Doc Ardan and The Abominable Snowman

by Guy d'Armen

  Now her mind raced. She did have the Eye. Or at least, she had had it the last time she had checked for its reassuring lump in her pocket. That had been back at the Spanish restaurant.

  Where the hell was it? her mind screamed, but she kept her composure. Which was all the more remarkable, given what else she had just realized. Or perhaps it was not that remarkable; she was a Holmes, after all.

  “You killed my husband,” she said calmly.

  “Yes, as I said, I have much to apologize for. To you, dear lady, if not to him.” His eyes narrowed, taking on a cruel cast. “Fortunes of war, and all that, as you British would say.”

  “May I at least know the name of my husband’s murderer?”

  “Murderer? It was a battle. We were opponents. He lost. I won.” He drew himself up regally. “You may call me Doctor Natas.”

  “I see.”

  “You do not appear to be surprised.”

  “I suppose I’m not, at that. This is all too surreal for anything else. And it all fits. Of course, I’ve heard tales of ‘Fu Manchu’ before... Your jousts with my uncle, your ongoing battle of wits with my cousin...”

  “I would hardly call it a ‘battle of wits,’ my dear.”

  “Ah yes, and the fabled charm, too... Is that how you populate your harems, Doctor, on charm alone? Or do you resort to kidnapping the women you desire, drugging them, dressing them as you wish”–she looked pointedly down at her gown-clad form which provocatively revealed every contour and curve–”and keeping them captive for years on end?”

  Natas’ eyes burned a brighter green, as he replied, “I assure you, Miss Holmes, that I wish you no harm. If you had had the Silver Eye of Dagon, you would be free by now. As it is, you are merely a lure. Once the damnable Frenchman knows you are here, he will return for you and your companions. He will give me the Eye, you will all go free and the matter will be concluded.”

  Dammit, Violet thought, we’re never getting out of here. The Frenchman doesn’t have the Eye, I do. Or did, she amended.

  “Furthermore,” Natas continued, “I have too much respect for your vaunted family to treat you with anything other than the utmost deference which you deserve. Neither you, nor your companions, shall come to harm while in my care.”

  “Adélaïde and Rambert, where are they? And what do you want with this Eye anyway? Surely no mere gem, no matter how exquisite, can be worth all this.”

  “Your friends are being held safely close by. They have also been searched, as a precaution. Of course, neither of them had the Eye either. As for it, it is merely a key–a key to a deep and unfathomable power. With it, uncounted masses will bend to my will, or else be swept away in the current of history.”

  Violet was beginning to suspect that Natas was a tiny bit mad, although neither her uncle nor her cousin had ever hinted at that. She decided it would be prudent to get off the subject. “All right, then. If you had already searched us all and didn’t find what you wanted, why bring me here for this elaborate audience? Why not just let us go?”

  “I can’t, Miss Holmes… Not until Lupin comes.”

  “Lupin? He’s the mysterious Frenchman? You are insane! He’d be, what, in his seventies by now? Besides, I doubt the great Arsène Lupin would ever work as mere agent of French Intelligence. It wouldn’t be his style.”

  “You are mistaken. I know for a fact that Lupin was your husband’s partner. And now, he has the Eye.”

  “Fine then, whatever you say. But how the hell do you know he’s coming at all? He could be thousands of miles away!”

  “No, Miss Holmes, he is still trapped here, in Oran. He is not free. My little plague has ensured that.”

  “Your… little… plague? My God, you monster!”

  “I created this particular strain in payment for a service the admirable Fantômas rendered me some years ago. I always pay my debts. I held some in reserve for my own use at the appropriate moment. I would say the present situation qualifies, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, of course not. But, Miss Holmes, are you quite all right? It may be the peculiar phosphorescence in these caverns, but you’re looking a little green.”

  Doctor Natas rose, walked over and crouched down to examine her. Was it really the grotto’s phosphorescence, or… No. Natas lost consciousness, hitting the cavern floor with a rather ignominious thud.

