is… well, no longer among the living… I will set you free. He knows that I am as much a man of honor as he is.”
Artemus Gordon got to his feet and took two steps toward the bars and the man on the other side, the limits that the chains allowed. “You cannot let me go free.”
Loveless’s smile turned beatific. “I did not say when you would be set free, Mr. Gordon. Or where. I think that Mr. West will accept the fact that you will be alive. Best of all, you will not be in a position to don one of your ridiculous masquerades!”
Now Artemus smiled slightly. “Ridiculous? They fooled you, didn’t they?”
The doctor scowled. “Of course not! I knew it was you instantly in every case!”
“That’s why you allowed me to go out into the street to face Jim as Lightin’ McCoy, and why you stood by when I portrayed the French doctor.”
The scowl turned into a glower, Loveless’s complexion darkening. “I don’t want to discuss it further. I recognized you every time. And now…” he pulled a gold watch from a vest pocket. “Now I have other mechanisms to put in motion. Vivian will bring you some refreshments in short order.”
“Vivian!” A new surge of anger coursed through Gordon’s veins. He had fallen into the trap so completely, so idiotically, with no hint of suspicion on his part.
“Yes, lovely Vivian. She carried out her assignment impressively well, didn’t she?” With a wave, the little man toddled toward the larger door on the opposite wall. It closed firmly behind him.
Artemus Gordon sank back onto the cot and quickly began to take stock of his situation. His coat and vest had been taken away, thus removing access to his picklock and the explosive wires that were secreted in those articles of attire. Maybe I should do like Jim and begin to hide some items in my boots.
He heaved a sigh. Jim. He’s going to come, Artemus. You know damn well he will. And everything Loveless said is true. If Loveless gives his word to not harm me, Jim will surrender himself. I’ve got to get out of here before it comes to that point!
W*W*W*W*W
The frown on James West’s face grew deeper as he stood in the hotel room, arms akimbo, and stared around. Where is it, Artie? You had to have left me something. Where is it? Where are you?
A deep sigh emanated from his chest, and he shook his head slightly. The knot of dread in his stomach was growing tighter and tighter. Twenty-four hours ago he had arrived in Denver to meet his partner, only to learn that Artemus Gordon had not returned to his hotel room after having been seen departing the lobby in the company of an attractive woman some forty-eight hours earlier.
The desk clerk’s complexion had grown rosy as he explained why he had not been concerned when the guest had not returned. “After all, Mr. Gordon is a man of the world, and…” He had shrugged his shoulders.
Jim had had to bite back his anger, aware that keeping track of the affairs of the guests was not necessarily the clerk’s duty. The two agents had used this hotel previously, so the man knew them by name. He had seen them wine and dine lovely ladies in the hotel dining room on other occasions. If in this instance Mr. Gordon had chosen to go to the lady’s residence…
At least the clerk had gotten a good look at the woman. Petite, small-waisted, with curly hair the color of a ripe carrot. Well-dressed, such that he was sure she was a member of finer society. He thought that Mr. Gordon had met her in the dining room, but he could not swear to that. He had not seen the woman prior to noticing her on Mr. Gordon’s arm as they headed for the front door of the lobby. Because the hour had been early afternoon, he had rather assumed that Gordon had been taking his midday meal.
Problem was, none of the restaurant staff could remember seeing either one in the dining room at that time on Monday, the day he was seen leaving the hotel. They, too, knew Artemus Gordon, and every waiter who had been on duty at the time stated he had seen Mr. Gordon have breakfast that day, as well as dinner Sunday evening. One stated he had been puzzled and surprised when Mr. Gordon did not appear for supper Monday night, because he had been informed during breakfast that the special that evening was going to be Beef Stroganoff, a forte of the chef and a dish all were aware Mr. Gordon favored.
However, not one of them remembered waiting on Gordon, or a redheaded woman, at lunch that day.
Jim could not believe that if Artemus had merely gone off on a romantic assignation he would not have left some kind of message, either at the desk or here in his room. Worse, none of Artie’s clothes, beyond what he would have been wearing, were missing. Surely, if he expected to be gone a couple of days, he would have taken his shaving gear, a clean shirt…
As much as he would like to believe that his partner had made a romantic conquest and was now snuggled in a cozy nest with some beauty, Jim West sensed otherwise. He knew Artemus Gordon much too well. This was not like him. Especially because Artie was virtually betrothed to the beautiful actress, Lily Fortune, he would not do such a thing. His sense of honor would not allow it.
So where was he? Who was the woman with the carrot-shaded hair? Jim had talked to the police and contacted hospitals and, with dread, the morgue. No one fitting Gordon’s description was in any of those institutions, nor was a woman with the rather easily recognizable hair. Who was she? Why had Artie gone off with her?
One question after another, and Jim West had no answers. He had asked the city police to contact their local sources to find out if either the man or the woman had been seen in the city; thus far, the answers from those sources had been negative. Almost as though they had vanished into a puff of smoke.
