“Being a member of the d’Andresy, you must know about their affairs. There’s a connection between Raoul d’Andresy and Josephine Balsamo. If you can tell me what it is, I’ll accompany you.”
“Agreed, but I will only divulge it en route to the safehouse.”
“I will accept that condition, but I’ll add one of my own. We’ll use the cab maintained by the Chupin Detective Agency. If I find that you’re supplying me with either false or incomplete information, I’ll order the cab to return us here.”
The Inspector assented to Irina’s request. Irina carried a large handbag with her into the carriage. Entering the cab, the Inspector gave the driver an address in the Rue St. Claude.
“I await your information,” stated Irina.
“Raoul d’Andresy first met Josephine Balsamo two years ago...”
“Please call your cousin by his real name: Arsène Lupin.”
“If we’re dropping aliases, then we should do the same with yours. I’ve read about Dr. Cerral’s controversial experimentation with hand transplants. 4 Your bracelets cover surgical scars.”
“Then there is no need to engage in further subterfuge. I am indeed Irene.”
“Josephine seduced your half-brother in order to turn him into her lieutenant in crime.”
Irina silently concluded that Josephine had devised an elaborate strategy of revenge against the children of Théophraste Lupin. Josephine had recruited Théophraste’s offspring as an expendable pawn to be liquidated at her leisure.
“Are they still partners, Inspector?”
“No, Arsène turned against her.”
“Tell me the truth now. If you don’t, I’ll turn this cab around. How do you know all this?
“I am Arsène Lupin, sister,” he admitted with a sigh. “I went to Louisiana to help my cousin, the real Maurice d’Andresy, pursue the leader of the smugglers. Maurice caught pneumonia and died. I assumed his identity.”
“Intriguing. Have you been misbehaving?”
“I have formed an organization somewhat similar to the old Werewolves.”
“Let us return to Josephine. Did your affair with her occur after your marriage to Clarisse?”
“It happened before. That was a very impertinent question, sister!”
“Consider it just retribution, brother. You asked me several rude queries yesterday.”
“My truculence was motivated by a sense of shame. My own inquiries unearthed all the nasty details of your conduct at Madame Fourneau’s boarding school.”
“Do you realize, brother, that I am being judged morally unfit by a man who just confessed to be the leader of a criminal fraternity? The question is not whether we are brother and sister of the flesh, but rather brother and sister of the spirit. Both our souls have been tainted by Josephine Balsamo.”
The cab arrived at its destination, Rue St. Claude. Irina ordered it to return to the Detective Agency. As they entered the house, the cabdriver noticed that Irina waved goodbye to him with three fingers.
Across the street, there was another cab. A man and a woman sat inside.
“The mousetrap has been sprung, Herr Mabuse,” commented the female.
“One Lupin sibling will destroy the other, Fraulein Lipsius,” predicted her male companion.
Inside the house, Maurice and Irina entered a large living room. Irina’s back was briefly turned to her companion.
“I have a difficult decision to make, brother.” She quickly turned around after taking something out of her purse. She was holding a pistol and pointing it at Maurice.
“Sister, what are you doing?”
“I am debating whether I should kill you now or turn you over to the authorities, brother. You told me a pack of lies and half-truths in the cab.”
“I told you the truth!”
“Josephine Balsamo is still your lover! You’re still in partnership with her!”
“That’s not true! I love Clarisse!”
“You weren’t in Louisiana assisting the real Inspector d’Andresy to chase the chief smuggler, brother! You were the ringleader! Your only truthful assertion was about the assumption of the genuine Inspector’s identity when he perished from pneumonia.”
“Sister, you’re letting your resentment against me warp your judgment! Can’t you see Josephine’s scheme? She started the Bluebeard murders to reawaken your rancor towards me! Her aim is for you to murder me!”
“Brother, have you ever read Le Vicomte de Bragelonne?”
“Have you lost your mind, sister? Do you want to turn our conversation into a literary discussion?”
“Answer the question!” demanded Irina.
“Of course, I have. It’s a famous book by Alexandre Dumas.”