  Violet quickly rose, thinking to take advantage of this amazing stroke of luck. Her thoughts of escape, however, were short-lived. She felt a faint odor of mushrooms. Then the cavern spun and swirled and she, too, passed out, falling back on the settee.

  FROM: A.L.

  TO: Lieutenant Aristide, Section Afrique du Nord, Service National d’Information Fonctionnelle, Paris.

  DATE: July 10, 1946

  SUBJECT: Oran situation.

  Conditions here deteriorating. Tell Champignac his sleeping gas works perfectly, but bag of tricks running out. Plague initiated by Natas in order to prevent escape from Oran and delivery of object. Doctor Rieux highly dedicated but overwhelmed. Plague same as strain used in 1911 by Fantômas aboard British Queen en route from Southampton to Durban. Suggest American medical expert, if available.

  Object is still safe. Request extraction support. Route response through Parisian reporter Raymond Rambert. If necessary, will report again at designated weekly interval.

  It had been almost a week since Violet, Adélaïde and Rambert had been mysteriously rescued from Natas’ clutches. They had come to outside of Doctor Rieux’s laboratory near the Place d’Armes, and now were in hiding there. It was very kind of him to provide them shelter, without asking too many questions, and he wasn’t there much anyway, spending upward of 18 hours a day tending to plague victims.

  What was more, the Eye of Dagon was back in Violet’s possession, safe and sound, at least for the time being. It was all very strange, but apparently the “damnable Frenchman,” Lupin, had come for them, just as Natas had predicted. In fact, he must have been in Natas’ lair before they even arrived, although that seemed impossible on its face. But how else to explain the mystifying transference of the Eye from Violet’s pocket to where it was ultimately found when they awoke outside Rieux’s? For it had been found in Adélaïde’s generous, raven-colored hair, tucked in her French roll.

  Adélaïde had laughed it off with her natural good humor. “After all, Vi,” she said, “Monsieur Lupin chose the perfect hiding place. Not even those terrible men thought to look there. And you must admit, dear, that while your hair is quite lovely, it is not quite as abundant as mine, yes?”

  Violet had been forced to admit that this was true.

  Now, with little else to do but wonder if Natas and his minions would find them again, the days passed slowly, until finally there was a break in the monotony. Since the quarantine, various airlines–TWA, Pan Am, Oceanic, Air France and so on–had generously donated planes. Now, relief cargo flights made regular passes over the city, dropping the usual cartons of supplies and foodstuffs for the trapped citizens. This time, among the usual containers, Rieux received a new drop of plague serum, as well as extensive notes on this strain of the plague.

  The new serum came from an unnamed American doctor who had set up an encampment outside Oran to consult on the crisis. Along with it was an unsigned message addressed to Rambert:

  M. Rambert:

  Tell Lupin to follow the Boulevard du Front de Mer to where it meets the city walls at midnight tomorrow night. There he will find escape.

  Rambert, not understanding why he had been identified as a contact for Lupin, or how to contact him, naturally shared the note with Violet and Adélaïde. Though they commiserated about it–after all, Lupin had rescued them from Natas, and what kind of gratitude was it showing to just strand him here?–the three finally agreed that, in the absence of any way of contacting him, they may as well exploit this new escape plan themselves.

  As they arrived at the appointed place and time, an airplane flew over
the city. The craft’s engines must have been muffled, because only Adélaïde’s extremely sensitive hearing picked up the noise. Even after she pointed it out to the others, they couldn’t see the plane, which was flying without running lights.

  Shortly afterwards, a black spot appeared above them, blotting out the stars as it became larger and larger. Eventually the dark spot resolved itself into a black-painted crate, approximately a cubic meter, which was attached to a parachute and a small, absolutely silent engine, both of which were also pitch black to blend in with the night. The engine guided the gently falling crate to a perfect and silent landing next to the three astonished watchers.

  The crate had apparently been designed to open upon landing, for the top flopped open and then the four sides of the box separated at the corners and fell to the ground. Violet, Adélaïde and Rambert approached cautiously.

  “What is that?” Rambert asked.

