"That's true!" the reporter cried. "I can see the headline now: 'murderer attempts to murder murderer.' Wait until the readers of The Daily Punctilio see this!"
"Tweem!" Sunny shrieked.
"We're nor murderers!" Klaus translated frantically.
"If you're not murderers," the reporter said, holding out her microphone, "then why have you sneaked into a hospital in disguise?"
"I think I can explain that," said another familiar voice, and everyone turned to see Hal enter the operating theater. In one hand he was clutching the ring of keys the Baudelaires had made from paper clips and Violet's hair ribbon, and with the other hand he was pointing angrily at the children.
"Those three Baudelaire murderers," he said, "pretended to be volunteers in order to come to work in the Library of Records."
"They did?" a nurse said, as the audience gasped. "You mean they're murderers and phony volunteers?"
"No wonder they didn't know the words to the song!" a volunteer cried.
"Taking advantage of my poor eyesight," Hal continued, pointing at his glasses, "they made these fake keys and switched it with the real one, so they could sneak into the library and destroy the files about their crimes!"
"We didn't want to destroy the file," Klaus said, "we wanted to clear our names. I'm sorry we tricked you, Hal, and I'm sorry that some of the file cabinets were knocked over, but--"
"Knocked over?" Hal repeated. "You did more than knock over cabinets." He looked at the children and sighed wearily, and then turned to face the audience. "These children committed arson," he said. "The Library of Records is burning as we speak."
Chapter Twelve
I am alone this evening, and I am alone because of a cruel twist of fate, a phrase which here means that nothing has happened the way I thought it would. Once I was a content man, with a comfortable home, a successful career, a person I loved very much, and an extremely reliable typewriter, but all of those things have been taken away from me, and now the only trace I have of those happy days is the tattoo on my left ankle. As I sit in this very tiny room, printing these words with this very large pencil, I feel as if my whole life has been nothing but a dismal play, presented just for someone else's amusement, and that the playwright who invented my cruel twist of fate is somewhere far above me, laughing and laughing at his creation. It is not pleasant to feel this way, and it is doubly unpleasant if the cruel twist of fate happens to you when you are actually standing on a stage and there is actually someone, far above you, laughing and laughing, as it was with the Baudelaire children in the operating theater of Heimlich Hospital. The children had scarcely heard Hal's accusation that they had burned down the Library of Records when they heard rough and familiar laughter coming out of the intercom speaker above them. The siblings had heard this laughter when Mattathias had first captured the Quagmire triplets, and when he had trapped the Baudelaires in a locked Deluxe Cell. It was the triumphant laughter of someone who has cooked up a fiendish plot and succeeded, although it always sounded like the laughter of someone who has just told an excellent joke. Because he was laughing over the scratchy intercom, Mattathias sounded as if he had a piece of aluminum foil over his mouth, but the laughter was still loud enough to help wear off the anesthesia, and Violet murmured something and moved her arms.
"Oops," Mattathias said, interrupting his laughter as he realized the intercom was on. "This is Mattathias, the Head of Human Resources, with an important announcement. There is a terrible fire in Heimlich Hospital. The fire was set in the Library of Records by the Baudelaire murderers, and has spread to the Sore Throat Ward, the Stubbed Toe Ward, and the Accidentally Swallowed Something You Shouldn't Have Ward. The orphans are still at large, so do everything you can to find them. After the murdering arsonists have been captured, you might want to rescue some of the patients who are trapped in the fire. That is all."
"I can see the headline now," the reporter said. '"baudelaire murderers torch paperwork.' Wait until the readers of The Daily Punctilio see this!"
"Somebody tell Mattathias we've captured the children," a nurse cried in triumph. "You three brats are in big trouble. You're murderers, arsonists, and spurious doctors."
"That's not true," Klaus said, but as he looked around he feared that no one would believe him. He looked at the spurious key ring in Hal's hands, that he and his siblings had used to sneak into the Library of Records. He looked at his medical coat, which he had used to disguise himself as a doctor. And he looked at the rusty blade in his own hands, which he had just been holding over his sister. Klaus remembered when he and his sisters were living with Uncle Monty, and brought several objects to Mr. Poe as evidence of Olaf's treacherous plot. Because of these small objects, Olaf was placed under arrest, and now Klaus was afraid that the same thing would happen to the Baudelaires.
"Surround them!" the hook-handed man called, pointing at the children with one curved glove. "But be careful. The bookworm still has the knife!" Olaf's associates spread out in a circle and slowly began walking toward the youngsters at all angles. Sunny whimpered in fright, and Klaus picked her up and put her on the gurney.
"Arrest the Baudelaires!" a doctor cried.
"That's what we're doing, you fool!" Esmé replied impatiently, but when she turned her head to the Baudelaires they saw her wink above her surgical mask.
"We're going to capture only one of you," she said, in a quiet voice so the audience wouldn't hear her. With two long fingernailed hands she reached down to her stiletto heels. "This in footwear isn't just useful for making me look glamorous and feminine," she said, removing the shoes and pointing them at the children. "These stilettos are perfect for slitting children's throats. Two bratty little Baudelaires will be killed while trying to escape from justice, leaving one bratty little Baudelaire to give us the fortune."
"You'll never get your hands on our fortune," Klaus said, "or your shoes on our throats."
"We'll see," Esmé said, and swung her left shoe at Klaus as if it were a sword. Klaus ducked quickly and felt the whoosh! of air as the blade swept over him.
"She's trying to kill us!" Klaus shouted to the audience. "Can't you see? These are the real murderers!"
"No one will ever believe you," Esmé said in a sinister whisper, and swung her right shoe at Sunny, who moved away just in time.
"I don't believe you!" shouted Hal. "My eyesight might not be what it used to be, but I can see your phony medical coat."
"I don't believe you, either!" a nurse cried. "I can see that rusty knife!"
Esmé swung both shoes at the same time, but they collided in midair instead of hitting the children. "Why don't you surrender?" she hissed. "We've finally trapped you, just as you trapped Olaf all those other times."
"Now you know what it feels like to be a villain," the bald man chuckled. "Move closer, everyone! Mattathias told me that whoever grabs them first gets to choose where to go for dinner tonight!"
"Is that so?" the hook-handed man asked. "Well, I'm in the mood for pizza." He swung a rubber-gloved hook at Klaus, who fell back against the gurney, rolling it out of the evil man's reach.
"I feel more like Chinese food," one of the powder-faced women said. "Let's go to that place where we celebrated the Quagmire kidnapping."
"I want to go to Cafe Salmonella," Esmé snarled, disentangling her shoes.
Klaus pushed against the gurney again, wheeling it in the other direction as the circle of associates closed in. He held the rusty knife up for protection, but the middle Baudelaire did not think he could use a weapon, even on people as wicked as these. If Count Olaf had been trapped, he would not have hesitated to swing the rusty blade at the people who were surrounding him, but despite what the bald man had said, Klaus did not feel like a villain. He felt like someone who needed to escape, and as he pushed against the gurney again, he knew how he was going to do it.