“For Georges went to see the most famous gourmet in France, and made an interesting proposition. It was one that the great man could not refuse, because it was so unique a tribute to his eminence. Georges explained patiently that he had invented a device for registering (he said nothing about storing) sensations. In the cause of science, and for the honor of the French cuisine, could he be privileged to analyze the emotions, the subtle nuances of gustatory discrimination, that took place in Monsieur le Baron’s mind when he employed his unsurpassed
talents? Monsieur could name the restaurant, the chef and the menueverything would be arranged for his convenience. Of course, if he was too busy, no doubt that well-known epicure, Le Compte de-
“The Baron, who was in some respects a surprisingly coarse man, uttered a word not to be found in most French dictionaries. ‘That cretin!’ he exploded. ‘He would be happy on English cooking! No, I shall do it.’ And forthwith he sat down to compose the menu, while Georges anxiously estimated the cost of the items and wondered if his bank balance would stand the strain . . . .
“It would be interesting to know what the chef and the waiters thought about the whole business. There was the Baron, seated at his favorite table and doing full justice to his favorite dishes, not in the least inconvenienced by the tangle of wires that trailed from his head to that diabolical-looking machine in the comer. The restaurant was empty of all other occupants, for the last thing Georges wanted was premature publicity. This had added very considerably to the already distressing cost of the experiment. He could only hope that the results would be worth it.
“They were. The only way of proving that, of course, would be to play back Georges’s recording. We have to take his word for it, since the utter inadequacy of words in such matters is all too well known. The Baron was a genuine connoisseur, not one of those who merely pretend to powers of discrimination they do not possess. You know Thurber’s Only a naive domestic Burgundy, -but I think you’ll admire its presumption.’ The Baron would have known at the first sniff whether it was domestic or not-and if it had been presumptuous he’d have smacked it down.
“I gather that Georges had his money’s worth out of that recording, even though he had not intended it merely for personal use. It opened up new worlds to him, and clarified the ideas that had been forming in his ingenious brain. There was no doubt about it: all the exquisite sensations that had passed through the Baron’s mind during the consumption of that Lucullan repast had been captured, so that anyone else, however untrained he might be in such matters, could savor them to the full. For, you see, the recording dealt purely with emotions: intelligence did not come into the picture at all. The Baron needed a lifetime of knowledge and training before he could experience these sensations. But once they were down on tape, anyone, even if in real life he had no sense of taste at all, could take over from there.
“Think of the glowing vistas that opened up before Georges’s eyes! There were other meals, other gourmets. There were the collected impressions of all the vintages of Europe-what would connoisseurs not pay for them? When the last bottle of a rare wine had been broached, its incorporeal essence could be preserved, as the voice of Melba can travel down the centuries. For, after all, it was not the wine itself that mattered, but the sensations it evoked . . .
“So mused Georges. But this, he knew, was only a beginning. The French claim to logic I have often disputed, but in Georges’s case it cannot be denied. He thought the matter over for a few days: then he went to see his petite dame.
” ‘Yvonne, ma cheri, he said, ‘I have a somewhat unusual request to make of you . . . ‘ ”
Harry Purvis knew when to break off in a story. He turned to the bar and called, “Another Scotch, Drew.” No one said a word while it was provided.
“To continue,” said Purvis at length, “the experiment, unusual though it was, even in France, was successfully carried out. As both discretion and custom demanded, all was arranged in the lonely hours of the night. You will have gathered already that Georges was a persuasive person, though I doubt if Mam’selle needed much persuading.
“Stifling her curiosity with a sincere but hasty kiss, Georges saw Yvonne out of the lab and rushed back to his apparatus. Breathlessly, he ran through the playback. It worked-not that he had ever had any real doubts. Moreover-do please remember I have only my informant’s word for this-it was indistinguishable from the real thing. At that moment something approaching religious awe overcame Georges. This was, without a doubt, the greatest invention in history. He would be immortal as well as wealthy, for he had achieved something of which all men had dreamed, and had robbed old age of one of its terrors . . . .
“He also realized that he could now dispense with Yvonne, if he so wished. This raised implications that would require further thought. Much further thought.
“You will, of course, appreciate that I am giving you a highly condensed account of events. While all this was going on, Georges was still working as a loyal employee of the Professor, who suspected nothing. As yet, indeed, Georges had done little more than any research worker might have in similar circumstances. His performances
had been somewhat beyond the call of duty, but could all be explained away if need be.
“The next step would involve some very delicate negotiations and the expenditure of further hard-won francs. Georges now had all the material he needed to prove, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he was handling a very valuable commerical property. There were shrewd businessmen in Paris who would jump at the opportunity. Yet a certain delicacy, for which we must give him full credit, restrained Georges from using his second-er-recording as a sample of the wares his machine could purvey. There was no way of disguising the personalities involved, and Georges was a modest man. ‘Besides,’ he argued, again with great good sense, ‘when the gramophone company wishes to make a disque, it does not enregister the performance of some amateur musician. That is a matter for professionals. And so, ma foi, is this.’ Whereupon, after a further call at his bank, he set forth again for Paris.
“He did not go anywhere near the Place Pigalle, because that was full of Americans and prices were accordingly exorbitant. Instead, a few discreet inquiries and some understanding cabdrivers took him to an almost oppressively respectable suburb, where he presently found himself in a pleasant waiting room, by no means as exotic as might have been supposed.
“And there, somewhat embarrassed, Georges explained his mission to a formidable lady whose age one could have no more guessed than her profession. Used though she was to unorthodox requests, this was something she had never encountered in all her considerable experience. But the customer was always right, as long as he had the cash, and so in due course everything was arranged. One of the young ladies and her boy friend, an apache of somewhat overwhelming masculinity, traveled back with Georges to the provinces. At first they were, naturally, somewhat suspicious, but as Georges had already found, no expert can ever resist flattery. Soon they were all on excellent terms. Hercule and Susette promised Georges that they would give him every cause for satisfaction.
“No doubt some of you would be glad to have further details, but you can scarcely expect me to supply them. All I can say is that Georges-or rather his instrument-was kept very busy, and that by the morning little of the recording material was left unused. For it seems that Hercule was indeed appropriately named . . . . “When this piquant episode was finished, Georges had very little money left, but he did possess two recordings that were quite beyond price. Once more he set off to Paris, where, with practically no trouble, he came to terms with some businessmen who were so astonished that they gave him a very generous contract before coming to their senses. I am pleased to report this, because so often the scientist emerges second best in his dealings with the world of finance. I’m equally pleased to record that Georges had made provision for Professor Julian in the contract. You may say cynically that it was, after all, the Professor’s invention, and that sooner or later Georges would have had to square him. But I like to think there was more to it than that.
“The full details of the scheme for exploiting the device are, of course, unknown to me. I gather that Georges had been expansively eloquent-not that much eloqence was needed to convince anyone who had once experienced one or both of his playbacks. The market would be enormous, unlimited. The export trade alone could put France on her feet again and would wipe out her dollar deficit overnight-once certain snags had been overcome. Everything would have to be managed through somewhat clandestine channels, for think of the hubbub from the hypocritical Anglo-Saxons when they discovered just what was being imported into their countries. The Mother’s Union, The Daughters of the American Revolution, The Housewives League, and all the religious organizations would rise as one. The lawyers were looking into the matter very carefully, and as far as could be seen the regulations that still excluded Tropic of Capricorn from the mails of the English-speaking countries could not be applied to this case-for the simple reason that no one had thought of it. But there would be such a shout for new laws that Parliament and Congress would have to do something, so it was best to keep under cover as long as possible.