Tales of the Shadowmen 3: Danse Macabre

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  Monique d’Andresy bent farther over him, providing a clear view of her rather ample charms. She was splendid, in every way.

  “Mademoiselle, please…”

  “What is it Burma, are you une pédale?”

  “No, Mademoiselle, in fact you present quite a persuasive argument. But as tempted as I am, it is quite impossible.” He puffed at his pipe again. “I believe incest is illegal in France. Now, perhaps I can help you with your coat? It appears you’re catching a chill.”

  “What–?”

  Two hands thrust out from darkness behind and gripped her upper arms. The hands were large and bronzed, tendons and muscles stretching across them like small cables. It was no use trying to struggle free.

  She sighed.

  “Doctor Ardan, I presume?”

  “Adélaïde Lupin,” Ardan replied.

  She glared at Burma. “So Arsène Lupin is your father as well?”

  “Not the man who raised me as his own son,” Burma said. “But yes, I am Lupin’s child from one of his many affairs.”

  “Clearly blood is not thicker than water.” Adélaïde glanced meaningfully at the strong hands holding her solidly in place.

  “Please, Mademoiselle d’Andresy–er–Lupin, I am not the one who slunk in here attempting a licentious seduction.”

  “Perhaps, but you obviously helped set me up. You knew we’re siblings–”

  “Half-siblings,” Burma said.

  “Oui. You could have said so earlier.”

  He shrugged. “We’ve never met before. I don’t owe you anything. Besides, I wanted to see what angle you’d take. Quite inventive.”

  Another voice came from a dark corner as a third man stepped forward. “Your family reunion is very touching, but we have business.”

  “Yes, time is of the essence,” a fourth added in a slight Germanic accent.

  Adélaïde sighed. “Gentlemen, on the one hand, I’m not so immodest that I think you need reminding of my current state of deshabillé. On the other hand, as Burma said, it is somewhat chilly in here. Is this some bizarre burlesque, or might I be permitted to cover myself?”

  Ardan freed one slender arm, and she awkwardly cinched up her coat. He applied gentle but firm pressure to her shoulders, forcing her to sit. She crossed her legs, one elegant and distracting thigh still exposed at the fold of her coat, and lit a fresh Red Apple.

  “So, Francis, I said we’d see each other again, and here we are. I can think of better circumstances, though. Something along the lines of a snowbound cabin, roaring fire, a bearskin rug and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot ’32 would do nicely,” Adélaïde said playfully.

  Ardan’s bronzed skin, even under cover of the darkened office, turned ten shades of red.

  “No reply, mon chéri? Pity. Well, what’s it all about? I suppose the story of the Eye of Oran being a fake, and you working with Burma to track down the real Eye–that was all a charade to lure me here?”

  Last month, Adélaïde Lupin had tricked Doctor Francis Ardan and the French Intelligence agency S.N.I.F., making off with a precious gem, the Eye of Oran–also known as the Silver Eye of Dagon–using Ardan’s experimental Cirrus X-9 rocket pack.2

  Doc Ardan nodded. “Yes, the story was a plant to draw you out. This man is a representative of the French government. If you turn over the Eye to me, they are prepared to drop all charges. You’ll go free, no questions asked.”

  “All true, Mademoiselle Lupin.” The third man said, stepping forward, limping slightly. He had grey haircut military style, and wore round-rimmed glasses. “Return the Eye and the matter will be dropped.”

  “I suppose you’re S.N.I.F.’s Aristide? Sorry if I caused you some difficulties.” A slight quirk at the corner of her mouth said she wasn’t overly sorry.

  “I’m not Aristide, and yes, your actions caused him no little trouble. You can call me Roger Noël. This is Jens Rolf, a mystic and expert on the Eye’s occult nature.”

  The short German nodded curtly.

  Noël continued, “Now, what do you say?”

  “I say… I cannot.”

  “Mademoiselle,” Noël replied, “if you don’t return the Eye, you’ll be locked up with the key thrown away.”

  “Don’t you threaten me, you little bureaucrat. If you think any jail cell can hold Lupin’s daughter for long, you’d better–”

  “Enough,” Ardan interrupted. “Gentlemen, would you excuse us please. I’d like a moment alone with Mademoiselle Lupin.”

