"I see I have given you something to ponder," Koenig said, interrupting my train of thought. He was holding out his empty whisky glass as if to ask for a refill, but because I wanted time to think this through I rather brusquely took the glass away from him.
"You're sure of your facts this time?" I said.
"Copper-bottomed certain, sir. Upon my very word."
"Last time you gave me some leads so I might check your claims myself. Are you proposing something similar now?"
"No — I offer you only my word. I have personally seen the two men together, and as far as I am concerned no further proof is necessary."
"Not to you, perhaps." I stood up, to indicate that the interview was at an end.
Koenig picked up his hat and coat, and went to the door, which I held open for him.
I said to him, as casually as I could contrive, "You show no curiosity about how I perform my own illusion."
"I take it that it's magic, sir."
"You don't then suspect me of having an identical twin?"
"I know you have not."
"So you did investigate me," I said. "And what about Borden? Is he wondering how I work the effect?"
Mr Koenig gave me a broad wink.
"I'm sure he and his brother would not like you to know that they're in a lather of curiosity about you, sir." He extended his hand, and we shook. "Once again, my congratulations. If I may say so, it has been reassuring to see you in such good health."
He was gone before I could respond to that, but I think I know what he meant.
7th September 1902
In London
My short season at Daly's being complete, I am able to tidy up my affairs in London for a while, and spend my long-anticipated month with Julia and the children in Derbyshire. Tomorrow I shall be heading north; Wilson has gone ahead of me to make the usual arrangements for the prestige materials.
This morning I have safely secured Tesla's apparatus in my workshop, paid off my assistants for the next few weeks, settled all my outstanding bills, and spoken at some length with Unwin about bookings for the autumn and winter. It already seems that I shall be busily engaged from the middle of October until March or April next year. My estimated income from these performances, even after all my overheads have been deducted, will make me rich beyond the wildest dreams of my youth. By the end of next year I shall, in all probability, need never work again.
Which brings me to an explanation of Koenig's parting remark.
A few months ago, when I was in the first rush of perfecting the presentation of In a Flash, I thought of a novel final twist to the illusion. What brought it to mind were those early dark feelings that I was somehow surviving beyond death. I arranged, by a combination of carefully positioned lights and use of make-up, that at the end of my act, after I had passed through the aether, I would look more haggard than before. I would seem worn by the rigours of the undertaking. I would be a man who had flirted with death, and who now showed the unmistakable traces.
This effect has become a routine part of my act. Throughout my show I move carefully, as if favouring my limbs so they should not hurt, I turn with a slight stiffness of the waist and back, I walk with my shoulders hunched. I make the best of my condition, acting as if I do not care. After I have performed In a Flash, and once I have been seen to have arrived miraculously intact, then I allow the lighting to do its gruesome work. As the final curtain falls I appear to most of the audience as if I am not long for this world.
Apart from the effect itself, I do have a long-term strategy in mind. Put plainly, I am planning and preparing for my own death. I am, after all, no stranger to the concept. For many years I acted the role of the dead man while Julia played the widow. And after so many transits through Tesla's infernal device, the idea that I could stage my own death comes easily.
Next year I wish to retire from the stage for good. I want to be free of the endless touring, of the long journeys, the overnight stays in theatrical lodgings, the endless tussles with theatre managements. I am sick of the need for secrecy about what I do, and I always fear another round of attacks from Borden.
Most of all, my children are growing up and I wish to be with them as they do so. Edward is soon to depart to university, and the girls will no doubt be married soon.
By this time next year I shall be, as I say, financially independent, and with prudent investment the Caldlow estate should be able to provide for my family for the rest of my life and theirs. As far as the world in general is concerned the life of The Great Danton, of Rupert Angier, shall come to a cancerous end, brought on by the rigours of his career, at some point in the autumn of 1903.
Meanwhile, without publicity or announcement, the 14th Earl of Colderdale will at much the same time take up the reins of his inheritance.
Thus the explanation of Koenig's remark about my "surprising" good health. He is a sharp man, who knows more about me than I wish he did.
On this subject, I have been reflecting a great deal about his theory that there is not one Borden but two. I remain unsure.
This is not because the premise itself is implausible — after all, my man Cutter had worked it out for himself — but because of the endless ramifications of living with the deception. I had already thought about a few of those when Koenig was in my dressing room.
What about everyday life? No artiste is constantly in work, however successful his or her career. There are periods of rest, both voluntary and involuntary. There are necessary delays between bookings. Shows and tours can be cancelled just before they are due to start. There are holidays, illnesses, family crises.
If Borden is not one man but two, and one of the men is always in hiding so that the other might seem to be the "only" Alfred Borden, where and how is the hiding going on? What happens in the life of the hidden man while he is hiding? How does he make contact with his brother? Do they ever meet, and if so how do they arrange not to be spotted by anyone?
How many other people know about the deception, and how can Borden be certain the secret is safe with them?
Speaking in particular of other people, what of Borden's wife? And what of his children?
If Borden is two men, they cannot both be husband to the wife, nor both be father to the children. Which of them is husband, which the father? Borden's wife is a woman of good background, and by all accounts no fool. What does she in fact know about Borden?
Is she being kept in the dark about his true identity?
Could concealment and deception extend successfully even to the marital home, the conjugal bed? Would she suspect nothing, discern no difference at all between the two men?
What about family lore, private jokes and observations, shared personal memories, matters of physical intimacy? Is it conceivable that the two men would collaborate to such an extent that even personal matters are dragged into the precautions and secrecy that surround a mere stage illusion?
The contrary is if anything harder to believe; that Borden's wife knows the truth of the matter and is prepared for some reason to put up with it.
If that were true, the arrangement would surely have gone wrong years ago.
One of the two brothers would inevitably become seen as the lesser partner in the arrangement; one of them (let me again call him Borden-2) would not be the one who actually went through the ceremony of marriage with her. He would therefore be in her eyes less of a husband than Borden-1, and what would follow then of matters concerning conjugality?
Further to the point, Borden-2 would not be the actual father to the children. (I assume for sake of normal propriety that the Borden-2 who did not marry is the same Borden-2 who did not sire the children.) Borden-2 would therefore be uncle to the children, at a stage removed from them, emotionally and physically. The wife, the mother, could not help but discriminate in some way against him.