She herself told him, in a deep, dramatic voice.
“No… Not Edwige… There’s no more Edwige… I’m Mephista.”
And she struck. The knife came out of nowhere. Exactly as it was filmed two hours earlier in Studio 26 at the O.R.T.F. And this time, there was no fake blood spurting out of the chest of her victim. It was real blood…
Jacques Lemoulin’s face became terror-stricken. His dying eyes were stupefied by the unbelievable action. They were also clouded with contempt. She died, or at least they said she did. And yet, she’d come to him. And she killed him.
This time, it was not like in The Vampires of Paris. The victim did not react. He staggered backward and crashed into his television set. The screen shattered.
Slowly Jacques Lemoulin fell to the carpet.
Mephista watched him die. And a glimmer from Hell danced in her big, black eyes.
CHAPTER II
It was eleven o’clock at night. In Baron Tragny’s house in Passy, rue de Ranelagh, the baron was pacing back and forth, extremely agitated. Nearby, still calm, still under control, Teddy Verano was watching him, and his hazel eyes in his serene face expressed the intensity of his thoughts.
The baron kept glancing through the salon door into the next room—the room where he had the body of Edwige Hossegor brought.
The news had exploded and spread. The sudden death of French television’s number one star. But Baron Tragny was given a wild hope when the doctor leaned over her and gave his astounding announcement:
“Madam Hossegor isn’t dead. She’s in a state of catalepsy.”
Like a madman, Tragny jumped at him.
“Doctor, is it possible? Can you assure me that…?”
“She’ll survive? Of course. But it’s a strange condition that I haven’t seen very often. It’s like… almost like a hypnotic trance.”
Then everything happened quickly.
The baron had Edwige brought to his house and immediately sent for Professor Gelor, a specialist in neurology and psychiatry. Meanwhile, Teddy Verano had time to approach him. He introduced himself briefly and showed Tragny, who was getting one surprise after another, the note sent that afternoon by the star of The Vampires of Paris.
“Monsieur… I don’t understand, but… Stay with me…”
It was exactly what Teddy Verano wanted and so he followed the baron.
The TV and radio had announced the death of Edwige Hossegor, then two hours later, the news was retracted. But nothing was explained. Edwige, for some unknown reason, was in a rigid sleep that imprisoned her like an invisible fortress.
Now Professor Gelor was with her, along with Dr. Sorbier, a friend of Tragny and Edwige. The two doctors had asked the baron to leave. Isabelle, Edwige’s personal attendant, also had to go. Naturally, Teddy Verano, after catching the eye of Professor Gelor, with whom he had often worked in the past, had quietly slipped into the salon.
Tragny was smoking his umpteenth cigarette of the evening.
“Can’t they get it over with. What are they doing?”
“Hang in there, Baron,” said Teddy Verano. “The eminent doctors are up against an exceptional case. So exceptional that everyone, you most of all, was sure that your beloved was dead. However, in a short time, the truth will come out. If they’re taking their time now, you can be sure that they have good reason. They’re doing more tests, probably. They’ll end up finding out what’s wrong… And Edwige Hossegor will come back to life.”
Tragny turned his distraught face toward him.
“You think so? You really think that…”
A commotion could be heard and it did not stop. Suddenly aggravated, Tragny called out:
“Joseph?”
The butler arrived. Tragny, in spite of the modern façade, continued to live in his house like if it was the turn of the century.
“The journalists are making a lot of noise. Please tell them to quiet down and show a little respect. There’s a…” He was about to say “deceased”. But he paused before continuing, “...A very sick person here.”
Joseph bowed.
“I will remind them, Monsieur.”
A minute later, it was silent again, relatively silent at least, because an army of journalists and photographers were waiting in the entrance hall for Professor Gelor to come out.
Tragny remained alone with Teddy Verano as the consultation went on. Presumably, Gelor and Sorbier were baffled. They were examining all aspects of Edwige Hossegor’s magnificent body, noting that she was still alive, but that all her physiological functions seemed to have paused. A suspension of life is what the neuro-psychiatrist declared a little later.
