much. Still, something about this man intrigued me, so I allowed myself to follow him and a small party of scientists to Simpson’s. During the part of our trek when I was in human form I detected another following behind. Any mortal nostrils could have performed this feat, for the scent of cologne that reached my nostrils when the wind shifted was quite overpowering. Another discreet admirer, perhaps, yet I sensed a different type of excitement than what was felt by the party I trailed.
Dining in such an establishment is one of the few pleasures that elude me in my present state. Still, I persuaded the captain to seat me along the wall near a large potted tree. Normally it would not have been considered a good table at this fashionable restaurant, but it suited my purposes well. Not only could I hear Tesla clearly, but the plant afforded a ready receptacle for the glass of wine and bowl of soup that I ordered. As I attempted to secret a small amount of soup away, a stranger approached my table. It was his cologne that had assaulted my senses moments earlier.
“I see you’re fascinated by the great scientist.” He was an American, judging by his accent and clothing. “May I sit down?” As much as I would prefer to listen to the conversation at the nearby table, I allowed him to join me in hopes that I would be able to rid myself of him quickly, one way or another.
“My name is Jack Danielson, and I represent the Buffalo Power Company.” He slid into the seat opposite me, blocking my view of the great scientist. “You look like an intelligent man.”
I nodded.
“I am prepared to offer you an investment opportunity in the greatest electric power plant in the world.”
Another familiar scent came to my nostrils. Rat. It went strangely well with his overly pungent cologne. This man had targeted me, and I planned to make him sorry for his intrusion. “I was under the impression that this project was funded by the government and Westinghouse Electric.”
The man swallowed almost imperceptibly. I could hear it. “Sir, we are a subsidiary of Westinghouse. Allow me to show you some materials.” As he began to open up a small leather portfolio, a woman stopped before the table.
“Mr. Danielson,” she exclaimed. Her demeanor was quite calm, if not regal, but I could sense her heart beating quickly out of anxiety. “Has my money been invested?”
“Of course. May I speak with you about dividends for a moment?” He excused himself to take the woman to the rear of the room, near the kitchen door. I focused my ears on their conversation, and was able to hear a few snippets amongst the bustle of the wait staff.
“—of course, this investment cannot pay off until the plant is operational—”
“—my son the duke will be requiring his dividend—”
“—soon—”
“—reclaim my necklace.”
I let the conversation go and studied the woman’s profile. Of course. I had seen her picture in the newspapers. She was a dowager duchess whose family had fallen on hard times after the death of her husband. Her son had just come into the title, and rumor was she was trying to marry him off, no doubt in expectation of offspring to carry on the title, preferably to some American heiress. Poor woman. Her son had rooms below mine, and the walls are thin for one of my powers. It seems he does not prefer the ladies at all.
A picture formed itself quickly in my mind. This Danielson was the worst sort of predator. Van Helsing and his coterie portray me as a vicious stealer of blood, but I can assure you that those who join my circle do so because deep within their hearts it is their desire. Danielson, however, was a destroyer of souls. I’m sure he mistook my old country dress and ways as a sign of gullibility and planned to take advantage of it.
The leech and his victim rejoined me. Her agitation was noticeable to even most mortals. Normally I wouldn’t feel much in the way of pity for this woman. The titled rich manage and mismanage their funds over the course of generations. Most of these families find a way to keep up appearances until the next windfall arrives. Yet she was the victim of this predator who had : single-handedly ruined my quiet, educational evening. I bade the duchess to rejoin her party while I took Mr. Danielson off to a quiet corner of the smoking room and convinced him that he had made a grave mistake and would be refunding the money to the investors.
It took a little more persuasion to pry the location of the necklace from him. Once I did, I couldn’t get him to be quiet. He proudly told me how he had taken the necklace, promising its return to the duchess as part of a dividend payment. Instead, he would be using it to pay off a rather substantial gambling debt. His creditor had said something about using the proceeds from its sale to construct an air gun which could be disguised as a walking stick. Ingenious, but I let his rambling stop at that point. I instructed the underhanded Mr. Danielson to return to my table and finish my glass of wine. Slowly. That should hold him while I performed my errand.
I took the form of a bat and made my way to his East End lodgings. The necklace was where he said, under a floorboard. It contained a single brilliant ruby. The setting was simple, allowing the gem to shine in all its brilliance. Such a jewel would sparkle upon any woman’s bosom, and it crossed my mind to simply retreat to my rooms and keep it for myself. It would look stunning on Lucy. But I had already started other events in action, so I hung the jewel around my neck and reverted to the form of a bat, keeping to the shadows so the light would not flash upon the ruby.
Upon my return I found Mr. Danielson seated at my table, dutifully obeying the suggestions I had left with him. I handed him the necklace and bade him to return it to the duchess. Return it he did, but I was unprepared for the noblewoman’s quite earthy reaction. She began to beat the man about the head and shoulders with her handbag with such fury that two waiters were required to separate the pair. Presently a policeman arrived and the duchess proffered her charges.
The great scientist Tesla, seemingly engrossed in calculating the volume of his coffee pot, looked up at the commotion and approached the duchess after the leech had been taken into custody. Although the incident was not directly of his doing, he offered his most sincere apologies for any distress caused to her person. As he spoke, his eye was drawn to the ruby necklace dangling from her hand.
“Madam, would you allow me to examine your ruby?”
She understandably demurred.
“You may hold onto the necklace. Please, hold only the gem up to the light.” He gestured in the direction of a gas lamp. He studied the stone for a long moment, inspecting the way in which the light refracted through its facets. He thanked the mystified duchess for her kindness then returned to his table, his thoughts still clearly with the ruby. Next he took a long, slow sip of coffee then proceeded to arrange the spoons at his place in precise alignment with the salt cellar. The waiter delivered a brandy snifter, the volume of which Tesla absentmindedly calculated. He took a sip, then recalculated the remaining amount of liquid. After a moment a smile began to play upon his lips, and his eyes shone with the brilliance of scientific thought.
“Gentlemen,” he addressed the somewhat startled assemblage at his table, “what do you suppose would happen if you were to shine a very intense light through a ruby which has been cut so as to precisely focus that light?”
“A very focused red beam of light?” ventured one fellow.
“That could be quite useful during your magic lantern slide presentations,” concluded another.
“The world is not ready,” Tesla sighed as the waiter refreshed his snifter, then addressed the man. “Did you know that you have precisely forty-two ounces of brandy left in your decanter? I’ll double your gratuity if you can divide that equally between the glasses at this table.” There was a hearty laugh all around as I retreated to my own place to settle up my bill. My heart sank as I noticed the waiter had refilled my wine glass and brought a fresh, steaming bowl of soup.
Ah, well. I would simply leave a generous tip and explain that a recent sea journey had left my stomach unsettled. I had learned that there are as many excuses as there are long, lonely nights in London.
An Essay on Containment
Gene DeWeese
