Time Tunnel (19 page)

He saw Valerie and the plump Madame de Cespedes. He stopped and removed his hat with something of a flourish.

“Pardon.”

A thin man in a long gray cloak followed him into the room. This man limped slightly. Carroll, his face singularly set and grim, followed the second individual. Madame de Cespedes gave a cry of satisfaction.

“M. de Talleyrand! Ah, you can attend to everything! This scoundrel has robbed my sister-in-law and myself! These gentlemen were trying to make him yield his booty. These two and that gentleman also.”

The thin man in the gray cloak smiled pleasantly. He looked at the man in the black velvet cloak, and de Bassompierre sweated suddenly. Charles Maurice Talleyrand de Périgord, once Bishop of Autun, now Grand Chamberlain of the Empire, and eventually to be Prince of Benevento, was not a welcome sight to a man accused of robbery despite his supposed status as a gentleman. When Talleyrand smiled gently and benignly upon de Bassompierre, and Valerie and Madame de Cespedes and Harrison and Pepe, all but de Bassompierre felt comforted. De Bassompierre sweated and went starkly white.

“Ah!” said Talleyrand, in a mild tone but in a voice which even his enemies admitted was strong and deep, “but Madame, we will have to look into this! Pray tell me—”

Madame de Cespedes told with dignity the story she’d told before, as an accusation of de Bassompierre. That he’d stopped at her coach door and she smelted the perfume only her sister and the Empress possessed. The quick suspicion and investigation. The valiant, angry pursuit by coach of de Bassompierre on horseback.

“M. de Bassompierre?” asked Talleyrand mildly. “You are sure it was he?”

“Yes! He!” said Madame with superb indignation, pointing to the dark man, now very pale indeed.

The short stout man who’d first entered the room now said indignantly:

“But Madame! You are mistaken! He may be a robber, but he is not M. de Bassompierre! I have the honor to be acquainted with M. de Bassompierre! We have talked often together! He is my friend! Not five men in France have the knowledge of the sciences that he possesses! Madame, you are mistaken!
He
is not M. de Bassompierre! M. de Bassompierre stands there!”

He extended a fat hand dramatically toward Carroll.

Harrison’s scalp crawled again. Carroll, his features still peculiarly set, bowed politely. Valerie drew in her breath sharply. Pepe uttered an inarticulate sound. Madame de Cespedes gasped.

“As surely,” pronounced the stout man firmly, “as surely as my name is Georges Léopold Cretièn Frederic Dagobert Cuvier, the name of this gentleman is de Bassompierre, and of that—that robber and imposter—I do not know!”

The tall man with the slight limp spread out his hands.

“So it would appear,” he said as mildly as before. “But let us make quite certain.
M’sieur
,” he bowed with infinite politeness to the dark man, “Madame de Cespedes accuses you of the robbery of her jewels. Where are they?”

De Bassompierre could have been half-mad of bewilderment. Perhaps he was half-mad with despair. Tracked down—when it should have been impossible—after a robbery of which be should not have been suspected, he was denied his own name and found someone else credited with his identity. And this before the second or third most powerful man in France!

Talleyrand’s smile faded. His face in repose was not benign. It was utterly, terrifyingly cold. He repeated:

“
M’sieur?
”

The man in the black cloak reacted in a fashion which in a woman would have been called hysterical. He cried out in a terrible voice. His hand darted inside his cloak, and Harrison instinctively leaped before Valerie. The hand came out with a pistol in it. Harrison shouted fiercely. He was not really aware of what be did. But the heavy pistol roared, and the smaller weapon in Harrison’s hand made a lighter sound in the same fraction of an instant.

Then the room was full of stinging powder-smoke. The figure in the dark cloak seemed to stagger toward a window, as if to carry out his purpose and leap out to flee. But he did not reach it. He went somehow bonelessly down to the floor. The candle, after wild leapings and gyrations of its flame, steadied and gave light again. Harrison, numbed with sudden horror, realized that Carroll was in front of Madame de Cespedes as he was where he would shield Valerie.

“
Dios mio!
” said Pepe in a thin voice, “Ah,
Dios mio!
”

Then Talleyrand’s voice said with perfect mildness:

“But we should be quite certain! M. Cuvier, you are certainly impartial, and as a naturalist you may feel less of repugnance. Will you see if Madame de Cespedes’ and Madame Ybarra’s jewels have been recovered?”

