The Mammoth Book of 20th Century SF II (60 page)

The itinerary composed by Mr. Nideston was extraordinarily precise and included train schedules and the addresses of inexpensive but comfortable English hotels. He had drawn it up in his own
hand. And here, too, one was aware of his strange and unpredictable character. On the corner of one of the pages he had written in pencil in his angular, firm hand: “If Chance and Co. were
real Englishmen they would have not abandoned their concern and it would not be necessary for us to obtain lenses and instruments from the French and Germans with names like
Schnurbartbindhalter.”

I will admit, not in a spirit of boasting, that everywhere I bore myself with the requisite weight and dignity, because many times in critical moments in my ears I heard Mr. Nideston’s
terrible goat’s voice singing, “Britons never, never, never will be slaves.”

But, too, I must say that I cannot complain about any lack of attentiveness and courtesy on the part of the learned scientists and famous technicians whom I met. My letters of recommendation
signed with large, black, completely illegible flourishes and reinforced below with Mr. Nideston’s precise signature served as a magic wand in my hands which opened all doors and all hearts
for me. With unremitting and deep-felt concern I watched the manufacture and polishing of convex and curving lenses and the production of the most delicate, complex and beautiful instruments which
gleamed with brass and steel, shining with all their screws, tubing, and machined metal. When in one of the most famous workshops of the globe I was shown an almost complete fifty-inch mirror which
had required at least two or three years of final polishing – my heart stood still and my breath caught, so overcome was I with delight and awe at the power of the human mind.

But I was also rendered very uneasy by the persistent curiosity of these serious, learned men who in turn attempted to ascertain the mysterious purpose of my patron whose name I did not know.
Sometimes subtly and artfully, sometimes crudely and directly, they attempted to extract from me the details and goal of my journey, the addresses of the firms with which I had business, the type
and function of our orders to other workshops, etc., etc. But, firstly, I remembered well Mr. Nideston’s very serious warnings about indiscretions: secondly, what could I answer even if I
wished to? I myself knew nothing and was feeling my way, as though at night in an unknown forest. I was accepting, after verifying drawings and calculations, some kind of strange optical glasses,
metal tubing of various sizes, calculators, small-scale propellors, miniaturized cylinders, shutters, heavy glass retorts of a strange form, pressure gauges, hydraulic presses, a host of electrical
devices which I had never seen before, several powerful microscopes, three chronometers and two underwater diving suits with helmets. One thing became obvious to me: the strange enterprise which I
served had nothing to do with the construction of an observatory, and on the basis of the objects which I was accepting I found it absolutely impossible to guess the purpose which they were to
serve. My only concern was to ensure that they were packed with great care and I constantly devised ingenious devices which protected them from vibrations, concussion, and deformation.

I freed myself from impertinent questions by suddenly falling silent, and not saying a word I would look with stony eyes directly at the face of my interrogator. But one time I was compeled to
resort to very persuasive eloquence: a fat, insolent Prussian dared to offer me a bribe of two thousand Marks if I would reveal to him the secret of our enterprise. This happened in Berlin in my
own room on the fourth floor of my hotel. I succinctly and sternly informed that stout insolent creature that he spoke with an English gentleman. He neighed like a Percheron, slapped me familiarly
on the back and exclaimed:

“Oh, come now, my good man, let’s forget these jokes. We both understand what they mean. Do you think that I have not offered you enough? But we, like intelligent men of the world,
can come to an agreement, I am sure . . .”

His vulgar tone and crude gestures displeased me inordinately. I opened the great window of my room and pointing below at the pavement I said firmly:

“One word more, and you will not find it necessary to employ the elevator to leave this floor. One, two, three . . .”

Pale, cowed, and enraged, he cursed hoarsely in his harsh Berlin accent, and on his way out slammed the door so hard that the floor of my apartment trembled and objects leaped upon the
table.