Joseph reappeared in the salon.
“Excuse me, Monsieur, there’s a gentleman who insists on seeing you.”
“I was adamant that no journalist…” Tragny grumbled. “I let them stay in the hall… That’s enough. That’s too much…”
“Monsieur, he’s not a reporter.”
Joseph held out a card. Tragny ignored him and foamed at the mouth.
“Throw him out! Him and the others… I don’t want to see anyone, you hear me, no one…”
Joseph looked very uncomfortable.
Teddy Verano, with a kindly smile and pretending not to ignore the baron’s frenzy, took the card tactfully.
“Allow me, Joseph. Oh, Baron, I understand Joseph’s dilemma. It would be hard for you to refuse to see this man…”
Tragny glanced at the card and jumped. He had just read: Guy Farnèse, Chief of Police.
“The Chief of Police… here? At this hour?”
“Exactly,” Teddy Verano said. “Farnèse and I are old friends. Private detectives like your humble servant often have connections with the police. And Farnèse…”
Tragny crumpled the card in his hand.
“This is not the proper hour to launch for an investigation.”3
“I’m sure Farnèse is here unofficially. Besides,” Verano smiled, “a chief of police usually doesn’t need to be reminded of the legalities. He knows very well that between sundown and sunrise…”
“But,” the baron roared, “Edwige hasn’t been murdered.”
He threw the card away, paced a little with his hands behind his back, and made his decision.
“Show him in.”
The Chief came in, greeted them and, on seeing Teddy Verano, held out his hand.
“I know, Chief,” Tragny said, “that you know this gentleman. Very well. You will know, then, that I am in a very tragic situation and I’m…”
“More tragic than you can imagine, Baron.”
Tragny and Verano were both startled. Joseph was still standing there, so the baron waved to him to leave. He obeyed, regretfully.
“Monsieur,” Farnèse said, “I felt compelled to come pay you a visit, in a personal way if I may say so. Knowing that you are the fiancé of Mademoiselle Hossegor, I believed that everything concerning her concerns you as well.”
“That’s right,” the baron replied.
“A new development has come up. I was notified while my department was starting its investigation and I thought I should notify you. Do you know a Monsieur Jacques Lemoulin?”
“Absolutely. He’s an acquaintance of ours. He’s an excellent tennis player and we’ve hit quite a few balls together.”
“I regret to inform you that Monsieur Lemoulin has been murdered.”
“Murdered!?”
Tragny jumped back as Teddy Verano listened with keen interest.
“One of his friends who went to invite him to a last minute party,” Farnèse continued, “was surprised that he didn’t answer the door since he knew he was home and could hear some music. He called the concierge who opened it with a master key… Lemoulin was dying, swimming in his own blood. He had been stabbed.”
“Stabbed!”
By reflex both Tragny and Verano recalled the filming a few hours earlier and the last scene played by Edwige Hossegor before falling into the incomprehen
sible catalepsy which had put her beyond the world of the living.
Farnèse described the scene. The broken TV, splattered with blood, but still working, blaring the music which had caught the visitor’s attention.
Tragny, overwhelmed by emotion, gasped:
“The poor boy… but who could have… and why?”
“One moment,” Farnèse said. “I haven’t told you the worst part. If I focus on this point, it’s because I’m aware of what happened today at Studio 26 in Buttes-Chaumont and what the film is about. Lemoulin is dead. But before dying in the arms of those who found him, he pronounced one word. One name, rather…”
In spite of himself Farnèse, the Chief of Police, a practical man who did not believe in fantasy, cracked a smile.
“One name… It reminds me of the old popular novels or the comic books of today…”
Baron Tragny and Verano already understood. Farnèse said the name, but they all murmured it at the same time.
“Mephista.”
CHAPTER III
Baron Tragny was in a strange state of excitement.