  Burma looked at Noël and Rolf, shrugged, and got up. They all stepped into the outer office.

  Adélaïde looked at Ardan, red lips parted expectantly. “Well, it’s about time, mon cher Francis, I’ve practically been throwing myself at you.”

  “Drop the act, Adélaïde. I studied with your father when I was a boy. He was a thief and a scoundrel, but when push came to shove, he would do the right thing. I think you will too.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “I am. Do you have the faintest idea what Doctor Natas was planning to do with the Eye, before you conned us all and stole it? I’ve seen a lot and most can be explained without resorting to mysticism, but in this case, even I support the French in recruiting an occult expert to properly study and contain it.”

  “You, the medical man?” she scoffed. “The ‘science detective’?”

  “I grant you, almost all of the strange adventures my associates and I have had around the world have ended with rational explanations. But a few have not. When I was a young man, during the Great War, I saw a long whitish worm crawling over the skeleton of an infant, a victim of a satanic ritualistic sacrifice. Even today, I cannot classify that worm; it is unknown to science. In 1925, I encountered an entity which slaughtered many members of an Antarctic expedition. I have no explanation. Two years later, I observed our own Doctor Natas transmute lead into gold; I have not been able to reproduce this with any scientific means. In 1929, my colleague Doctor Littlejohn also traveled to the Antarctic, and had strange experiences which he, also a rational man of science, cannot explain. Three years ago, I was involved in a case in which an herbal concoction allowed its taker to see into the future. A specific prophecy came to pass. And now, the Eye.”

  “ ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio…’ ”

  “Precisely. Why won’t you help?”

  She shook her head. “Francis, first you must help me with a problem I’ve run into. If you can do that, I’ll gladly abandon all claims to the gem.”

  The gold-flecks in Ardan’s eyes seemed to swirl. “Adélaïde, I promise we’ll help you with whatever trouble you’re in,” he said solemnly.

  “All right, then.”

  “Good. Herr Rolf will secure the Eye while the rest of us tackle your problem. Once that’s handled,” he said, “I want you to return the rocket pack as well.”

  “Deal. But, Francis, you see, the quandary is… I no longer have the Eye.”

  FROM: Lieutenant Montferrand, Division Protection, Service National d’Information Fonctionnelle, Paris.

  TO: SNIF.

  DATE: August 21, 1946

  SUBJECT: Silver Eye of Dagon

  The Eye of Dagon is a large silver gem reputed to have occult properties. It is now in possession of a “Madame Elisabeth” who operates a series of brothels in Normandy and Brittany, with headquarters in Paris.

  After absconding with the Eye outside Oran last month, Adélaïde Lupin (A.L.) was contacted by Madame Elisabeth. Elisabeth was holding a friend of A.L.’s, one Ilona Harczy, prisoner under the threat of forced labor in one of her bordellos. A.L. was instructed to turn the Eye over to Elisabeth as a ransom payment. To date, A.L.’s friend has not been released. Ardan and Burma’s scheme to bait A.L. with a story that the stolen Eye was a fake unwittingly played into A.L.’s concerns about Madame Elisabeth’s failure to release her friend. A.L. appeared in Burma’s offices with startling alacrity.

  It’s unknown how Madame Elisabeth knew of the Eye in the
first place. It’s possible we have a leak, or perhaps she was in league with Doctor Natas, who also sought the Eye.

  We have no prior intelligence on Madame Elisabeth, and are relying on A.L. for the following information. Elisabeth and a partner purchased the network of brothels known as the Cordon Jaune, in January of this year. It is unclear where the money for this purchase originated, but the purchase was apparently intended as an investment. The venture went bad with the passage of the Marthe Richard Law last April, banning all such houses of ill-repute. We can guess that Elisabeth needs the Eye to mitigate her bad investment.

  Madame Elisabeth’s partner in this venture is called “Le Chiffre,” ostensibly a paymaster for the Syndicat des Ouvriers d’Alsace, a Communist-controlled trade union. Le Chiffre is otherwise unidentifiable, having come out of the camp at Dachau last year with a case of incurable amnesia. He is always accompanied by two bodyguards highly skilled at personal defense and close range combat. He is described as small, with coarse reddish-brown hair and a voracious sexual appetite.