“Doesn’t it concern Louis XIV and his twin brother, the Man in the Iron Mask?”
“Yes, but I don’t understand why you’re bringing that up now!”
“The man incarcerated in the Ville-d’Avray asylum wrote Louis twice for seven rows. In other words, he wrote Louis 14 times! The same inmate also wrote the words Je m’abuse., which evoke the alias of Jan Gosart known as Jan Mabuse because he came from Maubeuge, a city in Flanders. Maubeuge is the name of the asylum director...”
“Surely Maubeuge would have deduced the contents of this alleged message. Why show it to you?”
“Maubeuge didn’t show it to me, brother; a visiting physician Doctor Biron, did. In Dumas’ novel, conspirators replace Louis XIV with his twin. Maubeuge works for Josephine Balsamo, alias Clio Gosart. So he replaced Louis Fourneau with a look-alike–his own brother, Philippe Maubeuge must have abducted him in Switzerland and transported him to the asylum, keeping away the outside world, except that the prisoner wrote that cryptic message, hoping that it would be deciphered by someone. Philippe didn’t commit suicide, Maubeuge murdered him because an accomplice in the French police was about to reveal the family connection between the College Girl Murderer and Gaston Morrell!”
“Maubeuge may be a killer, Irina, but I had nothing to do with the death of that inmate!”
“Au contraire, you had everything to do with it, brother. I have been calling you ‘brother’ not because we’re brother and sister in the flesh, but because we’re brother and sister in the spirit. Both our souls were corrupted at the same boarding school. For you’re not Arsène Lupin! You’re Louis Fourneau! Bluebeard”
The man posing as Maurice d’Andresy took off his wig, false beard and tinted spectacles. The face of a handsome man with brown hair was revealed. He looked exactly like the cadaver at the Ville-d’Avray asylum.
“It’s been a long time, Louis,” announced Irina. “You went to New Orleans after your liberation from the asylum. You used the Inspector’s pneumonia to mask your own asthma. You must have diverted the police into guarding Isadora.”
“Lefevre is at her hotel.”
“Very clever. But your ploy to pose as Arsène was inconsistent with your behavior yesterday. The true Arsène would never refer to his beloved Victoire as a ‘prostitute,’ or a ‘stupid woman,’ even in the middle of a masquerade.”
Louis Fourneau let the pieces of his disguise drop to the floor.
“The usurpation of my brother’s identity was intended to lure me into this house, but it hints at a more complex motivation for your crimes,” continued Irina. “The name Arsène Lupin has yet to be attached to any significant crimes. I believe Josephine’s plot is to blame him for the Bluebeard murders. If I’m killed, the police would follow the trail here. There must be evidence in these premises that Inspector d’Andresy is Arsène Lupin in disguise. The traditional method of the Black Coats to pay the law by framing an innocent would spring shut, and my brother would be latched on by the authorities as a convenient scapegoat. Do you take pride, Louis, in butchering five innocent women as part of such an elaborate charade?”
“It’s your own fault, Irene, that those ladies were strangled. Josephine only traced your present identity a few months ago when she saw Saillard’s portra
it of you at the home of its owner, Noel Moriarty. Besides the resemblance, she recognized the pentagram brooch. After some inquiries in the art galleries of Paris, she uncovered your alias at the Chupin Detective Agency. She was under the misapprehension that you were Saillard, but the real facts still fit her false scenario: Arsène was driven to murder by his sister’s connection to scandalous paintings. You have only yourself to blame for those deaths.”
“You argue like your mother, Louis. You always blame the victims for the abuse that you unleash upon them, and some are all too ready to take it. Josephine gave me this brooch to ensure my blind subservience. I wear it to remind myself never to behave like such a fool again.”
“In that case, my dear Irene, you have failed in your purpose,” shouted a new voice. “I also gave that brooch to mock your early ignorance of your father’s secret life. My gift is the sign of the werewolf, but you have transformed it into a badge of imbecility.”