The light tap on the door swung Jim around and he opened it swiftly, hopefully. The hotel manager, Mr. Grace, was there, a scruffy young boy at his side. “Mr. West, this is Harold Durbin. He often shines shoes for hotel patrons, and maintains a stand outside, on the sidewalk. Harold, tell Mr. West what you saw.”
The boy’s eyes grew big. “Are you really James West?”
“I am. Did you see Mr. Gordon?”
Harold swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, Mr. West. That day… Monday, I reckon it was, I shined two pairs of boots for Mr. Wallace. He let me take them out to my stand so I could wait on other customers while I was doin’ the boots. Anyhow, I seen Mr. Gordon come out of the hotel. I shined his boots the day before, and he tipped me real good. So I sez hello to him when he strolls by with the dish… the lady. Mr. Gordon, he smiles and says hello back, and they go on down the street to Mrs. Tilly’s Tea Room.”
“Did you see them come out?”
“No. That was funny, on account of I was kinda watchin’ for them, on account of I like Mr. Gordon and I wanted to say howdy to him again. But I worked out there for nigh onto two hours, and they didn’t come out. Then I had to take Mr. Wallace’s boots back to him, and then I went home, ‘cause my Ma, she needed me to look after the young’uns while she delivered laundry. Is Mr. Gordon hurt?”
“That I don't know, Harold,” Jim said quietly, digging into his jacket pocket and producing a gold piece, which he pressed into the boy’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. West!” The youngster glanced up at the manager, and upon receiving a nod, dashed toward the stairs.
“I do hope that is of some assistance, Mr. West.”
“It may be. Do you know anything about this tea room?”
“I know it’s been quite popular since it opened a few weeks ago. Mrs. Tilly’s husband prepares excellent pastries to be served with the tea, along with tasty soup for the midday meal. I myself have patronized the place a time or two. I’m sure that Mrs. Tilly will be anxious to help you. I am so concerned about Mr. Gordon.”
“That makes two of us,” Jim murmured, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door closed. “Are you sure you don’t recognize the description of the woman he was seen with?” he asked as they started down the carpeted hallway toward the stairs.
“I really cannot, and I’m sorry. I do not believe she was a guest here. Not recently in any case. Her appearance sounds rather striking, and unforgettable.”
“My thoughts exactly.” In the lobby Jim parted company with the manager and exited through the front door, pausing for a moment to get his bearings, and spied the ornate sign on a building half a block down: “Mrs. Tilly’s Tea Room.” Opened just a few weeks ago, according to the hotel manager, and definitely since the last time the agents had stayed in this hotel several months back.
Artemus Gordon and James West had been in Cheyenne testifying at a trial, and upon completion of that, planned to come to Denver for a few days of relaxation before heading to their next assignment in Nevada. However, the defense attorney for one of the men had asked Jim West to remain over a couple of days to prepare a deposition regarding his client, a young man who appeared to have gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. The youth had been of some help to Jim, in particular, during and after the gang’s capture, so the lawyer wanted details of that assistance to present to the sentencing judge. Jim had been more than willing. He too had seen something in the lad, and regretted that the youth was being lumped in with the more hardened criminals.
Rather than ask Artemus to hang around, Jim had suggested that his partner take the train on down to Denver to set up some much needed maintenance at the Denver rail yards, allowing the crew to take some time off as well. He himself would ride the relatively short distance on horseback from Cheyenne, meet Artie, whereupon they could take in a couple of shows, look up some ladies, and take a break from the stress of their usual life.
Some break!
Jim almost physically shook his head as he approached the front door of the shop. Trouble seemed to find them, regardless of where they traveled, no matter what their purpose. Glancing in the front window, Jim saw a shelf on the windowsill full of figurines and vases of flowers. Beyond he could see white-covered tables.
Upon entering, his senses were immediate treated to the aroma of freshly-baked cakes and cookies. The décor was decidedly feminine, but not so much that a man would feel overly uncomfortable. Several men, in the company of women, now occupied the tables. Jim pulled off his hat and approached the white-haired woman at the counter near the cash register.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she beamed at him. “Would you like a table?”
“Thank you, no. I’m wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for someone.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Well, yes, of course, if I can. Who is it?”
“A man named Artemus Gordon. The name may not mean anything to you, but I believe he came in here on Monday, early afternoon, with a young lady. Mr. Gordon is in his late thirties, with brown hair and brown eyes. A well dressed man. The lady he was with had hair that has been described as carrot-orange in color.”
“Oh, yes, of course! The lovebirds!”
“Lovebirds!” Jim was startled. Lovebirds! What in the world?
“They were so obviously in love,” she sighed. “Never took their eyes from each other, holding hands across the table. I was so sorry to see something disturb them so seriously. The young lady was trembling in fear.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had just served them a pot of tea and some angel cookies… that’s what we call the ones with the pink frosting… when suddenly the lady looked out the window and cried, ‘Artemus, there he is!’ I’m sure that’s the name she called him. Artemus. I remember the name because it’s unusual.”
“Then what? Did you see who was out there?”
“Not at that moment. Your friend got to his feet, put some money on the table—entirely too much, you know—and asked me if there was a back door they could use. Of course I allowed them to go through the kitchen.”