  Madame Elisabeth, too, is described as insatiable, but it is unlikely she satisfies her needs with Le Chiffre; during their one face-to-face meeting, she made a pass at A.L. which was “exceptionally forceful.” Although A.L. portrays Madame Elisabeth as exceedingly charming and charismatic, she declined Elisabeth’s offer. Doubtless Madame Elisabeth and Le Chiffre sample their wares on a regular basis. Madame Elisabeth’s proclivities may also account for her failure to keep her bargain and release Mademoiselle Harczy, who is reported to be quite beautiful.

  There should be no doubt: Madame Elisabeth and Le Chiffre are a deadly combination.

  Under my “Roger Noël” cover, I have assembled a team dedicated to recovering the Eye of Dagon: Doctor Francis Ardan, Nestor Burma, the mystic Jens Rolf and Adélaïde Lupin. Unfortunately, we must again rely on A.L. At least, this time, we are dealing with a known quantity, but she is still a Lupin and I will proceed with care.

  As an aside, A.L. learned–to her chagrin and my amusement–that Burma is also a Lupin, if only by an accident of birth. The so-called Gentleman Thief had nothing to do with Burma’s upbringing, and despite Burma’s leftist views I believe he will prove a reliable companion on this venture.

  Recommendation: I suggest the establishment of a formal division dedicated to handling unknowable matters. The skills of those I have assembled are without peer, but they are not properly integrated as a team and have not trained together. We are far behind the British Diogenes Club and the American FBI’s Unnameables Section in this regard.

  “What are you doing here, Burma, slumming again?” Commissioner Faroux asked tiredly. “What brings you to the humble office of the Police Judiciaire?”

  Burma pulled up a chair and made himself at home. “I want to know all you can tell me about a brothel run by a woman called Madame Elisabeth.”

  “Well, well, well. Don’t your shady friends keep you updated on the latest houses of ill repute? What would Hélène say? She pines for you so–”

  “Not for me, you dolt. I’m on a case, obviously.”

  “How are you involved? There have been three murders in the neighborhood of her establishment in the last two months! If you’ve been holding out on me…”

  “Three murders? I came to you for information, remember? What’s the scoop? And why is Madame Elisabeth still open for business?”

  “Fine, fine. Her associate greases the right palms to keep it open. An unexpected expense since the Marthe Richard Law, eh?” Faroux chuckled. “Now there are three girls, all beautiful, all found dead in that neighborhood, their throats cut. We suspect they worked at Elisabeth’s, no proof, no witnesses willing to say they saw any of the victims there.”

  “Of course not,” Burma rolled his eyes. “None of this made the papers. You’re holding out on me, Florimond. What else?”

  “All right, all right. We’ve clamped down on the press, don’t want to start a panic, you know. So here it is. All the girls? Not a drop of blood to be found, anywhere. Completely drained.”

  Burma whistled and exhaled. “Where’s her place?”

  “Not so fast, your turn now. If I can connect the murders to the Cordon Jaune, I can shut it down, bribes or no.”

  Burma puffed at his pipe. “Look, you’re wasting my time and yours. Far be it from me to invoke government powers, but S.N.I.F. is involved. Cough it up, or don’t. Either way’s fine by me, I don’t give a shit. Don’t and the spooks’ll be down here next. What’ll it be?”

  “S.N.I.F.? Jesus Christ, what’re you into now? All right, she set up shop in the old Benet mansion. Place has been empty, gathering dust, since Doctor Benet kicked off back in ’35. You know where it is?”

  Burma nodded and got up to leave.

  “Goddamn it, Burma!” Faroux shouted at his departing back. “You have 48 hours to fill me in, or I’ll have you back in here for withholding evidence, S.N.I.F. or no goddamn S.N.I.F.!”

  Burma gave a friendly wave.

  In the parlor of the Benet mansion, the shades were tightly drawn against the afternoon Sun. Le Chiffre paced nervously back-and-forth in front of Elisabeth and took a loud snort from his Benzedrine inhaler.

  “You can’t continue disposing of the merchandise! This is the fourth one! We’re practically insolvent as it is.”

  Elisabeth bestowed a serene smile upon him and stretched her feline body on the chaise. A clingy black gown set off blond curls. Wrists and plunging neckline were ringed in purple feathers, a silver-blue gem resting between her pale breasts. She looked like a Hollywood starlet.

