They travelled the rest of the way in silence, Benson beside and half a pace beside the steam wheelchair, until they reached the Museum of Science and Technology. It was just getting ready to close for the day but Gloom was well known to the curator, the two having spent many long evenings discussing recent advances in technology, and when Gloom enquired whether they could examine one of the museum's recent acquisitions, a German steam engine copied from a British design, the man was glad to agree. “You're the second man tonight to show an interest in that piece,” he said. “I showed another gentleman down there earlier this afternoon. He must be greatly interested in it because he hadn’t come up yet.”

     “The enigmatic Paul, I presume,” said Gloom as he parked his steam wheelchair in an alcove and Benson helped him into a more traditional model. “He must be close to giving up on us.”

     “Then let's go put him out of his misery,” said Benson as he wheeled his master along the corridor.

     They passed long galleries filled with examples of machinery from around the world, each with a little plaque telling how it was inferior to British machinery or with a photograph of the British machine from which it had been copied. Most of the foreign machines were German, that country being Britain's only serious industrial rival, and several of the exhibits had been chosen for display because they had failed in some spectacular or comical fashion. The successful foreign machines were down in the underlevels, safely out of sight.

     They turned a corner, past a section containing agricultural equipment, then down a level to a gallery containing automatic textile machinery, all looking rather spooky in the dim light and accompanied by mannequins in period dress and standing in action poses, all of which seemed to stare at them as they passed. Benson kept a careful watch on them as they passed, in case one of them was an assassin waiting to ambush them, but they reached the lift without incident.

     The floor of the lift was an inch higher than the corridor and Benson had to tilt the wheelchair back to get the front wheels on, then push the rear wheels in by sheer brute strength. He then turned the chair to face the entrance and closed the railing. Finally he pulled the lever, opening a valve in the pipe running from the great boiler in the basement, allowing steam to turn the great pulley that allowed the car to descend.

     They watched the floor rising past them and then the upper basement containing the workshops in which the exhibits were repaired and maintained. Gloom saw a Chinese waterwheel attached to a great system of gears and pulleys, but they were past before he could see what function it had once served. Then they entered the sub basement and the car came to a shuddering stop, bouncing a little on the sturdy springs that would have attempted to break their fall if the cable had snapped.

     Benson opened the railing and pushed Gloom's wheelchair out into the basement, all of which seemed to be one large room fifty yards across. Most of it was filled with machinery in various states of repair and completeness, and there was a much larger lift against the opposite wall capable of raising and lowering objects weighing several tons. They gave them only a cursory glance, though, because there was a man waiting for them, a relieved and hopeful expression on his face.

     “Mister Gloom!” he said, holding out a large, strong hand. “Thank you for coming. Thank you ever so much! I desperately need help, and if you cannot give it, I don't know who can.”

     Sebastian Gloom examined the man carefully. He appeared to be in his mid fifties with greying hair and was dressed in the clothes of the upper middle class. The kind of man who might be the foreman in charge of hundreds of factory workers but who was still regarded as merely one of the workforce by the gentlemen who owned the business. His jacket was tweed with leather patches on shoulders and elbows and he wore a bowler hat on his head. His cheeks were covered by a patchwork of broken blood vessels where they weren’t hidden by the splendidly maintained mutton chops moustache.

     “This is my manservant, Benson,” said Gloom, indicating the man still holding the handles of his wheelchair.

     “Yes, yes, of course,” said the man, extending a hand to Benson as well. “Thank you as well. I am Paul. Please forgive me for the secrecy and the somewhat furtive manner in which I arranged to meet you. I am in great danger and I have to warn you that if you agree to help me, you will be placing yourselves in danger as well. My enemy will become your enemy, and it is the most dreadful enemy imaginable. I would not blame you If you decided to turn away, deeming the risk too great.”

     “I think that you have researched me, and that you know exactly the right thing to say to pique my interest,” said Gloom. “Please tell me who this great enemy is.”

     “Please forgive me if I do not. You would surely think me mad. I will only say that it is the greatest tyrant ever. One who rules with an iron fist and punishes those who oppose him utterly without mercy and compassion. And yet I and a few others like myself have dedicated ourselves to his overthrow. Not with any great hope of success, but because we consider his crimes and injustices to be so great that no man of conscience can turn a blind eye to them.”

     “Philip Cranston was also a member of your conspiracy,” said Gloom. “He knew the identities of some of the other members. That is why his Solomon Bottle was stolen. They wish to extract those names from him.” Benson nodded. He'd also reached the same conclusion.

