Dragging in a tiny bit of air, Frank managed to kick off the enveloping blanket and sheet, and brought his foot up hard. He kicked his assailant with all his strength, at the same time boxing his ears again!

This double attack caused the attacker to fall back, and his grip on Frank’s throat loosened. Able to breathe again and seizing his momentary advantage, Frank shoved his hands between the man’s arms and pushed out, knocking him away. As he did so, Frank scrambled upright, and lunged at the intruder, who had evidently decided that he was engaged in a lost cause, and was attempting to flee the room. In the moonlight coming in through the half-open draperies, his dark figure showed clearly against the pale-colored walls.

Frank hit him with a flying tackle, and brought him to the floor with a resounding thud, but the man squirmed free and leaped to his feet once more. He struck at Frank wildly, but Frank evaded the blows, and clenching his hand into a fist, hit his opponent with a solid uppercut to the jaw. The man’s head snapped backwards and cracked into the wall. Almost in slow motion, he sagged limply, and fell in a heap on the floor, out cold.

Frank hastily moved to Joe’s bedside and bent over his younger brother. "Joe?" Joe appeared to be deeply asleep. "Joe, wake up." Frank shook his shoulder, gently at first, then harder. "Joe! Wake up!" But Joe lay limp and unresponsive.

Alarmed now, Frank felt for the pulse in Joe’s wrist. To his acute relief, it was strong and steady, and his breathing seemed normal, if a bit rapid. He can’t just be asleep, though! Why won’t he wake up? "Joe!"

Frank glanced around the room, seeking something to help him rouse his somnolent brother, and his gaze fell on the masked attacker lying on the floor. As he looked, he noticed something white protruding from a pants pocket, evidently the corner of a handkerchief. Frank approached the man cautiously, and tugged at the cloth. A damp, crumpled wad of wrinkled fabric emerged.

Frank raised the handkerchief closer to his face, and caught a familiar, sweetish-sickly odor. Abruptly, his vision began to swim, and he hastily tossed the cloth onto the floor. Slowly, things cleared…and Frank knew why Joe hadn’t wakened to help him.

Grimly, Frank pulled the mask from his attacker’s face, and was unsurprised to find that it was Leroy Crigger. I should have known! he thought. Getting to his feet, he yanked the belt from his jeans, which were lying across a chair, and proceeded to strap Crigger’s hands behind him with it. I’m not going to take any chances on him coming to and jumping me from behind! Then he picked up the phone, and called the police department.

After reporting the break-in, Frank replaced the telephone receiver, then stooped and tossed the damp handkerchief close to Crigger’s face, just to ensure he remained unconscious. Next, Frank went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in warm water.

Perching on the edge of the bed, he gently wiped Joe’s face with the cloth, paying special attention to his mouth, nose, and eyes, just in case any traces of the chloroform remained on his skin. Joe’s breathing was quiet and even now, and as Frank continued to sponge his face with the wet cloth, he turned his head slightly, and his eyelashes began to flutter.

"Joe?" Frank encouraged him. "Come on, kiddo, wake up."

Joe blinked, and stared glassily up at his brother. "Wha’s wrong…?" he slurred.

"I want you to wake up." Frank repeated.

"Okay…’m awake…." Joe started to push himself up, but immediately desisted with a groan, as a wave of nausea swept over him. "Ohhhh, I don’ feel so good…."

"Lie still," Frank cautioned him. "Just take it easy, baby brother - you’ve been chloroformed."

Joe gazed at him in bewilderment. "Chloroformed?" he echoed. "How…who…?" His voice trailed off. "Dizzy…." he murmured.

"Like I said, stay quiet." Frank said. "The effects should wear off pretty soon - I hope!" He pondered the wisdom of calling the front desk and requesting Dr. Danton’s services, but decided to wait until after the police had been there.

Joe didn’t argue. He closed his eyes and remained lying flat, concentrating on taking deep breaths - both to get oxygen into his system, and to control the intermittent washes of queasiness. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes again and studied Frank’s anxious face.

"Okay - I feel a little better now." He cautiously wriggled onto his elbows, and when that position seemed all right, shoved his pillow higher and leaned back against it. "What happened?" He winced. "Man, what a headache!"

Frank moved aside so that Joe could see their ‘guest’ lying on the floor. "Leroy Crigger paid us a little visit. He chloroformed you, and tried to throttle me." He paused, frowning. "Why is it that you just get knocked out, and I get the homicidal treatment, anyway?"

"If I recall," Joe replied sourly, "I’m scheduled to be killed on a global satellite TV show. Killing me now wouldn’t help the ratings…." He grimaced. "Can I have a drink of water?" he requested.

Frank was a little dubious. "Sure it’ll stay down?"

"Yeah, I’m okay - but my mouth feels like I’ve been force-fed cotton balls."

As Joe was slowly sipping the glass of water Frank brought him, there came a sharp knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Frank asked cautiously as he approached the door.

"Len Henderson." came the reply.

When Frank opened the door, Sgt. Henderson swept into the room, followed by a uniformed officer. The detective looked tired and rumpled, and his eyes were bloodshot and dark-circled.

"Are you two all right?" he demanded, giving both boys long, assessing looks.

"We’ll be okay." Frank assured him. "I wasn’t expecting you to be here, though." he added in surprise.

"I’ve been putting in a lot of overtime since we found out about Fogle," Henderson grunted. "When your call came in, I knew I’d better be the one to take it." He knelt beside Crigger, and picked up the chloroform-soaked handkerchief, which he handed to the uniformed officer, who put it in a plastic evidence bag. Then Henderson untied Crigger’s hands, and rolled him onto his back. He lightly slapped the thug’s face. "Come on, wake up, Crigger!"

While they waited for Crigger to regain consciousness, Frank and Joe told Len Henderson what had occurred in the hotel room - or rather, Frank told him. Joe could only attest to the fact that he felt awful, and assumed it was from the effects of the chloroform administered by Crigger.

In a short time, Crigger blinked his eyes open. He glared up at Henderson. "Who’re you?" He looked around the room, and his eyes hardened when they rested on Frank and Joe.

"Sergeant Henderson, Homicide." was the reply. Henderson swiftly thrust his hands into Crigger’s pockets, searching him, then cleared his throat and recited the Miranda Rights.

Crigger continued to stare in overt hostility. When Henderson finished, Crigger muttered "I want a lawyer." but otherwise remained mute. Henderson nodded to the officer, who snapped handcuffs on Crigger and helped him to his feet, then escorted him from the room.

"I’d like you to come down to the station." Henderson said then. "Are you up to it?"

"Sure." Joe said, trying to sound nonchalant. Both Frank and the sergeant favored him with skeptical looks. "Really, I’m okay. I can go, no problem." He pushed back his blanket, but paused when he started to sit erect, suddenly dizzy.

"Okay, okay." Henderson put up a cautioning hand. "There isn’t any rush. Let’s say you get there sometime in the next hour, okay? I’ll get hold of Kevin Barnes, and have him meet us there."

"Okay." Frank agreed. "We’ll be there by - " he looked at the clock. "-by 2:30 at the latest, will that do?"

Henderson nodded. "See you then." he said, and departed.

Alone in the hotel room, Joe and Frank looked at each other and each heaved a deep sigh.