“Chief, what am I to make of this? Mademoiselle Hossegor is already absorbed—quite so—in the character of this series being filmed. Your presence here leads me to believe there’s some unfortunate connection being made… What are you suggesting?”
“Baron,” replied Farnèse with an icy smile, “I think that nothing in what I said should hint at the slightest accusation of Mademoiselle Hossegor.”
“That’s for sure,” Teddy Verano jumped in, since he liked to put his two cents worth in such conversations.
Tragny was on edge.
“I told you that in spite of the unusual hour my visit here is strictly personal,” Farnèse continued. “I wanted to inform you… just to avoid any hasty, unpleasant conclusions… Reporters are mobbing your house.”
Tragny threw up his arms in anger.
“If it were up to me…”
“But you’re thinking of Mademoiselle Hossegor’s career. She won a Prix Orange, which, if you chase these gentlemen away, will turn into a ‘Lemon Prize’ with the most disastrous effects.”
The baron had to figure that if Farnèse really knew about the ways of show business, such allusions were inappropriate to say the least.
But Teddy Verano jumped back into the fray.
“Besides, how could Mademoiselle Hossegor have anything to do with Lemoulin’s murder? For hours, she’s been in a cataleptic state that made us think she was dead, for a few minutes anyway… enough for the news to spread throughout France and the world before it was retracted. And from the moment she fell in Studio 26—I was present there myself—she’s been surrounded by people continually. They brought her here and, since then, the baron, Isabelle her attendant, the nurses and doctors, haven’t left her side. So, how could anyone imagine…”
“There’s no question of that, in fact,” Farnèse said. “Mephista… Obviously, a man is committing crimes in this name, which makes for a real story…”
“A man or a woman,” Teddy Verano mumbled.
“If you’d like,” Farnèse held back from shrugging his shoulders.
Tragny was keeping half an eye on the room next door, but the doctors were still not coming out.
“May I ask you, Chief, what is the purpose of your… visit?”
Farnèse did not react to the way he emphasized the last word.
“Well, before any real investigation begins, I wanted to ask for your collaboration, since you’re the man most qualified to help Mademoiselle Hossegor in everything that concerns her.”
“I am, indeed, fully devoted to Ed… to Mademoiselle Hossegor.”
“Great! Baron, I’d like to point out a minor detail. In the bloody wreckage of the apartment where they found Lemoulin at death’s door, and where he accused this mysterious Mephista, some fingerprints were found. Slender, delicate prints, likely belonging to a woman. One hand that had been smudged with the victim’s blood and touched the still working but broken TV screen…”
“We keep coming back to the TV,” Verano said.
“Yes. Quite clearly. I won’t be telling you anything new by saying that the dumbest criminal avoids this kind of signature.”
“Therefore, Chief, you concluded…”
“You understand me, Messieurs. If they want to cast suspicion on Mademoiselle Hossegor, they have to look no further…”
Tragny burst out laughing.
“But that’s ridiculous! Because Edwige has been unconscious since...” (he looks at his wristwatch) “...exactly 6:20 p.m. It’s after 10 p.m. And there are plenty of witnesses, Monsieur Verano here to start with.”
“Oh,” Farnèse spoke calmly, “I admit how absurd the connection sounds. So, I’m going to ask you—as a personal request, I assure you—to allow me a little verification.”
Tragny was getting fed up and obviously wanted to throw him out.
“And you call this a personal visit!”
But Teddy Verano gave him a quick glance to advise him to stay calm.
“I’m listening, Chief.”
“I imagine that Mademoiselle Isabelle who was, I learned, at the studio because she’s always with Mademoiselle Hossegor, has brought some of her personal effects?”
“Yes. With me in the ambulance that was called as soon as the doctor confirmed she was alive.”
“Good. In Mademoiselle Hossegor’s purse would be her identity card, in the name of Edwige Versant, a.k.a. Hossegor?”
“You want to see her ID, Chief? I can humor you.”
