“Yes and yes,” replied Tyler. “As for ideas, I do have a few to begin with. Alchemists tended to be a secretive lot. Their writings were often encoded with all sorts of obscure references, often mythological, to make them incomprehensible to a layman. For example, Golden One could refer to the mineral sulfur, or some arcane chemical compound.” He made a wry face. “I’ve seen recipes that call for one part fiery dragon, four parts dove of Diana, and seven eagles of Mercury. It may sound absurd to us, but other alchemists would understand the hidden meaning.”
“So you think it may refer to a chemical and not an actual person.”
“Possibly.”
Wrexford let out a frustrated oath.
“But as for the second term on the fragment, I can be more specific, milord. In writings on alchemy, it’s a common abbreviation for the philosopher’s stone.”
Wrexford vaguely recalled the term, but had long since forgotten its meaning. “Which is?”
“The holy grail of alchemy—by the by, alchemy was known as chymistry until the late sixteen hundreds, when Newton and his contemporaries began to call their scientific work chemistry, to differentiate it from the undisciplined efforts of the past.”
“A fascinating history lesson,” muttered the earl, “but might we return to the philosopher’s stone?”
“Very well.” Tyler sounded a little disappointed at having his explanations nipped in the bud. “It’s said to be a substance with unique powers to change one element into another. Add a drop of the philosopher’s stone to a common metal like lead, and it will be transmuted into gold,” he explained. “Naturally, the idea that such a powerful concoction could be formulated inspired an obsession among many to make the ultimate discovery.”
“Which would give the fortunate fellow unimagined riches as well as unimagined power.” Wrexford huffed a snort. “Little has changed since Adam gobbled down the Apple—men simply cannot resist the Serpent of Temptation, with its seductive promises of God-like powers.”
“True,” agreed Tyler. “Indeed, there were those who believe that the philosopher’s stone would not only turn lead into gold, but would also transmute the soul to eternal life.”
“Eternal life? Ha, if you ask me, that could be more of a hell than a heaven.”
“With all due respect, milord, you do tend to have an eccentric view of the world.”
“I prefer to call it realistic.” Wrexford turned his attention back to the fragment. “So, let us apply reason and logic to assess what we have here. Drummond believes something—or someone—is the Devil and is going to destroy . . . we don’t know what.”
“Presumably something of a grand nature—like Society, England, or the world,” suggested his valet.
“A reasonable assumption,” said the earl. “And presumably the philosopher’s stone is dangerous because it’s the instrument of this destruction.”
“My thinking exactly, milord.”
“So, we have Drummond’s message.” The earl rose and fetched the sketch he had made at Henning’s surgery. “And we have this.” He passed it over before resuming his seat. “Drummond had this symbol penciled on the palm of his hand. Do you have any idea what it means?”
Tyler took his time in studying the paper. “No, I don’t recognize it. But it looks very much like the type of pictograms used in alchemy.”
“Which simply leaves us spinning in circles trying to connect them.” Sarcasm shaded his voice. “We have deciphered Drummond’s dire warning. We see a clear link with ancient alchemy.” Wrexford gave another quick glance at the fragment, and then looked up. “And it all adds up to damnably nothing.”
“Not yet.”
Tyler, ever unflappable, was a cursed nuisance at times. “Kindly refrain from being so reasonable,” he growled. “I would prefer to work myself into a truly foul temper and smash a few beakers against the wall.”
“I am aware of that, milord. But we are running short of specialty glassware, and the order from Lutz and Münch in Zurich won’t arrive for another fortnight.”
Wrexford felt his scowl twitch upward. “Oh, very well. I shall put aside thoughts of smashing glass, no matter how soothing the sounds would be, and concentrate on a more practical expenditure of energy.” He leaned back from the microscope, his fit of temper giving way to the challenge of solving the conundrum. “Let’s examine the other scraps, in case there is any other information to be gleaned. But I have been thinking, and trying to apply logic to the facts we have in hand. . . .”
Tyler perched a hip on the edge of the workbench. “Go on.”
“We know Drummond was a sneak, and spied on his fellow chemists. My guess is he either overheard something, or stole some papers from a colleague’s laboratory that put him in grave danger. And he didn’t realize just how lethal the threat was until it was too late.”
“So you believe he was in his laboratory the morning of his death trying to remove the incriminating evidence?” asked his valet.
“It seems a reasonable assumption,” he answered. “Once I discovered the unlocked chemical cabinet, and Drummond understood that his laboratory had been broken into, he might have been spooked and realized keeping the papers there could be dangerous. He intended to hide them somewhere, however, the villain beat him to it.”
“And so the villain kills Drummond, and as it’s too dangerous to spend time searching for the evidence, he simply decides to reduce the laboratory to ashes,” mused Tyler. “I see no flaw in your thinking.”
The earl rose and began to pace around the room. “Then it stands to reason that the villain is a fellow member of the Royal Institution. I must learn more about the chemists working there, and what experiments are going on.”
