I strolled the deck feeling somewhat lighter of heart than earlier. At last I'd some information and something of a plan. The day was clear, brisk, bright, and dinner only a bell away.
Fair stood the wind for France... .
The Seine flowed slowly, meandering in a generally southeast direction. And we ascended slowly, amid a great deal of other shipping. A small steam tug took us the last part of the way, under leaden November skies. The trees stood bare upon the banks. The water was gray. It was difficult to tell when the day began. I had stood upon the deck in darkness, watching the passing shadows, and the world brightened gradually about me but there was no real sunrise. There were bridges, windmills, passing carts. More and more buildings came into view—larger, closer together... .
"A few more hours, Master Eddie, and you can try out yer parlay voos," said Peters. I had not heard him come up beside me. I glanced about after his shadow but the simian was not in sight.
I shook my head.
"I'm afraid I lack the equipment in that area. You ever been here before?"
"A few times," he replied, "on errands for Mr. Ellison."
"You know the lingo?"
"Well, yes and no," he answered.
"What do you mean?"
"My pappy, like I said, was a voyageur. I picked up some when he was about—but the rest is argot, gutter French, from the folks I'd sometimes deal with. I can understand a bit, but I open my mouth around anyone respectable and he's gonna know there's somethin' untrustworthy about me."
"You mean he's going to think there's something untrustworthy."
"No, he's gonna know it."
"Oh."
He laughed then. So did I. But I wondered.
Later that morning, getting on toward noon, we reached the quay. The smells were a combination of spice and rot, and we heard the noise and witnessed the movements of the port before we had docked. I told Captain Guy that I would be taking Peters with me and heading into town as soon as we might disembark. He allowed that the formalities would not be overlong, suggesting, however, that we had time for a meal. So Peters and I headed for the saloon, taking a leisurely luncheon while the ship was herded to its anchorage and the port authorities dealt with.
Sometime after the gangways had fallen into place and the shouts of crewmen subsided, Captain Guy came to us.
"Edgar," he said. "Would you come with me, please? And bring Peters."
I was about to ask him what for when he caught my eye and brushed his lips with a fingertip. I nodded, got to my feet and followed him. Peters came along, and Emerson emerged from beneath a companionway and joined us.
Captain Guy conducted us to his cabin, where a small, slim lady of the dark-haired variety waited. She was attractive and tastefully, though not conspicuously, garbed. She rose from the captain's leather chair, smiling faintly, to acknowledge introductions.
"This is Miss Marie Roget," Captain Guy began, "one of Mr. Ellison's French agents. She was waiting for us upon our arrival."
I immediately wondered how Seabright could have gotten a message to her in advance of our arrival.
But she explained, even before I asked, that an agent at Le Havre automatically passed word to Paris when one of Seabright's vessels was headed this way. Seeing that this was his personal yacht it was decided that someone had better be on hand to help deal with any problems.
Emerson seemed to have taken a fancy to her and she patted him several times as she spoke, as if he were a large dog. This seemed to please him in the extreme, and he cavorted about the cabin till Peters growled something at him which resulted in his immediate retirement beneath the table.
" ... So, if there is anything I can help you with," she said, "just ask."
"All right," I said. "I will. We are following the inventor Von Kempelen. Or rather, we are following someone who is following Von Kempelen. I suppose it comes to the same thing—"
"The man has been seen in Paris," she interrupted. "He enjoys the reputation of being worth watching, here on the Continent. So we should be able to give you some assistance. Pray, continue."
I told her of Annie and of the Unholy Trinity and of the possibility of alchemical gold. I did not tell her anything of my own origin or of anything—such as Valdemar—not material to the problems at hand.
"And so," I concluded, "we were about to go in search of Monsieur Dupin when you arrived."
She nodded.
"A good choice," she said. "I have worked with the man and can vouch for his brilliance and his integrity. And while I have not yet spoken with him on the matter, he may well know more about the Von Kempelen affair than I do. Shall I take you to him?"
"He is still at 33, Rue Dunot? I inquired.
"Indeed," she replied.
"How soon might we see him?"
"It is likely he would be there now. The seriousness of the situation suggests we dispense with formalities."
"Then let us visit him immediately," I said.
"Very well," she answered. "If he does not have the information we seek he will obtain it quickly. The man's reasoning abilities are legendary."
We started for the door and Captain Guy pointed out that Emerson was immediately behind us, having removed himself from beneath the table and approached in total silence. It was decided that he might make a rather conspicuous companion, and so Peters ordered him to remain a guest of the captain's.
Then with a shrug of his wig and a hitch of his trousers, he was out the door and we were on our way.
Down the gangway and onto the pier we proceeded, past dock laborers and crates of goods, making our way up to an avenue which led us past taverns, shops of cheap goods, and an occasional streetwalker.
"Finding a carriage hereabout is an uncertain matter," Marie announced. "We must go a bit farther. Then it will become easy."
I nodded, fascinated by the gracefulness of Peters' movements, though they were still governed by the rolling gait the sea had taught him. "I hope that I can persuade you," I told her, "to act as our interpreter full-time. Whatever extra cost this might involve, you're certainly welcome to it."
"I see no problem, Monsieur Perry," she replied.
"Make it 'Edgar,' " I said.
" 'Edgar,' " she repeated, accenting the second syllable. "Very well. Turn here—Edgar."
We turned onto a side-street, down which a carriage was slowly jouncing. A ragman, soiled bag over his shoulder, was picking through some trash in a doorway. From far ahead, I heard voices raised in a tuneless work song, heavy on the beat. There were deep puddles in the street and the usual random heaps of horse manure, as pungent here as back home.
At the corner we turned left upon a broader thoroughfare. Here, considerable carriage and cart traffic hurried past, as well as horseback riders and pedestrians.
"Along this way we should find transportation," Marie remarked.
Five minutes later we were passing a flower seller's stall, a number of people gossiping or staring before the racks of dried arrangements. Just as we went by an elderly man stepped toward us from beyond the next stall—where cheap scarves were being sold—and the moment his eyes fixed upon mine, a bright glint of lunacy within them, I knew that all was not quite well. He was poorly dressed, save for an expensive ring on his left hand, and in that instant I realized it was not the hand of an old man. A quick step and he was at my side, right hand emerging from behind his hip, a flash of steel within it.