Jim raked his fingers through his hair. “Did you see them again? Either of them?”
“No. I was busy with other customers, so I did not follow them. I did take a peek out the front window though.”
“See anyone?”
“Not a soul. Oh, except for that funny little peddler man.”
Ice washed over Jim West’s soul. “Little peddler man?”
“Yes. He’s been around here often. He sells little figurines. Like those in my window. Charming, aren’t they? He can be so persistent. I really have bought too many of them.”
“Man so high?” Jim held his hand about four feet off the floor. “Blue eyes?”
“Why yes! Do you know him?”
“I’m afraid I do. May I talk to your cook?”
“Certainly. Go on back. I need to help another customer.” She pointed toward a curtained doorway.
Jim strode toward that doorway and pushed through, finding himself in a small kitchen where a middle-aged man and a young woman were busy. Jim introduced himself and related his purpose. The pair said they were Mr. Tilly and daughter Edna. Both vividly remembered the incident on Monday afternoon because they had been startled by the sudden entrance of the pair.
“The poor lady was sobbing awfully,” Edna sighed. “Mama told us afterwards that she seemed to be terrified about something.”
The man and woman had barely acknowledged their presence and dashed out the back door. Mr. Tilly went to the door and saw them hurrying, hand-in-hand, in the direction of the hotel. He assumed that they intended to gain entry to the hotel through the rear door that led to the stables. Tilly led Jim outside and pointed out the route the two had taken. He was certain they had not turned off in any of the alleys that would lead them to the street, nor headed further to the rear, which would have taken them beyond the stable to some storage buildings and a couple of shacks.
Jim thanked them and followed the indicated path. He paused at the shacks, rapping on the doors, but no one responded. Neither looked occupied. Tilly had said that sometimes hotel employees, such as stable workers, lived in them, but he was unsure about their status right now.
Loveless! Loveless is here in Denver!
Those words reverberated in Jim’s brain as he entered through the rear door of the hotel. The little doctor had a way of vanishing and reappearing, especially when they thought he might well have died. Jim had no doubt that the “little peddler man” Mrs. Tilly described was Miguelito Loveless. Chances were very good that Loveless had a hand in the disappearance of Artemus Gordon. The why was fairly easy: to lure Artemus’s partner into a trap.
Mrs. Tilly must have been wrong when she described Artie and the woman as lovebirds. Perhaps Artie was comforting his companion because of whatever distress she was in. If she is involved with Loveless in any manner, her distress could be acute. Had Loveless grabbed both of them? But I’ve been in Denver for over twenty-four hours. Why haven’t I been contacted, or…
He paused in the hotel kitchen to speak to the staff there. All assured him that no hotel guest, or anyone else, had come through their working space on Monday, nor on any other day. The chef knew Mr. Gordon, who often took the time to compliment him on his preparations, discussing the particular dish and variations.
Why would Loveless allow Mrs. Tilly to give me such an overt warning… if she’s in on the game?
Wearily, Jim West climbed the stairs and once more entered the room Artemus Gordon had occupied. He had already gone through the closet and bureau drawers. But maybe he missed something. Surely Artie was aware that Loveless was in the vicinity. Especially if this redheaded woman described the little man, he would have left a message for his partner before venturing out.
Unless, of course, this woman led him into a trap without warning. If she was being pursued by Loveless, and had informed Artemus, he would have left a note for me. But if she was leading Artie down another path…
Jim sat down on the bed and rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw. He had shaved very hastily and not very thoroughly this morning. Had this woman put on an act for Artemus Gordon? What kind of act? If she had told him straight-off that Miguelito Loveless was in the vicinity, Artie would have been on his guard.
Was Mrs. Tilly being truthful about what happened in her restaurant? If only it was possible to learn who else had been present—other than the husband and daughter—at the time. Might be worthwhile going back and asking.
I’m clutching at straws now. I don’t know which way to turn. Where the hell are you, Artie?
W*W*W*W*W
Artemus Gordon sat quietly on the bench and watched as the woman opened a small enclosure on the wall to the left of his cage. She had just brought him a meal, a bowl of fairly tasty stew in a wooden bowl, with a wooden spoon, two slices of buttered bread, and a cup of coffee, the same meal that had been served to him approximately every six hours since his capture. The guard with the rifle who stood by when Vivian opened the cage door changed from one man to another with each visit, but one always remained on sentry while the prisoner ate. Vivian would leave, returning later for the utensils. Loveless had had the chains removed, but warned that if Mr. Gordon misbehaved, they would be returned promptly. The electrified bars were an excellent deterrent.
The woman who served him now was a far cry from the charming woman who had approached him in the hallway outside his room as he was preparing to leave the hotel in search of a midday meal. He planned to have supper at the hotel later, having been informed that his favorite dish was to be served this evening, but he was in the mood for something different for lunch. A restaurant he knew of often served trout fresh from the nearby mountain streams.
“Please forgive my boldness,” she had said with a rather shy and very sweet smile, “but when I heard your name mentioned by one of the staff, I knew I just had to meet you, Mr. Gordon. My name is Vivian Ambrose. You once helped a very dear friend of mine, Laurie Morgan. Do you recall?”
