Oh, it worked. Thank God. "Hooray!" Back at the elevator, the runty little Canadian-accented security guard's finally managed to make it out and turns, expecting to see Sam Wesson following him, so you can imagine his runty little Canadian-accented aggravation when Sam Wesson too-casually shrugs his remarkably broad shoulders and says, "I'll wait!" "Look," the runty little Canadian-accented security guard seethes, poking his head, shoulders, and arms back into the elevator cab. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" "I don't have the rest of my life!" the runty little Canadian-accented security guard continues, ignoring (at his peril, I should note) the imaginary gay dragon on the Internet. And with that? "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, no sooner are those words out of his mouth when the elevator drops about three feet, and an immediate blast of runty little Canadian-accented blood positively paints Sam Wesson's face, neck, and torso when the upper portion of the security guard's body gets guillotined right off the lower, which -- get this -- is still involuntarily kicking its headless legs around out there on the tenth floor. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And just as those legs kick and spin their most gruesome last, Dean Smith hisses via walkie-talkie, "You okay?" Sam Wesson, shocked and shuddering and gasping and trying to, you know, not suck down the runty little Canadian-accented security guard's blood for Christ's sake, retrieves his cell from his belt and manages to squeak, "I'll call you back!" right before the entire delicious scene's gobbled up by the METAL TEETH CHOMP! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"
So, was it worth the wait? "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" I'll take that as a yes. "--OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" Careful, Raoul. Remember to breathe, or you'll pass out again. "--OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" Fine. It's out of my hands. Just remember I warned you. "--OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE! [GASP!] Whee!" He's so cute when his brain's been deprived of oxygen for so long.
Back from the break, Sam Wesson -- somehow freed from The Elevator Of Runty Canadian Death Most Spectacular -- recovers his senses while wiping the blood from his face and agreeing to meet Dean Smith up on the executive floor because...
...the executive floor contains a display devoted to Sandover Bridge & Iron's history, and within that display are encased a pair of P. T. Sandover's gloves, which Dean Smith correctly believes are the items still lashing the menacing spirit to the physical plane. And so, after they steel themselves for what they're about to do, Smith & Wesson... get their asses kicked by P. T. Sandover himself! "VIOLENCE!" Yep, P. T. Sandover unexpectedly materializes behind Dean Smith and throws the guy ass over end into a wall before hurling Sam Wesson into a corner at the opposite end of the room. He's about to zap poor Dean Smith's tangled mind with a little of that flickering blue mojo of his when Sam Wesson snatches up the container of salt he'd been fortunate enough to grab pre-tussle and lashes the ghost with its contents. P. T. Sandover vanishes instantly, of course, leaving Smith & Wesson to congratulate each other on their intrepid derring-do, or whatever, until he reappears just as quickly as he'd left, and there follows a brief round of The Gentleman Strangers beating the gentleman specter with fireplace pokers before P. T. Sandover briefly gets the upper hand. Dean Smith -- in an odd little parallel to the last time we saw an alternate universe on this show -- is about to take a faceful of flickering blue mojo when Sam Wesson finally manages to set the gloves on fire, and P. T. Sandover howls and wails and blazes his merry way down to The Waste Land, or wherever the fuck these things go on this show. The ghost thus destroyed, Sam Wesson checks in on his new pal, and Smith & Wesson agree: That shit was amazing!