"Dear me," I responded. "It meant so much to the entire club that one of us get to try it. How long would it take to set it up? Do you think if I were to come up with more money—"
Suddenly, he opened the door wide, apparently having made some decision concerning us.
"Come in, come in," he said, and we did. He gestured toward a battered pair of chairs across the room.
"Sit down. I am making some tea. You may join me, if you wish."
"Thanks," I said, moving that way as he lay the razor beside a basin on his dresser, picked up a towel and wiped the soap from his face, watching us the while in a cracked mirror as we passed behind him to the chairs. A pot of water was coming to a boil upon a small spirit-heater on a crate to our left. There were numerous crates stacked about the room, some of them opened and exhibiting odd pieces of chemical or alchemical equipment. Some of it had been unpacked and was set up upon a bench which ran the length of the far wall. Some pieces were installed beneath the bench.
Outside, the dogs continued their chorus.
Von Kempelen located three mismatched cups within one of the crates, wiped them out with the towel he had used upon his face and proceeded to prepare tea.
"It would take several days' preparation," he said, "to assemble the automaton and get it ready for a game—if I had nothing better to do. But I am expecting a request to engage in some delicate work soon, of a fairly complicated nature. I fear that I simply will not have the time to give you your match, as much as I would enjoy taking your money. Do you take sugar? Or perhaps a little cream?"
"Sugar," I said.
"Neat," said Peters.
He brought us two steaming cups, seated himself across from us with a third.
"I'm afraid I can't do any better than that," he finished.
"I understand," I said. "My fellow clubmen will be disappointed, also. But your business certainly takes precedence over hobbies." I glanced at the equipment on the bench. "You're basically a chemist, aren't you?"
Those impressive eyes studied my face carefully.
"I do many things," he said, "chemistry among them. Right now I am waiting to hear on a possible contract which will occupy me for some time, should it be approved. I may not discuss it, however."
"Didn't mean to pry," I said, tasting the tea. "Perhaps I'll get to try the chess player another day."
"Perhaps so," he agreed. "When did you arrive in town?"
"Just this morning," I said.
"Surely you didn't cross the ocean just to seek me out and engage in an unusual game?"
I laughed.
"No, I came into some money recently," I said, "and I'd always wanted to tour the Continent. When I learned earlier that you were in town I decided to look you up and add pleasure to pleasure, so to speak."
"How interesting," he said. "So few people are aware of my presence here."
Griswold or some French bureaucrat? I wondered. Where should I claim having heard he was in town?
Blame the French government, I decided. There's ample precedent for that in all areas. But the decision was taken from me as the rear window was shattered.
A burly form finished kicking in the frame then stepped into the room from the pitched edge of the adjacent building. Damn! The timing was way off. I'd wanted at least to broach the subject before the attack occurred.
Another figure, leaner but appropriately villainous in appearance entered behind the burly man. I could see that there was yet another behind him. I was pleased that they seemed perfectly suited to their roles.
Von Kempelen dropped his cup and retreated across the room to stand before his workbench, arms raised in defense of his equipment. Peters and I rose to our feet, and the burly man gave us a puzzled look.
I growled as I moved forward, but I couldn't even mutter the appropriate reprimands, as I doubted any of them spoke English. I feinted with my left toward the big man's face. He blocked it with his right and drove his left into my midsection. It was at that moment that the thought occurred to me that these might not be the men I had contracted for come early, but rather the real thing keeping their own schedule.
I turned and twisted, hoping to avoid the rabbit punch I felt sure would come next. It didn't, however, for Peters reached out and caught the man's fist as it descended. I heard the big fellow laugh and saw him try to pull back the arm. His expression became one of surprise as it failed to move. Then Peters jerked the arm downward and the man bent forward. Moving forward, he caught hold of the man's left ear with his teeth and twisted his head to the side, tearing half of the appendage away. The man screamed as his cheek and neck were incarnadined. Then Peters caught hold of the arm with his other hand as well and broke it across his thigh. While he was doing this, one of the others struck at his head with a club. I was unable to move to his assistance or even to shout a warning.
The blow landed and Peters reeled but did not go down. He turned toward the man with the club and the second man leaped upon his back. In the meantime, the man with the broken arm and half an ear drew a knife from a belt sheath with his right hand and lurched toward the grapplers.
Unable to raise myself erect I bent forward, clasped my knees and rolled against the man's legs. He uttered a French oath I added to my collection as he fell upon me. Dazed, I expected to be punctured at any moment, but the thrust did not arrive. I sucked several deep breaths and tried to rise, just as the screaming began.
When I straightened and turned I saw Emerson stuffing the body of one of the men up the chimney.
Peters was twisting the other man's arms into a pretzel-like shape and the man I had knocked over was rising to his feet, knife in his hand, half of his face wet and red, his other arm hanging useless. I heard heavy footsteps on the stair and a cry of "Gendarmerie!" just as bones began snapping in the man Peters was twisting and the other lunged at me. Even as I blocked his thrust and struck him on the point of the chin a heavy blow fell upon the door. Something was obviously wrong in our supposed deal with the police. As another blow fell upon the door Emerson left off stuffing his man up the chimney, bounded across the room, seized the straight razor Von Kempelen had left atop his dresser, departed by way of the window, and vanished across the rooftops.
"Not a bad idea, that," Peters observed, casting his man aside. To Von Kempelen: "Thanks for the tea."
Then he passed through the window and scrabbled away himself.
I cast a glance back at the inventor, who still guarded his work. Another blow fell upon the door.
"Uh, good night," I said "Good luck."
He narrowed those amazing eyes uncertainly, then, just as I departed, "Be careful," he called.
I heard his door burst open before he got to it. The tiles were damp and slippery, and I kept my gaze on the shadowy figures ahead. After a time, the roof grew flat. There were shouts far to the rear. I hurried.
Below us the dogs still complained.
For how long we fled, I am uncertain. At length, I followed Peters through a window into a deserted topfloor apartment. Whether he or Emerson had located it—and whether by chance or some arcane instinct—I never inquired, though it seems we misplaced Emerson at about that time. We lay doggo for several minutes then, listening after sounds of pursuit. None followed, so we let ourselves out, took the stairs to the ground without incident, and entered upon the street.
We wandered for a time then, but the night remained still. Even the dogs had grown silent. Shortly, Peters found us a cafe where we rested over a glass of wine, assessing our injuries—which seemed minor—and repairing our appearance. Miraculously it seemed, he had retained his bear-hide wig withal.
It seemed futile to speculate as to why the Prefect of Police had not done as he was supposed to—or hadn't done as he wasn't, as the case might be. We decided to wait a good while and then drift back to the neighborhood we had vacated so abruptly, to see whether we might be able to learn anything there.