Certainly Artemus remembered the delightful, if somewhat naïve, young woman whom they had encountered living at the hideout of one John Avery, a corrupt politician they had been assigned to capture and bring back to Washington. Vivian stated that she had met and worked with Miss Morgan in San Francisco, and assured Artemus that Laurie was doing quite well. In fact, she was to be married in a few months to a fine man who owned a theater there.
Artie knew now that he had been caught completely off guard, with absolutely no suspicion that the pretty young woman with big brown eyes and startlingly red hair was anything other that what she said she was. He invited her to join him in the quest for the trout, but she sadly told him that she would not have time. Her train taking her back to the west coast would be leaving within the hour. However, if he did not mind, they could get a bowl of soup at the little tearoom just down the street. She did so want to talk to him about his theater career, claiming that she met several people in the acting profession who either knew him or his reputation from back in the days when he trod the boards.
Vanity, thy name is Artemus. Easy to look back now and see how easily she had snared him by appealing to the pride he owned regarding his theatrical career. He did not even become suspicious when they reached the tearoom and, upon finding it not yet open for business, Vivian insisted on rapping on the door until the owner, a handsome white-haired woman opened it. Nor were any qualms aroused when Vivian prevailed upon Mrs. Tilly to admit them early, “just for some tea until opening time,” because they had so much to talk about and her train was due to depart soon. He had even admired the way Vivian hinted, though never said outright, that they were sweethearts soon to be parted, playing on Mrs. Tilly’s sympathies.
Nothing seemed amiss until he took the first swallow of the very aromatic tea. He recognized the acrid taste instantly, it having been disguised by the odor of the strong herbal brew, but by then it was too late. The powerful drug began its insidious work, and he was helpless as two large men emerged from the rear to hoist him by shoulders and legs. That was really about all he remembered until awakening in the cage to find Dr. Loveless outside the bars. He had no idea where this building was located.
Artemus leaned down to pick up the bowl of stew from the floor where Vivian had placed it. As tasty as the concoction was, he was growing more than a little tired of it. He wondered if Loveless devised this diet in an attempt to confuse him about the passage of time, although the sunlight through the windows, or lack thereof, was a good indication of day and night. He knew he had been here at least two days.
After each meal, when Vivian returned to pick up the bowls, the prisoner was allowed to use a small closet at the side of the room opposite from the power switch. A second guard came back with Vivian, and the two men kept their weapons trained on him all the while until the cage door closed behind him again, and the electrification of the bars reactivated. Thus far, Artie had not seen one single opportunity to attempt a break.
I’ve got to get out of here. Although I am not certain of the time elements, I’m pretty sure Jim has either arrived from Cheyenne by now, or soon will. I can’t let Jim give himself up in an attempt to save my skin.
Jim West would be fully aware of Loveless’s craftiness, that while the little doctor had a sense of honor, it was also often warped. Yet he would surrender himself to Loveless if he thought it would afford his partner any chance to escape.
The wooden bowl and spoon were pretty useless as weapons. Perhaps if he could hang onto the spoon long enough to sharpen it… but that was not possible. Everything was taken from him as soon as he finished eating, including the heavy porcelain cup that held the coffee. When he occasionally asked for some water, it was brought to him in a tin cup and then immediately removed from his hands. Vivian and the guards were under strict instructions, and they carried those orders out efficiently.
The first time Vivian had served him, Artemus had engaged her in conversation, trying to find out why she had aligned herself with a man like Loveless. That was the first time that Artie became aware that one of the guards, a powerfully built young man, had an interest in the redhead. His eyes had never left her. He also seemed ready to protect her if the need arose, even from the caged man if necessary. Artie had since learned that the man’s name was Barton.
Vivian had cast a couple of glances toward the guard, but at that time Artie was unsure if she was returning Barton’s interest or was simply nervous that her conversation was being witnessed. She had stated that Dr. Loveless promised to take her away from her existence as a saloon girl, to help her become established in society, have a fine home and clothing.
“Are you aware that Loveless intends to murder an agent of the United States government?” Artie had asked sternly. “Indeed, even participating in a kidnap of another agent is a federal offense!”
That was the first time he had witnessed a flicker of doubt in her big brown eyes. He wondered if the little doctor had not been completely honest when enlisting her cooperation. Or was she simply having second thoughts? What about Barton? Artie had noticed a deep frown on the young man’s face then and later.
As Vivian departed with the utensils, Barton lingered a moment, then started to follow her. Artemus spoke his name. At first he thought Barton was going to ignore the call, but then he paused and looked back.
“What do you want?”
“How about a cup of water? The stew seemed a little salty today.”
Barton hesitated, glanced toward the door that had closed behind Vivian, then appeared to mentally shrug. Holding his rifle in one hand, he went to the bucket on the stand in the far corner, filled the metal cup, and brought it over to carefully extend through the bars.
Artie accepted it with a nod of gratitude, then drank about half of it. He did not hand it back immediately, knowing that Barton would wait for it. “Vivian is quite a lovely lady. Certainly entranced me long enough to lead me into the trap. Too bad she’s mixed up in this, though.”