Josephine Balsamo, wearing her customary green dress and holding a gun in her right hand, stood behind Irina, the barrel of her weapon pressed against the back of the detective’s head.
Taking Irina’s gun and handbag from her hands, Fourneau deposited the articles on a nearby table.
“I’ve been an idiot!” confessed Irina. “This house is in the Rue St. Claude, where the original Cagliostro lived. It must have been part of a string of buildings that he secretly owned and equipped with secret passages.”
“I still remember when you refused to accept their existence.”
“This is a rare occurrence for you, Josephine. You usually don’t take a direct role in your murders. The Black Coats have trained you well, as you tried to train Arsène, but I understand he’s started his own competing gang. Your colleagues must not be too happy with that fact.”
“You should be more concerned with your brother’s carelessness,” retorted Josephine. “A spy inside Arsène’s gang has assured us that he has no alibi for the murders. The intense scrutiny following the discovery of your corpse will cripple his syndicate and send him to the guillotine.”
“Enough of this talk!” yelled Fourneau. “I have been waiting a long time to become reacquainted with Irene.”
“Louis has always been frustrated by the fact,” said Josephine, “that when I designated you as the final victim in the College Girl Murders, I had specifically instructed him to avoid killing you during the mutilation.”
“Why did you order that?” asked Irina. “Did you want me to bleed to death?”
“If you really must know, Irene, dear, I was hoping that the loss of your precious artistic hands would drive you insane.”
“My sanity remains intact!”
“Are you sure? There are times when you act most irrationally.”
“Josephine, stop bickering!” exclaimed Fourneau. “Let me get on with my work!”
“If you must, Louis, do what you do best!” said Josephine as she backed away from Irina.
Fourneau removed his tie. “I really want to slit your throat, Irene, but such a procedure would upset the standards established by my uncle...”
Fourneau threw the tie around Irina’s neck and started to pull. As the girl gasped for breath, Josephine lowered her gun.
Irina grabbed her pentagram brooch and pulled it from her dress. She stuck the uppermost point of the star into the middle of Fourneau’s throat and pulled the brooch across his neck. The murderer released his hold on the tie and fell to the ground with a severed jugular.
Josephine raised her gun. Irina swung forward. She slashed her enemy’s hand with the point of her brooch. Shouting in pain, Josephine dropped the gun. Irina grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall. Irina now held the uppermost point of the pentagram against Josephine’s neck.
“You seem to be at a loss for words, Josephine, dear. Do you admire how the points of your gift have been sharpened like razors? I could cut your throat, but I wish to work within the law. I will be happy to see you dispatched by the guillotine, but first there’s something I must do. Because of you, I was branded as a thief. The least I can do now is to return the favor.”
Irina pulled Josephine by the nape of her neck and slammed her against the wall. The blonde slumped to the floor, a stream of blood running from a gash in her forehead. Removing her scarf, Irina bound Josephine’s feet. She used Fourneau’s neck-tie to secure her hands. She then retrieved her handbag, took out its contents and performed a certain act upon her unconscious foe.
Irina then searched the house. Locating the birth certificate and other papers that implicated her brother in the murders, she burned them in a fireplace. Irina had no love for Arsène. Her destruction of evidence was motivated by self-interest. An investigation of Arsène would reveal too many secrets from her own past.
Leaving the house, she walked three blocks before finding the cab from the Chupin Detective Agency. She had silently signaled the driver with her hand to wait that distance from the building. She told the man to take a message to Lefevre at the Royal Palace Hotel, to inform him that Bluebeard now lay dead at Inspector d’Andresy’s residence.
After dispatching the driver, Irina returned to the house. To her consternation, she discovered that Josephine was missing. Only the corpse of Louis Fourneau remained.
Irina greeted Lefevre when the police arrived at the Rue St. Claude. The Bertillon measurements confirmed the identity of the false Inspector d’Andresy. Irina never mentioned the name of Arsène Lupin. At her suggestion, Lefevre had the handwriting of the Clio Gosart letters compared with certain archives that the Avignon authorities had salvaged from the aftermath of the College Girl Murders. A warrant was issued for Josephine Balsamo’s arrest, but she was never apprehended for her role in the Bluebeard crimes.