My last visit on the continent was to Amsterdam. There I was to transmit my letters of recommendation to the two owners of two world famous diamond cutting firms, Maas and Daniels, respectively.
They were intelligent, polite, dignified, and sceptical Jews. When I visited them in turn, Daniels first of all said to me slyly: “Of course you have a commission also for Mr. Maas.”
And Maas, as soon as he read the letter addressed to him, said with a query in his voice, “You have no doubt spoken with Mr. Daniels?”

Both of them displayed the greatest reserve and suspicion in their relations with me; they consulted together, sent off simple and coded telegrams, put to me the most subtle and detailed
questions about my personal life, and so on. They both visited me on the day of my departure. A kind of Biblical dignity could be perceived in their words and movements.

“Excuse us, young man, and do not consider it a sign of our distrust that we inform you,” said the older and more imposing, Daniels, “that on the route Amsterdam–London
all steamships are alive with international thieves of the highest skill. It is true that we hold in strictest confidence the execution of your worthy commission, but who can be assured that one or
two of these enterprising, intelligent, at times almost brilliant international knights of commerce will not manage to discover our secret? Therefore, we have not considered it excessive to
surround you with an invisible but faithful police guard. You, perhaps, will not even notice them. You know that caution is never unwanted. Will you not agree that we and your associates would be
much relieved if that which you transport were under reliable, observant, and ceaseless observation during the entire voyage? This is not a matter of a leather cigarette case, but two objects which
cost together approximately one million three hundred thousand francs and which are unique in all the world, and perhaps in all the universe.”

I, in the most sincere and concerned tone, hastened to assure the worthy diamond cutter of my complete agreement with his wise and farsighted words. Apparently, my trust inclined him even more
in my favor, and he asked in a low voice, in which I detected a quaver, an expression of awe:

“Would you like to see them?”

“If that is convenient, then please,” I said, barely able to conceal my curiosity and perplexity.

Both the Jews almost simultaneously, with the expression of priests performing a holy ritual, took out of the side pockets of their long frock coats two small boxes – Daniels’ was of
oak while that of Maas was of red morocco; they carefully unfastened the gold clasps and lifted the lids. Both boxes were lined in white velvet and at first to me they appeared to be empty. It was
only when I had bent close over them and looked closely that I saw two round, convex, totally colorless lenses of extraordinary purity and transparency, which would have been almost invisible
except for their delicate, round, precise outlines.

“Astonishing workmanship!” I exclaimed, ecstatically. “Undoubtedly the polishing of glass in this manner must have required much expenditure of time.”

“Young man!” said Daniels in a startled whisper. “They are not glass, they are two diamonds. The one from my shop weighs thirty and one-half carats and the diamond of Mr. Maas
in all weighs seventy-four carats.”

I was so stunned that I lost my usual composure.

“Diamonds? Diamonds cut into spheres? But that’s a miracle such as I have never seen or heard. Man has never succeeded in producing anything like them!”

“I have already told you that these objects are unique in all the world,” the jeweler reminded me solemnly, “but, excuse me, I am somewhat puzzled by your surprise. Did you not
know about them? Had you in fact never heard of them?”

“Never in my life. You know that the enterprise which I serve is a closely guarded secret. Not only I, but also Mr. Nideston, are unacquainted with it in detail. I know only that I am
collecting parts and equipment in various locations in Europe for some kind of an enormous project, whose purpose and plan I – a scientist by training – as yet understand
nothing.”

Daniels looked intently at me with his calm capable eyes, light brown in color, and his Biblical face darkened.

“Yes, that is so,” he said slowly and thoughtfully after a brief pause. “Apparently you know nothing more than we, but do I perceive, when I look into your eyes, that even if
you were informed of the nature of the enterprise, you would not share your information with us?”

“I have given my word, Mr. Daniels,” I said as softly as possible.

“Yes, that is so, that is so. Do not think, young man, that you have come to our city of canals and diamonds completely unknown.”

The Jew smiled a thin smile.