The scowl returned to Barton’s face. “She knows what she’s doing.”
“Does she? Do you? Miguelito Loveless is a dangerous man. His ultimate ambition is to destroy the world and everyone in it… save himself.”
“That’s crazy.”
Artie laughed softly. “You said the magic word. How long have you been with Loveless?”
The guard shrugged. “A few weeks.”
The imprisoned agent gazed at him. “You don’t strike me as the type of man Loveless usually has on his payroll.”
“What’s that mean?” Plainly Barton was unsure whether to be insulted or complimented.
“A hardened criminal, one who will not hesitate to follow Loveless’s orders to kill, no matter what the situation, nor who the victim is. He’s not very loyal, you know.”
“Who’s not loyal? Loveless? What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve seen him murder men and women he hired to help him in some scheme… just to prove a point.” Artemus was pleased to see a shadow brush through Barton’s eyes with this information. “Loveless lets nothing stand in his way. Not the lives of innocent citizens, nor the lives of his employees. If he thought doing so would further his purpose, he would kill you… or Vivian… in a flash.”
“You’re crazy! He’s going to pay us…!”
Gordon smiled. “Oh, I imagine if his scheme succeeds in the way he has it planned, he will honor his agreement. But you have to understand. He will change his plans in a flash, and do anything, to anybody, in the name of success. I’ve seen it too many times. His aim right now is to capture and kill my partner, Jim West. Jim is a very clever man, and won’t be taken in easily. Loveless knows that, and I’m sure he has backup plans in place. Plans that may call for the sacrifice of his men… and women.” To allow time for his words to sink in, Artie drained the cup, and pushed it back through the bars, asking pleasantly, “Am I going to get my usual trip to the closet?”
“As soon as McAfee shows up,” Barton growled.
At that moment the outer door opened, but instead of the second guard, Loveless entered. He had come into the cavernous room previously since his first visit, but always went to the table and puttered around there, barely glancing at and never speaking to the prisoner. If he had expected his captive to plead for mercy for himself or his partner, Artie had not given Loveless any satisfaction. He had remained silent.
Now Loveless jerked his head toward Barton, who hurriedly left. The small man approached the cage, hands behind his back, a pleasant smile on his countenance. Pleasant, unless one was well acquainted with the little man. The expression caused a chill to creep up Artemus Gordon’s spine.
“Mr. Gordon! I hope you are well and that the accommodations are suitable.”
“I wouldn’t mind a shave and a bath,” Artie retorted. His jaw was coated with several days’ worth of whiskers, and his clothes were in dire need of laundering.
“I am so sorry about that,” Loveless crooned. “But it won’t be for much longer. Your good friend and mine, Mr. James West, is in Denver, frantically running in circles seeking you.”
“I doubt that,” Artie growled.
“Would I lie about such a delightful event? No indeed. Mr. West is being watched closely, and I’m receiving hourly reports on his activities. He is following up the clues I left quite diligently. He is such a superb agent.”
Artemus frowned. How was Loveless receiving such prompt reports? He looked up toward the windows, then back at his captor. “Where are we?”
Loveless chuckled. “Not in Denver, I assure you. You were unconscious for quite some time, Mr. Gordon, while you were being transported. I can also assure you that there’s no chance Mr. West will find you before I want him to do so. I intend to extend his torment over his helplessness at being unable to locate you to the limit. When the time comes, he’ll receive the final clue and find his way here… to my lair.” The blues eyes were glowing with anticipation.
Artemus got to his feet, gazing at Loveless. “Why do you hate Jim West so?”
The question seemed to surprise. “Isn’t that obvious? He has foiled me at every turn!”
Artie shook his head slightly. “No. It’s more than that. I’ve been there right alongside him, and you’ve already admitted that I have been almost a bigger fly in your ointment of world domination. Yet you don’t seem to despise me as strongly. I’m pretty certain you’re not going to simply release me into the world, to allow me to take up the pursuit. I don’t understand why you would give your word to Jim that I will be freed at all.”
Loveless came closer to the cage, now folding his arms across his chest. “You are a brilliant man, Mr. Gordon. I admire that in you. If I thought you could be turned, I would take you into my organization. But I know that, like Mr. West, you are disgustingly moral and righteous. I could never trust you.”
“Why don’t we give it a try?” Artie asked brightly.
Loveless chuckled dryly. “Ah, Mr. Gordon. Always ready to do whatever is necessary to foil me, aren’t you? No, I’m afraid such as association would never work, much as I would enjoy having the benefit of your intellect.”
“But we are getting away from the question at hand, aren’t we?” Artie said. “And that was, why do you despise James West so intensely?”
“And I answered you,” Loveless snapped back. “I will leave you now. I have work to do. Mr. West is waiting for the next clue.” He started to turn away, then paused. “Do not fear, Mr. Gordon, I am not entirely heartless. I know of the friendship you and Mr. West share. I will allow the two of you a few moments to make your final farewells when the time comes.” Whistling a cheerful tune, he almost skipped from the room.
