"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.
"Surely," I said. "I was planning to stop by one of the banking houses this afternoon, as I might be needing some extra cash myself. If you'll provide me with Von Kempelen's address—perhaps sketch me a map—and let me know how much you'll need, I'll be on my way."
He repaired to a small writing table where he scribbled and drew these items.
"If you're planning on returning to the Eidolon when you've finished in town," he said, "I'll be in touch with you there, to let you know that things are ready for this evening—and to pick up my advance."
"Excellent," I said, as he saw us to the door. "We'll be back aboard ship in a few hours. Thank you again."
"No problem," he replied. "By the way, might I have the loan of twenty francs till then?"
"Of course," I said, removing a note from one of the rolls of bills I had found in Ellison's safe and passing it to him.
"Pay you later," he said.
"Nevermore," said the raven, as the door closed behind us.
That evening, dressed warmly against a chilly wind, Peters and I set out to find Von Kempelen's place.
In that Peters was unwilling to do without Emerson's skills in the event of an emergency, the ape followed us along the way. The people of the city were generally unaware of his passage over their rooftops in the darkness. The dogs of Paris did, however, take notice. Their barks and howls followed us from street to street.
Peters whistled as we walked along, at one point laughing maniacally when the dogs broke into a particularly wild cacophony, causing a woman who passed us just then to cross herself and hurry away.
At length, we found ourselves in the proper neighborhood, and there was indeed a light burning behind the top floor window which seemed to belong to the apartment we sought, a building bearing the legend Porte D'Eau.
"You think he'd do himself better'n a bloody garret," Peters muttered, "bein' worth a fortune an' all."
"He's trying to be inconspicuous," I said.
"He could do it at ground level," he growled.
Firing a quick phrase of his gutter French at the concierge who answered his pounding, Peters had us admitted by a frightened-looking man who stared out to where a ring of dogs had formed at our back in the street.
"Porquoi les chiens aboient-ils?" he asked.
"Je suis loup-garou," Peters replied. "Je veux Von Kempelen."
The man stared, then Peters laughed his crazy laugh again. Smiling weakly, the concierge got out of our way.
"Trois?" Peters asked.
"Oui."
"Merci," I said, not to be outdone, and we mounted the stair.
All the way up to the top we went, then knocked upon his door. There was no answer. We waited a few moments then tried again.
The third time I called out as I knocked, "Von Kempelen! It's important, and I think you'd be interested.
It would certainly be worth your while."
The door opened a crack and a large blue eye regarded us.
"Ja?" asked its owner.
"We're Americans," I said, "and I believe you are the creator of the famous chess-playing automaton."
"And so?" he said. "If I am, what then?"
I produced a wad of Yankee dollars—again, courtesy of Ellison's safe—and waved them at him.
"I'm a representative of the Baltimore Chess Club," I said. "I'd like to bet you a thousand dollars I can beat that machine of yours."
The door opened further, so that we beheld a short, stout man with sandy hair and whiskers, wide mouth, Roman nose, and large, protuberant eyes, of a sort I had once been told were associated with a peculiar glandular condition. Half of his face was lathered, and I saw that he held a straight razor in his hand.
"Gentlemen, I am sorry," he said, "but the machine is not properly set up at this time."