The stout man knelt on the floor. Harrison swallowed. Cuvier looked up.

“A necklace, at least,” he said professionally. “And—ah! Yes. Rings. Bracelets. He had stuffed his garments with jewels!”

Talleyrand said inexorably:

“But one more question. He has been proved a thief, and has paid for it.
M’sieur
, you are called de Bassompierre. Have you proof that that is correct?”

Harrison felt Valerie grow tense. His own scalp crawled yet again. Carroll stood quite still for a moment, except that one hand dabbled a handkerchief at his temple. Blood flowed where a bullet had just barely grazed the skin. Half an inch to the right and he would have been a dead man. A quarter-inch and he’d have had a serious wound. But now there was only a small, steady welling of red stuff which tried to run down his cheek.

“Can you,” repeated Talleyrand politely, “prove that you are M. de Bassompierre?”

Carroll dabbed at his temple again. Then he said carefully:

“I have been travelling for some years, M. de Talleyrand. I have the usual papers, but they could be forged. But since Madame de Cespedes’ jewels are found, perhaps these…”

His hand disappeared. It came out with a small cloth bag in it. He unknotted the string and poured out a dazzling array of cut stones. There were rubies and sapphires, all of them large. None was under two carats and most were nearer five. Harrison said to himself, “Synthetics!” He was not surprised when a pearl necklace slithered snakily out on top of the rest.

“They are cut,” said Talleyrand, “in a strange fashion. I would guess the Orient.”

Carroll brought out a second bag. He displayed its contents.

“There are more,” he said, “but these—”

“They prove,” said Talleyrand in gentle cynicism, “that you cannot be other than a gentleman of rank. It is modesty not to claim a dukedom, M. de Bassompierre!”

Then there was confusion. Valerie whispered warmly to Harrison:

“Oh, my dear! You made a shield of your body for me, when he drew that dreadful pistol!”

Harrison felt numb. He’d killed someone. Perhaps he’d saved Carroll’s life, but it had been completely automatic. He was numbed by the shock of what had happened.

“I have an escort,” said Talleyrand benignly. “M. Cuvier and myself planned to dine here and then drive on to Paris. On a metalled road one may doze while travelling. If you will join us we will make a grand cavalcade that bandits would not dream of hailing.”

Talleyrand went out the door, limping slightly. Cuvier followed him. Carroll said in a queer voice:

“Harrison, he didn’t know about a time-tunnel! He didn’t know at all! Do you suppose there is one? What the devil has happened?”

Harrison shook his head. Then his eyes fell upon Pepe’s face. Pepe looked like a desperately ill man. And Harrison suddenly realized what was the matter.

Pepe had confided to him that besides his great-great-grandfather Ybarra, in Paris, he’d had another great-great-grandfather, who was de Bassompierre. And his great-great-grandfather had been killed, without arranging for Pepe to possess a mere great-grandfather. Pepe had apparently never been born, and the fact would have to appear. One would expect him to vanish instantly.

Nearly two hundred years later, plus some weeks and days and hours, and nine thousand miles away, some millions of people were vaguely aware of a fugitive sort of dizziness. It was very slight. Not one of all the innumerable people who experienced it was really’ sure that he or she had actually felt giddy. In any case there seemed to be no consequences. None at all. The world rolled on its axis and the sun shone and rain fell and everything proceeded—well—it seemed to proceed exactly as usual. Nobody noticed any change.

But there were changes in the time of Napoleon. M. Georges Léopold Cretièn Frédéric Dagobert Cuvier, perpetual secretary of the Institut Nationale in the natural and physical sciences, made sure that all the jewelry belonging to Madame de Cespedes and the
Doña
Mercedes Ybarra was removed from the cadaver of someone who insolently and for years had posed as M. de Bassompierre. Before that task was complete, the
Señor Don
Ignacio Ybarra came pounding up to the inn on horseback, with an accompanying dozen troopers borrowed from the military governor of Paris.

He was infinitely relieved and grateful to find his widowed sister-in-law quite safe and again in possession of the jewels which were her and his wife’s treasures. He was admiring of Carroll and Harrison—but Pope’s stricken pallor did not attract him—for their services to his sister-in-law and himself. He recognized Harrison as having been kind to a poor devil of a merchant named Dubois, and that his kindliness at that time had secured a full shipment of the Empress’ exclusive perfume for his wife. He mentioned that the perfume was the cause of the pseudo de Bassompierre’s immediate detection as a thief. He was polite—but with vast dignity—to M. Talleyrand de Périgord, who happened to be Grand Chamberlain of France, but naturally would not awe the head of a great family in the Spanish colony of Mexico.