Artemus Gordon sat down again. I’m no alienist, but I think I know human behavior well enough to comprehend why Miguelito Loveless despises James West as deeply as he does. The abhorrence goes behind the fact that Jim has played a major role in blocking Loveless’s despicable plans. In Jim’s handsome features and perfect, athletic body, Loveless sees the man he would be, if fate had not played such a vile trick on him. I have no doubt that had he the choice, Loveless would give up his brilliance for the opportunity to be the man Jim West is.
W*W*W*W*W
James West awakened with a start and for a moment was confused as to where he was. He sat up, looking around his hotel room. He had not intended to sleep, only to rest for a few minutes. The weariness caused by a lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours, piled atop the ride from Cheyenne to Denver, had overtaken him.
But something had disturbed him. He knew that. Some sound…
He saw the folded piece of paper on the floor just inside the closed and locked door. Something slipped under the door. Had that been it? Or had someone knocked to make sure he noticed? Jim sat for a long moment and stared at the starkly white square against the darker carpeting. The sense of dread he was experiencing was strong. He knew without looking at it that this was not good news. In fact, he was certain he knew from whom it came.
Jim pulled his pistol from the holster he had placed on the stand beside the bed and went to the door, even while knowing that whoever delivered it would be long gone. Opening the door, he peered both ways down the hall. No one was in sight. Only then did he close and lock the door, before picking up the missive.
Just a plain sheet of paper, folded once. Opening it, Jim West stared at the familiar bold scrawl. Just eight words: What will you trade for Mr. Gordon’s life? No signature. None was needed. No explanations were required. And apparently, no immediate response was expected, for instructions for contacting the writer were not included.
This is just the beginning. He’s going to draw it out as long as he can. More of Loveless’s arrogance. He was always certain he had the perfect plan, the perfect hiding place. Maybe he did this time. Always before, somehow, James West and Artemus Gordon located Miguelito Loveless and foiled his plans. Working together, they had been successful in every aspect except that of stopping Loveless altogether, either by imprisoning him or killing him.
Working together… But they were not together. Artie was Loveless’s prisoner somewhere. The portent of the note was clear. Loveless wanted to bargain. And he had the greatest bargaining chip. The question was, what would he ask for in exchange for Artemus Gordon’s freedom? Jim West was pretty sure he knew the answer to that.
Putting the note in a bureau drawer, Jim splashed cold water on his face and dried it, then donned his jacket and strapped on his gun belt. More often than not, both agents preferred hidden weapons—a sleeve gun, an under-the-coat shoulder holster—while in a city like Denver. In this instance, he wanted a visible and powerful weapon at hand.
Going downstairs, he asked the clerk at the desk if any unknown person had been seen entering the lobby and ascending the stairs within the last hour or so. The answer was negative. Only Harold delivering some newly-shined shoes. Jim thanked him and strolled out the front door, turning toward the shoeshine stand next to the alley that flanked the hotel. The boy was busily shining a gentleman’s shoes. He glanced in Jim West’s direction, but continued his work. Harold had not, however, been able to disguise the startled expression in his eyes.
Jim climbed into the second seat on the stand, picked up a newspaper and quietly feigned reading it as Harold finished with his customer. On the periphery of his vision, he saw the boy cast several looks at him. Jim was pretty certain Harold gave his client an extra-long shine on boots that were already reflecting the afternoon sun. Finally the man put an end to it himself, saying the job was fine, paying, then striding away. Harold immediately busied himself sorting and arranging his polishes and rags.
“How about a shine, Harold?” Jim said pleasantly after a couple of minutes.
“Oh. Oh sure, Mr. West. Only… only…” Jim could almost see the boy’s brain working as he sought an excuse to flee. “I gotta go home. My Ma is expecting me!” Now he got to his feet, grabbing the wooden box that held his supplies.
“Harold.” The quiet, authoritative voice halted the boy in his tracks, but he stood with his back to Jim. “Harold, did you just bring me a note?”
Harold shook his head vehemently. “No sir! No sir! I been here all the time. I didn’t put a note under your door!”
Putting the paper aside, Jim stepped down, grasped the shoeshine boy’s shoulders firmly, turning the lad around to face him. “Who said it was put under my door?”
Realizing his slip, Harold’s face crumpled, tears welling and tumbling down his grimy cheeks. “I need the money, Mr. West. My ma… we got three little ones at home and Pa ain’t been home for nearly a year now!”
Jim glanced around. He saw no one overtly watching them, but that did not mean that no one was. “Harold, so far as I know, you have done nothing against the law. I just want to know who paid you to bring that note to me.”
Harold swallowed hard, wiped his mended shirtsleeve across his eyes. “I dunno his name.”
“What did he look like?”
Jim was not at all astonished that the description came nowhere near fitting Miguelito Loveless. Harold said that the man was “fat,” wore a checkered suit and a derby hat, and had a large black handlebar mustache. He paid Harold a five-dollar gold piece to take the note upstairs on one of his deliveries. He was not, the man emphasized, to make a special trip, but he should keep the note hidden inside his shirt until he put it under the door of room twenty-six.
