In the meantime, Peters bit off a great chaw of tobacco from a plug he had with him, amazing me with his ability to spit out of the door—a good distance from where we sat—whenever it opened—without touching the person entering or departing. I, in my turn, drank four local tipplers under the table, it taking slightly less than two normal glasses of wine for me to do it. Our performances caused considerable merriment among the other patrons during the couple of hours we spent in the establishment.
A clock somewhere chimed the hour for the third time since our arrival, and so we settled our bill and departed. The night had grown considerably more chill during our interlude indoors, and we turned up our collars and jammed our hands into our pockets before heading back to the scene of our earlier confrontation.
The building was entirely dark. We passed it several times and no one seemed to be about in the vicinity.
Finally, I went up and tried the door. The lock had been broken. It opened easily. I motioned to Peters and we entered.
Moving slowly, treading carefully, we mounted the stair. When we came to the landing outside Von Kempelen's door we halted and listened for a long while. A total silence prevailed. After a time, I reached forward through the darkness and investigated manually. This lock, too, was broken and the door frame splintered.
I pushed the door open and waited. There was no reaction.
I entered. There was moonlight through the broken window to the rear. By this illumination we could see that the place was entirely empty. Not a stick of furniture, not a test tube, spoon, or teacup remained.
Even the bench itself had been removed.
Peters whistled softly. "Most pecooliar," he said. "What do you make of it?"
"Nothing," I said. "It could mean too many things. We must see Dupin first thing in the morning. He may have some answers."
Peters spit out the window.
"May not, too," he said.
We hiked back to the ship where a hairy form greeted us from the rigging.
"Bonjour, damn it!" said the raven, who had perched himself upon the arm of my chair and was studying me as I drank a cup of tea.
"Bonjour yourself, bird or devil," I said.
"He seems to like you," Dupin observed. "You actually got him to say 'nevermore' the other day."
"Rawk! Nevertheless!" Grip cried, spreading his wings and cocking his head.
"Concerning the matter of the letter," I prompted.
"Yes," he replied, smiling. "By means of a ruse involving a gold snuff box I was able to gain access to the minister's letter rack. It contained a number of delightfully incriminating items. But to the case in point, Von Kempelen had proposed selling his secret to the government, and there was indication in the form of a note in the minister's own hand, following the text, that the price was too high but that a robbery might be staged to obtain the man's notes. It was also suggested they act quickly, since others were interested and might come up with the price. This note was initialed by another minister and yesterday's date, the thirty-first, was written beside it."
"The government would do a thing like that?" I exclaimed.
He cocked an eyebrow at me and took a drink of tea.
"And the timely arrival of the police?" I said. "That was just a part of it? Your government now has Von Kempelen and his secret?"
"Not at all," he replied. "I was able to get word of this affair to Monsieur Gisquet, our Police Prefect, who has long been on less than cordial terms with my namesake minister. Barely in time, as it turned out—and there was no time at all to get a message to you, though I understand you acquitted yourselves admirably. The body up the chimney remains a bizarre puzzle, however." Here, he raised his hand as I attempted to speak "No, I don't want to hear about it."
"Actually, I wasn't about to tell you," I said. "I was merely going to ask who, then, has Von Kempelen?"
"Actually nobody has him," he replied. "He and all his equipment are, at this moment, headed for the border. Gisquet's men packed his equipment and his personal belongings while an agent of the man explained the situation to Von Kempelen."
"All of this to spite a government official," I said. "Were you the agent?"
He smiled again. "I wouldn't tell you if I were."
"I know. I did not ask for informational purposes."
"We understand each other," he said.
He refilled our cups. I took a satisfying sip of the scalding brew.
"Which border?" I asked then.
"He is headed for Spain—Toledo," he said. "Though whether this is his actual destination or possibly a clever ruse to confuse pursuit, I could not say. Again, it was one of those matters I did not really wish to know. But as to the literal meaning of your question, I do not know whether he will be crossing the border at the independent Duchy of Aragon or that of Navarre on his way south."
"I understand," I said. "Thank you."
He cleared his throat.
"The reason I referred to it as 'possibly a clever ruse' is because the man is playing a somewhat dangerous game. I should not spend too much sympathy on him should he meet with misfortune at some point along the way."
"What do you mean?"
"I said that that letter rack contained other incriminating items... ."
"Yes?"
"One of them even pertained to this affair. It was a summary of intelligence reports from agents in various capitals, indicating that Von Kempelen has made the same offer to a great number of people in different places—such as Italy, England, Spain, Navarre, Aragon, the Netherlands, even the Vatican."
"Goodness! All of them to the government, or rulers?"
"All of those I mentioned, yes. Among private individuals, a Rufus Griswold is on the list—as is Seabright Ellison."
"Really? This was not mentioned to me."
He shrugged.
"You may have passed the offer in transit. Whatever, it seems obvious from this that Von Kempelen is either incredibly naive or near-diabolical in his cleverness. To attempt to create a bidding situation among individuals and states such as these is to court abduction and torture or blackmail. Some of the individuals involved are totally ruthless and willfully treacherous. These are not the sort of men one seeks to play off against one another."
"And one such resides in Toledo?"
He nodded.
"Archbishop Fernandez. He'll wind up a Cardinal or an excommunicant—or a pile of ashes—one of these days."
"I keep forgetting the Inquisition is more than a page in history down that way."
"Is the Archbishop for it or agin it?" Peters asked.
Dupin chuckled.
"He blows hot and cold on it," he explained. "Whichever'll help him to a red hat, I'd say. As the power shifts, so does he."
"You're sure Von Kempelen isn't really headed for Navarre or Aragon?" I asked. "You said they were involved."
Dupin shrugged and turned his hands palm up.
"I know only what he said—plus the fact that he sent a letter ahead to Toledo. Make of it what you would."
I sighed.
"Then it looks as if we're finished here," I said.
"In that case—" He withdrew an envelope from beneath his serviette. "—I would like to present my bill for extraordinary services at this time, since you are authorized to execute bank drafts and I may not see you again."
I accepted the envelope, opened it.
"There are two bills here," I observed.
"So there are," he responded.
I was just beginning to get a feeling for the monetary system, and I was taken totally aback by the extremely large amount of the second bill, for "unspecified services."
"This one," I said, shaking it, "to Madame Roget—I do not understand its significance."
"It is in the way of compensation to the lady," he said, "for the loss of her daughter. Marie Roget's body was found in the river, just a few hours ago."
"Oh," I said, and I asked for the use of his pen.