They dined; Carroll with some appetite, Harrison with very little, and Pepe with none at all. He was convinced that he had never been born, because his great-great-grandfather had been killed before his eyes, without having begotten a great-grandmother who was necessary for Pope’s existence. Valerie regarded Harrison with shining eyes because he’d put his body between her and danger. Madame de Cespedes ate composedly and with careful moderation because of a slight plumpness which to a widow of thirty-and-something was undesirable.

M. Talleyrand asked questions. They were searching questions. Toward the end of the meal Carroll gave him the newspaper he’d left the candle-lit room to get, when he’d met the newly-alighted Cuvier and Talleyrand. The newspaper was of the late twentieth century. It developed that the cavalry escort had not been provided with a meal. M. Talleyrand ordered a delay while he read the newspaper and they were fed. He set up six candles for good light and perused the newspaper carefully and with an enigmatic expression. When he had finished, be took Carroll aside for a conference.

Therefore it was very late when the three coaches set out for Paris with their escort augmented by the troopers who’d come with Ybarra. They would arrive in Paris not long before sunrise. But on a metalled highway—and the rest of their journey would be on cobblestones—one might doze.

Valerie rode with Madame de Cespedes, and the
Señor Don
Ignacio Ybarra rode with Cuvier and Talleyrand for the conversation. With plenty of escort outside, Carroll and Harrison and Pepe rode and tried to relax in a heavy coach swaying on an uneven cobblestone highway. The interior of the coach was abysmally dark. Harrison still felt numb and shocked. Pepe was practically wordless because he considered that he should not be alive. Carroll was partly disturbed and partly satisfied.

“De Bassompierre,” said Carroll, frowning, “didn’t recognize words a time-traveller to our era would certainly have recognized. So I have to revise my opinion. There was no second time-tunnel. But the identity of the de Bassompierre who wrote those letters you learned of, Harrison, is still in doubt. For the moment the name is mine. But Talleyrand is too shrewd a man to attempt to deceive. That’s why I loaned him the newspaper. He suspects that I may—just possibly—have told him the truth. He is resolved to find out. I could be of great value to him, if I’m not a liar.”

Harrison numbly did not comment. Pepe remained speech-less. He swayed and stirred with the motion of the coach in the darkness. From time to time he moistened his lips.

“He wants to be sure I really know French history before it happens,” said Carroll meditatively. “He set me a test. Napoleon has twelve hundred flat-bottomed boats ready to land a hundred and twenty thousand men and ten thousand horses on the English coast. Talleyrand asked me when the invasion will take place. I’ve told him never, because Napoleon will make a fool of himself and send an insulting note to Russia, and Russia will get ready to declare war, and that will be no time to invade England! It’ll never be time for it.”

“But—”

“Historically,” said Carroll, “those are the facts. I’ve simply stated them before they become factual. Talleyrand has probably guessed what’s in the cards, anyhow. He knows Napoleon. But he was interested that I could tell him. He read every word in that newspaper. He’s a brilliant man, Talleyrand!”

The coach swayed and lurched and rolled and rumbled. If one were weary enough, it might be possible to sleep. But one would have to be very weary! Harrison said helplessly:

“I can’t understand it! De Bassompierre was supposed to be Pepe’s great-great-grandfather! And he’s dead. And there’s Pepe.”

Carroll sat up sharply.

“What’s that?”

“It’s Pepe’s family tree,” said Harrison. “Madame de Cespedes is the widow of
Doña
Mercedes Ybarra’s brother. That’s where the sister-in-law business comes in. Pepe’s family tree says that de Bassompierre married her, and they had a daughter who married Ignacio Ybarra’s son—whom he hasn’t got yet—some time in the 1820’s when Ybarra’s back as ambassador from Mexico. And they’ll be Pepe’s great-grandparents. But de Bassompierre is dead. So he can’t marry Madame de Cespedes. So Ignacio Ybarra’s son can’t marry his daughter, so he can’t be Pepe’s great-great-grandfather. Therefore Pepe’s great-grandfather won’t exist, naturally his grandfather can’t beget his father, and if none of them ever exists, why, Pepe couldn’t be born!”