The police officers pound on the front door. There's nowhere for my boss to hide in the workshop. My options are narrowed to one desperate measure.

"Take your clothes off!" I order Humphrey.

He gapes at me like a dying eel in the clutches of a maniac fisherwoman.

"Take your clothes off, now!" I pull down my skirt, exposing my petticoat.

He wiggles free of his pants and sweat-stained chemise, and the bell rings again. They are pounding again on the door.

"Good enough. Put these on-striped side out!" Reversible bodice and skirt, always useful. I grab the torch and set Humphrey's things and a broken chair on fire. Yelling 'fire' as loud as I can, I help Humphrey lace the bodice and tie a rag around his greasy head.

His chest. His chin. He has too much hair.

"Cover your mouth," I order.

"Wha-" His question is cut short by shrill squeals and shrieks when I use the torch cutter flame (from a safe distance) to burn off the chest hair poking over the bodice. Then, with a pair of pliers I yank out a few straggling whiskers on his chin and upper lip. For a woman, he is still hairy, but it would have to pass.

"They've got a truth chimer," I warn as I head for the stairs. I pull a leather apron on to help hide my missing clothes. "Help! Fire!" I scream.

The commander and the handsome officer break in the front door and meet me at the trap in the hallway.

"There's a fire," I yell, waving towards the flames.

They extinguish the fire in a matter of seconds, the commander's icy stare taking care of most of the flames. As the smoke clears, I see they haven't prepared the chimer yet.

"Could I introduce to you Mrs. Emily Stricton, Mr. Stricton's...sister?"

"Mrs. Stricton," the commander says, glancing with displeasure at the handsome officer who was posted as watch at the front entrance. "Is this a pleasure visit?"

"She came for news about her brother and has received quite a shock," I explain. The chimer pings in its case.

"Is that so?"

"Would you fine gentlemen care for a cup of coffee?" I ask. Ping!

The truth chimer is taken out (its red button showing), the double doors to the back street are opened, several junior officers come in to start removing material and everyone declines my offer of coffee.

"State your name, please," the commander tells Humphrey.

My employer stares up at him from the floor, the desperate, dying eel look returning.

"Let me help you, Madame," the handsome officer offers, escorting Humphrey to a chair.

Surprisingly, Humphrey makes a convincing woman: small chin, skin naturally devoid of most facial hair, his chubbiness pressed into feminine curves by a bodice laced tight as a corset, cheeks and bosom blushing from the torch cutter and pliers. A very ugly woman, but a woman nonetheless.

"Name?" asks the commander.

"Emily Stricton," Humphrey squeaks. Ping! goes the chimer with three buttons.

"Papers?"

"Oh, I have them, I..." Humphrey falls over in a dead faint.

"For pity's sake, man, do we have to use that confounded box on every person we cross?" the officer asks, fanning him.

The door bells rings and an imposing female voice calls, "Mr. Stricton?"

"Who is this?" the commander asks. "Is this a store-shop or a workshop?"

"I can't be sure (Ping!) and it's a workshop." Ping! Double gold. I'm on roll.

No sooner do the junior officers go up to escort the person away, but they are coming down again, Widow Bowdey on their tails. The woman manages to fit her ample form and even more ample dress-she has enough satin ruffles to make skirts for an entire chorus line of can-can dancers at the local cabaret-through the trap door and strides over to the commander.

"Sir," she says, nodding and giving everyone a clear view of her tiny top hat that a pheasant has impaled itself on.

"Lady Bowdey." Silence. "What is going on here?" The question is addressed to me; in fact, all eyes turn to me expectantly, and even the chimer is listening.

"Well, I spent the afternoon mapping and disconnecting the wiring on the alloy purifier. (Ping!) I cut open the oxidation chamber. (Ping!) I removed an undesirable organism. (Ping!) And when you arrived, the cutter set some discarded clothes and a chair on fire and you came down and put the fire out." Ping! Solid gold. My answer may or may not explain the state of my semi-deshabille.

The commander sniffs. "Quite a large hole. What was it?"

"The hole?" Ping!

"The organism."

"It's uhhh..."

"Commander, my men will remove my property from the premises so you may continue your investigation," Widow Bowdey interrupts. She has been staring at Humphrey for a while and seems to have reached some conclusion.

"We have a warrant from Judge Charles Carter to confiscate the entire workshop."

"Ah," she says. And in that 'ah' is the weight of a thousand silver spoons.

"We will need to question you, please state your name."

"Lady Bowdey." Nary a ruffle or bird feather shakes. Triple Ping!

"What do you know of Mr. Stricton's whereabouts?"

"You dare question me?" Ping! Red.

"Yes."

"With what authority?" Ping! Red.

"I have jurisdiction-"

"No. I don't think you do." Ping! Gold.

"We are seeking a criminal-"

"And the man you are seeking is not here." Ping! Gold. The woman is good. "My property, however, is." She snaps at several servants lurking at the doors.

"Lady Bowdey, may I insist-"

"If you need an amendment put on the warrant from the judge to include my property, I am sure Cousin Charles will provide you with one." Ping. Gold.

The commander opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Widow Bowdey links her arm in his and there ensues the strangest conversation I have ever heard where she makes it clear in the friendliest terms that he can take everything his heart desires, except for the alloy purifier and go. Nothing is said of jaunts to the harbor for a quick keel-haul, no bashing of thumbs, knives protruding uncomfortably from his back, leeches being attached to his unmentionables or any of the traditional threats I am accustomed to hearing.

The commander says something that sounds like, "Yes, you are quite right, of course, Lady Bowdey."

After that, the policemen pack all the material in sight and simply depart, except the handsome officer. He steps over, cheeks flushed, and hands me a card with gold-embossed lettering.

"May I call?"

I grab the sparker baton on the desk behind me and take the card, careful to touch his fingers when I do.

"Tomorrow evening?" I answer.

The shock runs through him, leaving him misty-eyed and enchanted. He nods, mute and hurries to catch up with the commander.

An instant later, Johnny-Boy unlocks and lifts the drain hole cover. I'll be fixing that lock as soon as he's gone again. He scowls at us. "My father wants that machine, Nabel; he's paid money for it!"

"And I have a letter of property," says Widow Bowdey.

"He'll have his machine if he wants it," I interrupt before a game of wills breaks out in the pillaged workshop. "Humphrey Stricton might have disappeared, but I believe he discussed the matter of my promotion with his sister, Emily. So with her permission, I'll be taking over the workshop from now on," I announce. Just in case, I stroke the top of the torch cutter and smile at Humphrey. No objections are forthcoming.

"You?" asks Johnny-Boy, "But you're a girl, you're a-"

"A recently promoted Master Wheelworker, my friend, and if your father wants to discuss business, I have the alloy purifier diagrams in my head."

Widow Bowdey walks to the double doors to her coach. "I take my leave of you, then. Nabel, you and Emily will both drop by this evening, I trust, to rewire and weld the machine? Oh, and Emily, dear, plan on staying a while to keep me company and ... wear the dress for me."

*******The End. I'd like to say that they all lived happily ever after from that moment on, but it wouldn't exactly be the truth. In any case, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Be sure to vote or leave a comment to express your thoughts - I appreciate them immensely.*************