     “If that happens, our conspiracy will be dealt a crushing blow," said Paul. "The tyrant’s day of judgement will be delayed, perhaps indefinitely, and many of our organisation will be hunted down and killed. My own name is one of those they will obtain. A dozen others. We are pursuing other lines of enquiry, but you are our greatest hope. If you cannot recover it, I fear that no-one else will.”

     “What can you tell us of these people?” asked Gloom. “Who is this great tyrant?”

     Paul glanced around the huge, dark room as if his enemies might be closing in even now. “He is the greatest of all, the most powerful in all creation.” He drew a handkerchief from a pocket and mopped his brow. “He rules in total surety for there is no-one who can possibly challenge him. But challenge him we must if we are to call ourselves men of decency and honour.”

     Benson was frowning now, though, and Gloom saw the signs of a rising anger in him. “You cannot be referring to the King himself. I will not be party to any treasonous act. I swore an oath...”

     “Relax, my good friend,” said Gloom, turning in his wheelchair to look back at him. “I think I know to whom our friend refers, and it is not the King. Am I right in thinking that it was agents of the Vatican who stole the bottle?”

     “It must have been. It can be no-one else. No-one else has the motive. I know that you have contacts in the church, especially in the Exercitus Dei. I beseech you to use them to find the bottle. I can think of no other hope.”

     “It is true that I have contacts in the Vatican's Army of God,” replied Gloom. ”They have helped me in the past because they trust me. And yet there may be one who shares your, shall we say, concerns regarding the head of his organisation. I can sound him out discretely. Perhaps get a feeling for how far he would be willing to go.”

     “Mister Gloom, if you did that, you would have the gratitude not only of myself but also of a dozen of my countrymen. Who knows, it is even possible that you might one day have the gratitude of the entire human race.”

     “Let us not be premature in our self congratulation,” said Gloom however. “If my suspicious regarding your enemy are correct, you have set yourself the most difficult and dangerous task in the history of creation. You are almost certainly doomed to failure and damnation.”

     “Yes,” agreed Paul, “but we will at least have tried.”

     “That we will,” agreed Gloom. “Since time is of the essence, therefore, we will begin immediately. How can we contact you?”

     “Edward Pick will act as an intermediary. I shall have him return to your home and leave his contact details. This must be the last time that we meet in person. It is just too dangerous.”

     “I agree. Farewell then.” He raised a hand to Benson, who turned the wheelchair and pushed it back towards the lift.

     ☆☆☆

     “I know that it is dangerous to form an opinion of a man based only on what you read in the newspapers,” said Benson as he pushed Gloom's wheelchair back towards the entrance of the museum. “However, I've read nothing to suggest that Pope Julian is any more or less dishonest and reprehensible than any other man of the church. Are you aware of something about him that is not known to the general public?”

     Gloom hesitated before answering. “Benson, I must ask you to trust me. There is something about Paul's enemy that he was very careful not to say explicitly, because it is dangerous to know. He was trying to protect us. I believe I have guessed the truth, and I think it very likely that you will as well. You are no mean investigator and detective in your own right. If you do guess the truth, you will have to make a decision, the most important decision of your life. Either to join with Paul and help him fight his enemy, or oppose him. At the moment, if Paul's enemy learns of your involvement, you can still plead ignorance and that may be enough to save you. That is why I will not answer your question.”

     “You have chosen to join with Paul, haven't you?”

     “Yes. I have.”

     “Then I choose the same thing. You asked me to trust you. Now I ask you to trust me. I am with you, no matter what the odds, no matter what the consequences of failure. In the time we’ve known each other I have learned that anyone you name as your enemy is the enemy of all mankind and that is enough for me.”

     “My friend, your words just make me even more determined to protect you. Please do not ask me again. Our job is to find and recover Cranston’s Solomon Bottle. Please do not look beyond that task.”

     Benson frowned unhappily but nodded. “So. Father Anthony then.”

     “I will be visiting Father Anthony. I have another task for you, another lead to follow. I want to know how the Church found out that Cranston was a member of Paul's cadre of conspirators. I think it likely that a member of his household betrayed him, but that will be for you to determine.”

     “You will go to Father Anthony alone?”

     “I'll take young Jake with me. He's more than capable, and I doubt I'll be needing your kind of protection while visiting a church.”

     Benson nodded, and they said  nothing more for the rest of the journey home.