The Black Throne

"But he was an experienced speaker and a bargain, to boot," he finished. "Now, concerning Von Kempelen, his whereabouts are known to me. I make it a point to keep posted on the location of eminent visitors. Your problem as I understand it, however, entails more than simply finding the man."

"True," I replied. "The man is reputed to have developed a process whereby he can transmute baser metals to gold."

Dupin smiled.

"So I understand," he observed. "Many have made such claims, down the centuries."

"As I understand it, Von Kempelen is rather reticent concerning the process. Be that as it may, he is being followed by three men who wish to obtain the secret from him."

"By fair means or foul?"

"Fair, I'd judge. A process so complicated is not easily taken against a person's will. I believe they'd be willing to strike a genuine deal with him."

"What is the problem you seek to solve?" he asked.

I took a sip of the sherry.

"My problem is not the same as my employer's," I told him. "Seabright Ellison wishes to prevent such a deal because the appearance of large quantities of alchemical gold on the world market could damage his own position in that area, where he is strongly represented."

"Indeed," Dupin observed, "more than our employer might be injured by the injudicious release of great masses of precious metal. Look what the gold of Mexico and Peru did to Spain. Her present troubles—from the Inquisition through this hit or miss war—may all owe something to the effects of its superabundance on the economy of an earlier day. How far is Mr. Ellison prepared to go in foiling this transaction?"

"Pretty far," I said, recalling his hint that Griswold, Templeton, and Goodfellow's relocation underground would earn me a bonus.

"Might he be willing to outbid the others for the secret?"

Thinking of the massive sums commanded by my letters of credit, I nodded.

"I have been given considerable discretion in this area," I said, "and the funds with which I might attempt such a thing. What do you think?"

"I do know that Von Kempelen has met on several occasions now with a trio of foreigners—most likely American. So I would guess that they are talking business. On the other hand, I daresay he is suspicious of them—as he must be of anyone, under the circumstances."

"I suppose so."

"There may be a way to capitalize on this ..." he mused. "But tell me, what did you mean when you said that your problem is not the same as your employer's?"

"He wants to stop the deal because he's interested in protecting his financial interests. My interest is in the lady Griswold has kidnapped and still holds prisoner. She possesses psychic abilities and he used her to track Von Kempelen here. He has other, darker plans for her."

"Ah! There is a woman involved!" He leaned forward and squeezed my forearm. "I understand."

"Partly, I'd imagine," I replied. "But I would be very surprised if even a Frenchman could unravel this particular relationship too readily."

"You have roused my curiosity to the utmost," he said. "Pray, tell me of it."

So I did. Forgetting myself, I drank four of the tiny glasses of sherry as I spoke. In that I did not stagger off with delirium tremens, the performance may have helped to convince him I was telling the truth.

"Yes," he said, nodding, "it seems a relatively simple matter to one who is familiar with the German philosophers, particularly Leibnitz. The notion of a multiplicity of existences—"

"Dreck! Dreck!" cried Grip, flying down from his shelf and lighting upon Dupin's left shoulder. "Guvna!

Scheiss! Mierda!"

"Hush, Grip!" Dupin ordered. "Alternate levels of reality do, as I was saying, become comprehensible when one considers the projective geometries of Desargues in light of Gauss's unfinished work on a calculus of probabilities—"

Marie Roget cleared her throat and rose to her feet.

"Excuse me," she said, "but I thought you had further instructions for me. If not, I must look into the matter of the assassination attempt on Mr. Perry."

"Yes, I was about to suggest some lines of inquiry."

She said something in French and Dupin rose to his feet. He glanced at Peters and myself, said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. I must see the lady to the door," and departed with her, speaking in French as they went.

"You understand what he was sayin', boss?" Peters asked. "'Bout them German philosophers and all?"

I shrugged.

"It seemed he was headed in a highly theoretical direction."

"Let's try changin' the subject on him when he comes back. That bird's got the right idea."

When Dupin returned several minutes later, Grip having transferred himself to his right shoulder, he cast his gaze from me to Peters and back again, then asked, "Where was I?"

"Concerning the matter of Von Kempelen ..." I suggested.

"Oh yes," he said, "the creator of the so-called chess-playing automaton. A fraud, of course, as no machine can be made to play chess, it being a creative rather than a mechanical process."

"I suppose," I said.

"Furthermore, if one could build such a device," he went on, "it must inevitably win every game. The principle being discovered by which a machine can be made to play a game of chess, an extension of the same principle would enable it to win a game. A further extension would enable it to win all games—"

"Uh," I interjected, "it was his alchemical discoveries with which we were mainly concerned."

"Of course. Forgive me," he agreed. "A fascinating subject, alchemy. I—"

"How do you think we might get into his good graces to the point where he'd even be willing to acknowledge the existence of the process?"

"Hm. Several possibilities occur," he observed. "Generally, the simplest deception is the easiest to achieve and maintain. A moment... . I have it. You are two visiting Americans who happened to recognize him on the street. You present yourselves as such at his apartment, expressing a desire to meet the inventor of the chess-playing automaton. To gain access, you might even offer to bet him a large sum of money that one of you can beat the automaton. No need to worry on this account, for even if the game is begun it will never be completed."

"Why not?" I asked.

"You arrive at his apartment at eight o'clock this evening. Before then I will have spoken with Henry- Joseph Gisquet, our Prefect of Police, who owes me several favors. He will see that the neighborhood is unpoliced at that hour and he will provide me with several footpads who owe him favors. I will cause these men to break in at nine o'clock, as if intent on theft and violence. You and your companion will grapple with them and they will flee. This should serve to ingratiate you with Von Kempelen to the extent where he would welcome your company for purposes of protection. Continue your supposed fascination with his work and become friendly with him. After a day or so, introduce the subject.

Impugn Griswold and Company if necessary, and offer to outbid them."

I glanced at Peters, who was nodding.

"Not bad," he said, "on short notice—and I've a feelin' we should be movin' fast."

"In the meantime," Dupin continued, "there is a Minister Dupin—odd coincidence, eh?—though the resemblance stops with the name; the man is a dreadful poseur—who may know whether Von Kempelen has actually made overtures to bail our government out of its latest crisis with buckets of gold. I may be able to learn what, if anything, the minister knows of the matter—which could cast illumination on your own prospects."

"We'd be very grateful for the effort."

He waved a hand, causing Grip to raise his wings and hiss.

"Save the gratitude for favors," he said. "I will have to prepare a bill for extraordinary services on this one.

"By the way, is there any possibility I might draw some of it on account today?" he added.