“We are even aware of the manner in which you suggested an aerial journey out of your window to a certain individual with commercial connections.”

“How could anyone have known of that incident except the two of us involved?” I said, astonished. “Apparently, that German swine could not keep his mouth closed.”

The Jew’s face became enigmatic. He slowly and significantly passed his hand down his long beard.

“You should know that the German said nothing about his humiliation. But we knew about it the next day. We must! We whose guarded fire-proof vaults contain our own and others’
valuables sometimes worth hundreds of millions of francs, must maintain our own intelligence. Yes. And three days later Mr. Nideston also knew of your deed.”

“That’s going too far!” I exclaimed in confusion.

“You have lost nothing, my young Englishman. Rather you have gained. Do you know how Mr. Nideston responded when he heard of the Berlin incident? He said: ‘I knew that Mr. Dibble, an
excellent young man, would have done nothing else.’ For my part I would like to congratulate Mr. Nideston and his patron on the fact that their interests have fallen into such faithful hands.
Although . . . Although . . . Although this disrupts certain of our schemes, our plans, and our hopes.”

“Yes,” confirmed the taciturn Mr. Maas.

“Yes,” repeated quietly the Biblical Mr. Daniels, and once more a sad expression passed over his face. “We were given these diamonds in almost the same form in which you now
see them, but their surfaces, as they had only recently been removed from the matrix, were crude and rough. We ground them as patiently and lovingly as though they were a commission from an
emperor. To express it more accurately; it was impossible to improve on them. But I, an old man, a craftsman and one of the great gem experts of the world, have long been tortured by one cursed
question: who could give such a shape to a diamond? Moreover, look at the diamond – here is a lens – not a crack, not a blemish, not a bubble. This prince of diamonds must have been
subjected to the greatest heat and pressure. And I,” and here Daniels sighed sadly, “and I must admit that I had counted much on your arrival and your candor.”

“Forgive me, but I am in no position . . .”

“That’s enough, I understand. But we wish you a pleasant journey.”

My ship left Amsterdam that evening. The agents who accompanied me were so skilled at their work that I did not know who among the passengers was my guard. But toward midnight when I wished to
sleep and retired to my room, to my surprise I found there a bearded, broad-shouldered stranger whom I had never seen on deck. He stretched out, not on the spare bunk, but on the floor near the
door where he spread out a coat and an inflatable rubber pillow and covered himself with a robe. Not without repressed anger I informed him that the entire cabin to its full extent including its
cubic content of air belonged to me. But he responded calmly and with a good English accent:

“Do not be disturbed, sir. It is my duty to spend this night near you in the position of a faithful watchdog. May I add that here is a letter and a package from Mr. Daniels.”

The old Jew had written briefly and affectionately:

In the packet was a ring with a small flat ruby on whose surface were engraved wondrous signs.

Then my “watchdog” locked the cabin, laid a revolver next to him on the floor and seemingly fell instantly asleep.

“Thank you, my dear Mr. Dibble,” Mr. Nideston said to me the next day, shaking my hand firmly. “You have excellently fulfilled all your commissions, which were at times
difficult enough, employed your time well, and in addition have borne yourself with dignity. Now you may rest for a week and divert yourself as you wish. Sunday morning we shall dine together and
then leave for Southampton and on Monday morning you will be at sea aboard
The Southern Cross
, a splendid steamer. Do not forget, may I remind you, to visit my clerk to receive your two
months’ salary and expenses, and during the next two days I will examine and re-pack all of your baggage. It is dangerous to trust another’s hands, and I doubt if there is anyone in
London as skilled as I in the packing of delicate objects.”

On Sunday I bade farewell to kind Mr. John Johnson and his numerous family, leaving them to the sound of their best wishes for a happy journey. And on Monday morning Mr. Nideston and I were
seated in the luxurious stateroom of the huge liner
The Southern Cross
where we drank coffee in expectation of my departure. A fresh breeze blew over the sea and green waves with white caps
dashed against the thick glass of the portholes.