Isabelle, who obviously had not gone to bed, promptly brought the requested document. Tragny and Verano looked at Farnèse. He examined the card, the photo of Edwige, and stared for a while at the fingerprints. Then, he took a photocopy out of his pocket. Tragny understood its significance at the same time as Verano. The Chief of Police compared the two prints in silence.
Tragny, controlling his desire to get this over with, but finding the wait interminable, could not help asking in a broken voice:
“Well?”
“Well, this print… these prints are identical, Messieurs. Mademoiselle Hossegor’s finger and the finger of… let’s say, Mephista…”
Tragny was pale.
“Edwige… Mephista… But come on, it’s crazy, it’s completely ridiculous!”
Farnèse, calmly holding out the two documents, said:
“See for yourselves. There’s no mistaking it. The bloody hand found at Lemoulin’s is the hand of Mademoiselle Hossegor.”
“Who was cataleptic. Who still is, regrettably. And the fact has been corroborated by dozens of witnesses.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Farnèse said, “But...”
“But what?”
“A set-up?” Teddy Verano asked. “But it’s full of holes.”
“I’m drawing no conclusions yet,” the Chief replied. “I’m just getting the facts.”
“Well, and you call this a personal visit…” said the baron, bitterly.
“Monsieur Tragny, I just state the facts. Thank you for seeing me. I will simply say that if they really wanted to commit a crime and blame it on Mademoiselle Hossegor, in the eyes of the police, it won’t stand up. It’s too obvious.”
“OK, so they failed,” Teddy Verano said. “The real criminal couldn’t imagine that Mademoiselle Hossegor would have this cataleptic fit at the very time… or at least, on the very day of the crime.”
“Anything is possible. I…”
Farnèse said no more. The door of the room opened and Dr. Sorbier came out with Professor Gelor. Tragny forgot all about the police and ran up to them.
“Well? Please… Tell me…”
“Lethargy, monsieur. It’s a fact. But my colleague and I can assure you, at least for the time being, that Mademoiselle Hossegor’s life is not in danger. Even if she looks deceased. I say ‘looks’ in the physiological sense, because in appearance, one could really believe that she’s really dead. No, Mademoisell
e Hossegor is alive, just as the first doctor had stated. But her life is, how can I say… suspended. Very slow breathing, weak pulse, but still there.”
“But, professor, can such a state… last?”
“There, Baron,” Gelor shrugged, “is where we face the unknown. Her case is really very strange…”
“And the reason for the fit… for the blackout?”
The two doctors kept silent, obviously flustered. They talked for a minute. Tragny answered their questions as best he could. Drugs? It was not like Edwige. Stimulants? She used nothing like that. She led a healthy, sober life. A lot of work, of course, but nothing explained her falling into this trance, so frighteningly like death.
“Tomorrow morning, we’ll take her to the hospital for more thorough testing. You understand, Baron, that there are many things we can’t do here at your house.”
Tragny had to give in. The doctors left. It had been decided that at 8 a.m., another ambulance would take Edwige to Dr. Sorbier’s hospital. Farnèse, who had listened to the doctors, also left.
The baron decided that he would not go to bed, but spend all night with Edwige. The nurses were allowed to use one of the bedrooms. Tragny wanted to stay alone with his love.
Teddy Verano was the only one left.
“Before leaving, one final word, Baron…”
Tragny was visibly anxious to see Verano disappear like the rest. He was very tired, but too worked up to sleep. It seemed obvious that he could watch over Edwige all night without sleep.
Teddy took out the letter sent by Edwige.
“Oh!” the baron groaned. “That’s right, we forgot… We should have told the Chief of Police…”
“You forgot, Monsieur Tragny. I can breathe now. The whole time Farnèse was here, I was afraid you’d remember it and say something. I even thought I said too much when I mentioned a set-up to frame Mademoiselle Hossegor. It’s fair to say that Farnèse knows nothing, but he does know at least that the great star could not have murdered Lemoulin. Still, as a policeman, he worships the methods of anthropometry, so a fingerprint is a fingerprint, obvious proof, indisputable in a criminal case.”
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