  A young, white-haired girl in a negligé lay curled on the floor, her head and one slender arm resting in Elisabeth’s lap. The girl’s eyes were open, but vacant. “Shhh. You’ll wake her up.” She caressed the girl’s hair, but stared steadily at Le Chiffre. As always, her gaze had a tranquilizing effect.

  “And why should I not use the ‘merchandise,’ as you so artfully call it, as I please?” She continued. “I own half of this venture.”

  Le Chiffre sat down and smoothed his dark suit. He put a Caporal in a cigarette holder and lit it.

  Continuing more calmly, he said, “You cannot continue to kill these girls. Our financial situation is precarious and you’re making it worse by killing off our only source of income. Not to mention the police are sure to become suspicious!”

  “Ah, yes, isn’t that always how it is,” Elisabeth sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “Always the peasants hound us, chase us on to the next village. Don’t we have a right to peace and quiet, like everyone else?”

  “Just promise me you’ll stop. Eventually I may be able to sell off the Cordon Jaune’s assets, recoup our losses, but not if we’re both in gaol, Elisabeth... Elisabeth!”

  “Hmm? Oh yes, of course I promise, of course.”

  A discreet knock came to the parlor door, and one of Le Chiffre’s bodyguards entered. The man was tall, with wide lips and slightly bulging, glassy eyes. He came over and whispered in Elisabeth’s ear.

  “Oh, by all means, do show her in, Denis, bring her to me!” Elisabeth clapped gleefully. At the noise, the white-haired girl awoke. “Plaster, we have a visitor. Go help Denis bring her to me.”

  The girl obeyed, and in a moment they escorted a tall, well-built redhead into the parlor.

  Elisabeth looked at the newcomer and cocked her head in seeming puzzlement for a moment; then a smile spread across her face and she clapped her hands again in approval at Le Chiffre. “Beautiful! Splendid! What a find. All legs and curves and breasts. She’ll do magnificently for us.”

  Speaking to the girl, Elisabeth said, “You understand our working arrangements, my dear?”

  The redhead nodded.

  Back at Le Chiffre: “Bravo, she’s wonderful, quiet and shy as well. Herr Ziffre, you’ve outdone yourself. Denis, escort our newcomer–what is her name again?–yes, escort Jeannette to her room. No. 13 will do, I think. Yes, take her there straightaway, let’s get her settled
in, and rested. She starts tonight!” She blew a kiss at the retreating figures.

  Le Chiffre looked at her warily. “You promised…”

  “Oh, don’t be tiresome, Ziffre. We’ve nothing more to discuss. You may leave me now.”

  Le Chiffre frowned once more, then shook his head and left.

  A little while after he exited, Plaster returned the parlor and came to kneel before her mistress. Elisabeth took her hand. “Did you and Denis make our newcomer… comfortable?”

  The girl nodded eagerly. “Oui, Madame.”

  “Excellent.”

  Half a block down the street from the Cordon Jaune’s Parisian headquarters, a nondescript 1932 Citroën C6G pulled up at the corner. Roger Noël was at the wheel. Doctor Ardan sat next to him in the front, while Nestor Burma and Jens Rolf sat in the back.

  Noël looked at his watch and ticked off the time. Adélaïde Lupin had gone in 20 minutes ago. Ardan didn’t need the watch; his internal clock was as accurate as the atomic chronometer in his New York headquarters. His only response was a slight twitch of an index finger.

  Burma noticed.

  “Aren’t you at all worried, Doctor?” Burma inquired. “Such a beautiful girl… Might she end up in a compromising position this evening?”

  “Why should I worry, Monsieur Burma? She knows the risks. Besides, according to the plan, she’ll be out of there long before evening falls.”

  “Tu parles. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m a trained detective.”

  Doc turned away without responding. Was he flushed again?

  “Do you mind?” the usually quiescent German asked Burma. “If I am allowed to concentrate, I may be able to sense the Eye from here and pinpoint its location.”

  Properly chastised, Burma settled deeper into the back seat and lit his pipe.

  Adélaïde followed Denis and the white-haired girl through the corridors of the Cordon Jaune. She reflected smugly on her disguise’s success. She had only met Elisabeth once, briefly, and had correctly predicted she would not be recognized. Ardan had objected, but Noël had wisely overruled him.