Dr. Maubeuge never reappeared at the Ville-d’Avray asylum. He left France to seek refuge in another country.
In Van Klopen, Tailleur pour Dames, there was an area called the Alteration Room. There, tailoring mistakes were corrected and clothes were altered to fit patrons. The room contained various knitting devices, ironing implements and branding tools.
There, Josephine Balsamo now stood before Madame Koluchy, Helen Lipsius and Mary Holder. Her forehead and right hand were bandaged. At Madame Koluchy’s insistence, she wore the same dress from the Rue St. Claude.
“This is a formal hearing,” said Madame Koluchy. “There will be no Christian names or self-bestowed titles of nobility employed here, is that understood, Mademoiselle Balsamo?”
“Yes, Madame,” answered Josephine.
“Mabuse’s cab was assigned to transport Putine’s corpse to the Seine. Instead, he found you tied up like a calf. Do you acknowledge this?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“You also appear to have been branded. There are marks on the shoulders of your favorite dress, drawn with ink. What are those marks, Mademoiselle?”
“They are both the letter ‘V,’ Madame.”
“What, in your opinion, is the significance of that letter?”
“It stands for voleuse, Madame,” Josephine replied, using the French word for thief.
“Your two friends here lack the benefit of a strong education in French history. You have expertise in this area. Explain to them the historical significance of those marks.”
“Jeanne de La Motte was punished by being branded with these marks.”
“They are the marks of a thief, are they not?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Do you confess that you have stolen from the Brotherhood, Mademoiselle?”
“I have stolen nothing, Madame.”
“You have stolen the Brotherhood’s dominant position in France by accidentally creating a major competitor in Arsène Lupin. You have stolen the opportunity to rectify that mistake by allowing yourself to be outwitted by Irina Putine. You are a thief, Mademoiselle Balsamo.”
“I am a thief, Madame.”
“Those marks are an appropriate punishment.”
“These marks are an appropriate punishment, Madame.”
“Remove your dress, Mademoiselle Balsamo, and give it to Mademoiselle Lipsius. An alteration clearly needs to be performed.”
Josephine complied with Madame Koluchy’s commands and handed her dress to Helen.
“Mademoiselle Lipsius, please examine the dress in order to duplicate those marks on a softer and more delicate surface,” commanded Madame Koluchy. “Mademoiselle Holder, please assist me in ensuring that the surface in question remains stationary during the duplication.”
Josephine saw the three other women rise from their seats and advance towards her.
“This can’t be your wish, Madame!” pleaded Josephine.
“No, it is your wish, Mademoiselle Balsamo.”
Some minutes later, the Alteration Room was filled with the screams of Josephine Balsamo.
In addition to being the talented author of The League of Heroes and other novels and a contributor to Tales of the Shadowmen, Xavier Mauméjean (whose story comes after this one, in alphabetical order) also co-edits the Bibliothèque Rouge, a series of French anthologies mixing articles, timelines and original stories devoted to fictional characters such as Arsène Lupin, Sherlock Holmes, Fantômas, etc. The following tale was written for his forthcoming volume devoted to Hercule Poirot and finds the Belgian detective with his first Mystery From Outer Space…
Jean-Marc Lofficier: The Murder of Randolph Carter
Ghent, 1928
My friend Hercule Poirot had come to spend a few days in Ghent to relax and reacquaint himself with the warm atmosphere of a town he had often visited during his youth.
Acting upon my recommendation, he had booked a room at the Pension Doucedame, Rue du Vieux Chantier, an old but respectable lodging house.
Alas, as increasingly happened to him these days, the horrible specter of crime haunted his every step, even in our beautiful city.
An American tourist named Randolph Carter was found murdered in the library one grey morning. And what a murder it was! The victim’s body appeared to have been torn apart by some unfathomable monster who had vented its anger on him; his face reflected only unspeakable terror.
Tales of the Shadowmen 3: Danse Macabre Page 17