Arthur Zagat - The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume IX

And if the mystery of the disappearance of Isidor Werner was uncommonly deep and wonderful, the explanation and final solution of it is not less marvellous. After a delay of more than six years, it has just now come into my hands whole and perfect. It is in no less satisfactory form than a complete manuscript written by the very hand of Isidor Werner! I came strangely into possession of it, and it relates a story of interest and wonder, compared with which the mystery of his disappearance pales into insignificance. But the reader may judge for himself, for here follows the story exactly as he wrote it. Upon his manuscript I have bestowed hardly more than a proof-reader’s technical revision.

ELLSWORTH DOUGLASS.

BOSTON, U.S.A., December 13th, 1898.

I had been busy all day trying to swarm the bees and secure my honey. The previous day had been February 29th, a date which doesn’t often happen, and which I had especial reason to remember, for it had been the most successful of my business career. I had made a long guess at the shaky condition of the great house of Slater, Bawker & Co., who had been heavy buyers of wheat. I had talked the market down, sold it down, hammered it down; and, true enough, what nobody else seemed to expect really happened. The big firm failed, the price of wheat went to smash in a panic of my mixing, and, as a result, I saw a profit of more than two hundred thousand dollars in the deal. But, in order to secure this snug sum, I still had to buy back the wheat I had sold at higher prices, and this I didn’t find so easy. The crowd in the wheat pit had seen my hand, and were letting me play it alone against them all.

After the session I hurried to my office to get my overcoat and hat, having an engagement to lunch at the Club.

“If you please, Mr. Werner, there is a queer old gentleman in your private office who wishes to see you,” said Flynn, my chief clerk.

“Ask him to call again to-morrow; I am in a great hurry to-day,” I said, slipping on one sleeve of my overcoat as I started out.

“But he has been waiting in there since eleven o’clock, and said he very much wished to see you when you had plenty of time. He would not allow me to send on the floor for you during the session.”

“Since eleven o’clock! Did he have his lunch and a novel sent up? Well, I can hardly run away from a man who has waited three and a half hours to see me;” and I entered my private office with my overcoat on.

Seated in my deep, leathern arm-chair was an elderly man, with rather long and bushy iron-grey hair, and an uneven grey beard. His head inclined forward, he breathed heavily, and was apparently fast asleep.

“You will pardon my awaking you, but I never do business asleep!” I ventured rather loudly.

Slowly the steel-blue eyes opened, and, without any start or discomposure, the old man answered,—

“And I—my most successful enterprises are developed in my dreams.”

His features and his accent agreed in pronouncing him German. He arose calmly, buttoned the lowest button of his worn frock-coat, and, instead of extending his hand to me, he poked it inside his coat, letting it hang heavily on the single button. It was a lazy but characteristic attitude. It tended to make his coat pouch and his shoulders droop. I remembered having seen it somewhere before.

“Mr. Werner, I have a matter of the deepest and vastest importance to unfold to you,” he began, rather mysteriously, “for which I desire five hours of your unemployed time—”

“Five hours!” I interrupted. “You do not know me! That much is hard to find without running into the middle of the night, or into the middle of the day—which is worse for a busy man. I have just five minutes to spare this afternoon, which will be quite time enough to tell me who you are and why you have sought me.”

“You do not know me because you do not expect to see me on this hemisphere,” he continued. “Nor did I expect to find you a potent force in the commercial world, only three years after a literary and linguistic preparation for a scholarly career. Why, the mädchens of Heidelberg have hardly had time to forget your tall, athletic figure, or ceased wondering if you were really a Hebrew—”

“You seem to be altogether familiar with my history,” I put in with a little heat. “Kindly enlighten me equally well as to your own.”

“I gave you the pleasure of an additional year of residence at the University of Heidelberg not long ago,” he answered.

“I do not know how that can be, for to my uncle I owe my entire education there.”

“Perhaps an unappreciated trifle of it you owe to your instructors and lecturers. Do you forget that I refused to pass your examinations in physics, and kept you there a year longer?”

“You are not Doctor Anderwelt, then?”

“Hermann Anderwelt, Ph.D., at your service, sir,” he replied somewhat proudly.

“But when and why did you leave your chair at Heidelberg?”

“It is to answer this that I ask the five hours,” he said slowly.

“Oh, come now, doctor, you used to tell me more in a two-hour lecture than I could remember in a week,” I answered, taking off my overcoat, and touching an electric button at my desk. My office boy entered.

“Teddy, have I had lunch to-day?” This was my favourite question on a busy day, and Teddy always answered it seriously.

“No, sir, you have an engagement to lunch at the Standard Club,” he replied.

“Telephone to Gus at the Club that I can’t come up to-day. Also send over to the Grand Pacific for a good lunch for two. Have some beer in it—real Münchner, and in steins,” I directed, and then I reclined on a long leather lounge, and motioned to the doctor to have a chair. He declined, however, and walked slowly back and forth before me as he talked, keeping his right hand inside his coat, and with the left he occasionally ploughed up his heavy hair, as if to ventilate his brain.

“A year ago I gave up theoretical physics for applied physics; I resigned my chair at Heidelberg, and came to this progressive city. I brought with me a working model of the greatest invention of this inventive age. Yet it was then neither perfect in design nor complete in detail. But now I have hit on the plan that makes it practicable and certain of success. I need only a little money to build it, and the world will open its eyes!”

“But you must pardon me if instead of opening mine I shut them,” I interrupted, seeing the point quickly, and losing no time in dodging. “I have no money to invest in patent rights; but still, you must stay to lunch with me.”

Just here the doctor seemed to find it necessary to diverge from the orderly course of his lecture as he had prepared it, and interject a few impromptu observations.

“Events are difficult to forecast, but the capabilities of a youth are harder to divine. One educates his son in all the fine arts, and he turns out a founder of pig iron. One’s nephew is apprenticed to a watchmaker, and in a few years, behold, he is a great barrister. Your uncle educated you thoroughly in the old Hebrew and Chaldee of the rabbis, and, lo! you are now the ursa major of the wheat market.

“Just now you are in the centre of the kaleidoscope of success. Slater, Bawker & Co. were there a month ago, but now they are only bits of broken glass in the bottom of the heap! And you? you are really a twisted bit of coloured glass like the rest, but you chance to be thrown to the middle. The mirrors of public opinion multiply your importance half a dozen times, and behold you are reflected into the whole picture. But the kaleidoscope turns, and the pieces of glass are shifted. Other broken chips now at the bottom of the heap will soon be filling the centre!