“That’s all I did,” Harold wailed. “Honest, Mr. West. I didn’t know it was something bad!”
Yes, you did, Jim decided. Otherwise you would not have been so fearful. He kept his voice quiet and soothing. “Is this the same man who paid you to tell me about Mr. Gordon going to Miss Tilly’s?”
If Jim’s hand had not been resting firmly on his shoulder, Harold would have bolted. His thin body went tense, eyes widening even more than before as he realized he had been found out. When he managed to speak, too afraid not to under Jim’s direct gaze, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “He paid me ten bucks, Mr. West! I couldn’t say no! An’… an’… he said if I didn’t do it, he might hurt me… or ma or my sisters!”
“I understand, Harold. Did you truly see Mr. Gordon go to the tearoom?”
“Yes, sir! Yes! He did! I seen him. He was with that lady, Miss Ambrose.”
Jim’s gaze narrowed. “Who is Miss Ambrose? How do you know her?”
“She used to work down to the Red Hat Club, over on East Fourth Street. I’d see her there when I’d go fetch Pa home for supper. He always went there after his job at the feed and grain store.”
So not a woman of higher society as the hotel employee believed. “And you did not see Mr. Gordon come out of the tearoom.”
“Well… no. Not exactly.”
“What did you see?”
“Um, well, um, there was a wagon. Like a peddler’s wagon, ya know? It stopped in front of Miss Tilly’s, an’ some men went in, an’ they carried this big box out and put it in the wagon. I ain’t never seen that before. I mean, I see folks go in and carry out little boxes of cookies and such.”
“Harold, have you ever seen a small man, probably about your height, with gray hair and blue eyes?”
“Oh sure! He was driving that wagon, Mr. West!”
Jim gripped the boy’s shoulders hard with both hands. “Harold, this isn’t something else you were paid to tell me.”
“Oh, no sir! No sir! I just seen it. Nobody said I should say it or not!”
Jim released the lad and dug into his pocket. “Harold, stay home the next couple of days. This should help make up for your lost work.”
Harold took the gold coin, but did not put it into his pocket immediately. “Mr. West, I got clients who ‘spect me to be here.”
“I know, Harold, and I respect your devotion to your business. But you’d be better off at home looking after your mother and sisters.”
The shoeshine boy reluctantly agreed, gathering up his materials and hurrying down the street. Jim watched him go, then looked around the area again, still unable to see whether anyone had been observing the conversation. Too many windows could have been hiding an observer. He found it difficult to believe that Loveless did not have someone watching him at all times.
He walked down the street to the building where the sign designating it as the tea room was still hanging. The front door was locked, and when he peered in the window he saw that all the bric-a-brac that had been on the shelf by the window were gone, as were the snowy cloths from the tables. The room was dark, no one was in sight.
Jim West returned to the hotel where he asked for his horse to be saddled. He then rode to Fourth Street and found the Red Hat Club, a rather sleazy-looking joint that may have seen better days, but Jim doubted it. At this time of day, the tavern was fairly empty, with just a half dozen hardy drinkers at the bar or tables. The odor of stale tobacco and alcohol mixed with perspiration and something Jim could not identify—and did not want to—was pervasive.
Though initially reluctant to talk to him, the bartender became more cooperative once Jim identified himself and his official status. Vivian Ambrose had not exactly worked at the Red Hat, the bartender said. She drew a commission for enticing men to drink, and if she earned anything else on the side, that was her business. He had not seen Vivian in close to a month now. He did have a faint recollection of seeing a man that matched the description of Miguelito Loveless, but could not exactly say when that was. As far as he knew, Vivian lived at the Royal Hotel two blocks down. A number of the women who entertained the clients at the Red Hat lived at the Royal.
Thus warned, the state of the hotel was not unexpected; it was a typical fleabag establishment. The desk in the tattered lobby was unoccupied, but after Jim banged on a bell a number of times, a slump-shouldered, balding man emerged from a door behind the desk, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “We ain’t got no rooms,” he grouched.
“I’m not seeking a room,” Jim replied, his voice pleasant but face and eyes hard. “I’m looking for a woman named Vivian Ambrose.”
The clerk glared at him. “You’ll likely find her at the Red Hat!”
“But she has a room here?”
“She did.” He shrugged.
Jim knew they could go in circles, so once again he displayed his official identification; once more the change in attitude was immediate. The clerk related that Vivian Ambrose kept a room at this establishment until maybe a month ago. Maybe a little longer. She just did not return one day, and after a couple of days, her room was cleared out and rented to someone else.
“You say cleared out. Do you have her possessions?”
“They’re in a box until she comes and pays her back rent.”
When Jim asked to see them, the clerk shrugged again and led him to a small room down a corridor, a room piled with boxes, trunks, and battered suitcases. “You just keep all this stuff forever?”
“Naw. The owner, he comes by ever so often and takes the oldest stuff. I guess he sells it somewhere. That there one, the crate with V.A. on it, that’s Vivian’s. Help yourself.”
Jim did. He could not say he came away disappointed, because he had not really expected to find anything helpful. He was also only slightly surprised that Vivian appeared to have left virtually all her possessions behind. Jim knew that Loveless would have been offended if a woman in his employ was clad in cheap, tawdry togs such as those in the crate. More especially, Vivian could not have worn these clothes to trap Artemus Gordon.
The only item of interest was the folded piece of paper that he found laying on top of the clothing stuffed into the box. A slip of paper identical to the one that had been placed under his hotel room door, with an almost identical message: What will you trade for Mr. Gordon’s life? Your own?
On his way to police headquarters, Jim thought about the various women who had become associated with Loveless over the years. A couple were in prison, others, like Antoinette, simply disappeared. He had always been most curious about Antoinette, the woman who had been devoted to Loveless, and he to her. Sometimes she had seemed to be nearly as mad as he, the perfect companion. Other women who came after Antoinette often appeared to merely be the sort of accomplice Loveless needed at the moment, from the incredibly naïve Priscilla Ames to the hard and knowing ones like Belladonna and Triste.
The police sergeant who spoke to him was very helpful, showing Jim the complete dossier on Vivian Ambrose. In her mid twenties, she had been arrested twice for graft and prostitution. The particular incident that caught Jim’s attention was when Vivian had been arrested for trying to pass herself off as the heiress to a local fortune, where she posed as a well-educated woman with all the social graces one would expect of a woman of the social class of which she was purporting to be a part. She had spent a few months in the city jail for the fraud. So passing herself off as a “lady” might not be a stretch.
When Jim returned to the hotel in late afternoon, he was wondering if he had been right to withhold certain information from the local police. They knew, of course, that he was looking for his missing partner, and the department was extending all the help and cooperation they could. Every officer had a description of Artemus Gordon and the woman with whom he had last been seen. Jim was appreciative of that assistance, all the while aware that the police were not going to find Artie. He was going to find his partner, and quite possibly not until Miguelito Loveless was ready, so not telling them about Loveless was probably not a mistake. That knowledge would not assist the police in any manner.
Leaving his horse in the stable again, Jim entered the hotel and went to the desk to ask for hot water to be sent to his room. He would wash up and shave, get a good meal… and go to bed. The fact that he dozed off earlier today was one indication of just how tired he was. Another was that he was having more and more difficulty sticking to one train of thought. A good night’s sleep would work wonders.
The sight of the white square of paper laying on the bed shook the cobwebs from his brain, momentarily at least. Closing the door behind him, Jim West stood with his back against it for a long moment before crossing the room and picking up the paper. He knew that it was not the same one he had secreted in the bureau drawer. No reason for someone to drag that out and leave it here. This had to be a new one.
And it was. The same scrawl covered the page, a still longer note this time. Well done, Mr. West. I have always known you were a fine detective. But you are no closer now than you were this morning. Do not contact the federal authorities. Lessen your contact with the city police. Mr. Gordon is well and sends his best. Will you trade your life to ensure his?
Jim West sank down on the bed, barely aware that he knocked his hat onto the floor as he raked his fingers through his hair with one hand, the other still holding the note, which his eyes were fixed on. I was right. He’s watching me. But what is he waiting for? Why doesn’t he tell me what he wants me to do?
He shook his head slightly. The ransom was not a mystery. Loveless wanted him to surrender himself, supposedly to gain Artie’s release. Jim knew Miguelito Loveless well enough to be certain that if the diminutive doctor gave his word that Artemus would be released, that would happen. However, Loveless had bizarre notions about honor, and just what giving an oath meant.
He would have done brain surgery on me to alter my personality, my entire being. What’s to say he would not do such a thing to Artemus Gordon before setting him free? I would have to be very explicit about what I was ransoming myself…
“No.” Jim spoke the word aloud as he got to his feet. I can’t allow Loveless to win. Not now. Not after all this time, all the battles we’ve waged and won. Artie would not want his life, his freedom, at the cost of mine.
A tap on the door startled him for a moment, until he remembered ordering the hot water. Still, he opened the door cautiously to admit a man with a steaming pitcher. On a hunch, Jim asked him if the maids had been on this floor this afternoon. Yes, indeed. Was there a problem? Jim then inquired if any new maids had been hired. The answer again was yes.
“If she did something wrong, I can send the manager up,” the fellow stated.
Jim thanked him, said he would talk to the manager later, tipped the man and sent him on his way. Chances were that that new maid was no longer on the premises, nor would she return. Better to ask Mr. Grace to inform him if and when a replacement was hired. Could well be that Loveless was using some needy women just as he had used the shoeshine boy.
He shaved automatically, his gaze on his reflection in the mirror, but not really seeing it. The plans for supper and sleep had flown out the window. He would eat, but he knew he was not going to be able to settle down for a good rest, no matter how badly his body and mind screamed for it. Not yet.
Loveless knows I’ve been in contact with the city police. Obviously he also knows I have not been near a telegraph office. Funny, I had not even really considered calling in help until I got that note. Now I know I need some. And he thought he knew of a pretty good way to send a telegraph message without Loveless or his spies becoming aware. He also knew who to summon.
W*W*W*W*W