  As they came closer, they realized that the shapeless object within was encased in packing material, which came away easily and quickly. What lay revealed within took their breath away, at least momentarily.

  It was cylindrical and made of metal, glinting in the sparse moonlight. It stood on four fins which were attached to the bottom of the cylinder at 90-degree angles. The cylinder came to a conical point, which was topped by three horizontal rings. In between each fin was a nozzle which pointed at the ground. It looked like nothing so much as a miniature-sized rocket ship from a Saturday-matinee movie serial. Six straps of leather, with buckles at the ends, were attached to the assembly at various points.

  Next to the cylinder sat a helmet.

  “Um. A rocket pack.” Violet paused. “I think I’ve seen one like it before.”

  “Well?” asked Rambert.

  “You see, this leather belt buckles around the waist, and the other ones go about the shoulders, like so.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Adélaïde said.

  “I am.” Violet looked at Adélaïde. “I’m getting out of here. Are you coming?”

  “Mesdemoiselles, this thing. That thing might carry two, but surely not three,” Rambert said. “Your need is greater than mine.”

  “Are you sure, Raymond?” Violet asked.

  “Yes, now that we know that Fantômas is not behind this plague, and that matters will be resolved when you and Mademoiselle Johnston escape with the Eye, I am content to stay and help Doctor Rieux fight this plague in whatever small way I can. Now quickly–you must go!”

  “Thank you for all your help.” Violet took his hand and held it for a moment, warmly. Then she continued to heft the cylinder onto her back and secure it with the leather bindings.

  “Well?” she asked Adélaïde, expectantly.

  Adélaïde just shook her head unenthusiastically, as if to say, what madness! She slipped her arms around Violet’s waist and tightly through the leather straps, clasping her hands firmly.

  “Go,” she murmured, “before I change my mind.”

  Violet nodded and before anyone could say another word, she hit the ignition button.

  Flames erupted from the four nozzles, and without further adieu, the two women soared into the air. The flames backlight their airborne figures. Violet, in her jodhpurs and boots, looked the perfect picture of a daring aviatrix test-flying an innovative new device. Adélaïde presented a different picture, holding on to Violet for dear life, her dress fluttering about in the wind, exposing her thighs above black stockings and garters. Rambert didn’t even have time to chide himself for impure thoughts, as gunfire from the sentries erupted a second later.

  The rocket pack discharged even more flames and noise, and the two women accelerated over the sea. Although the rifle fire continued, the bright dot of the rocket quickly became smaller and smaller, and eventually winked out.

  Rambert wished both women a silent bonne chance and turned to make his way back to Rieux’s laboratory before the guards came to investigate.

  Doctor Francis Ardan, as he was known to the French, continued to listen, his bronzed face immobile as he patiently took in the remainder of the fantastic tale. A young, dark-haired man with a thin, white vertical scar down his right cheek sat in the background, representing the British Secret Service. They were aboard a schooner, the Orion II, now headed for France. Violet and Adélaïde were wrapped in warm blankets, nursing mugs of strong, black coffee. However, they continued to shiver as much from fatigue as from the dunking in the cold water.

  “We were out over the water, still flying. We didn’t know how to land the thing. You didn’t exactly include an instruction manual, Doc,” Violet said, a note of accusation in her voice.

  The scientist shrugged. “The rocket pack was meant for Lupin. He knows how to fly it.”

  “Hmm. Well. We were flying, Adélaïde was barely hanging on, we didn’t know how much fuel was left–”

  “More than enough,” Ardan said.

  Violet glared at him and continued, “–and since it was pitch black and we couldn’t tell where we were, or what direction we were going, we decided it was better to try to descend. Next thing we knew, we hit the water. Of course, your rocket pack made us sink like a stone, and I didn’t think we would make it, but thank God you found us and fished us out in time.”

  “I followed the tracking signal,” the scientist said. “We were following you the whole way and you could have come down at any time.”

  “Yes, well, no way of knowing that, right?”

  “As I said, the pack was intended for Lupin. He would have understood.” Violet suspected that Ardan was beginning to become irritated, although he didn’t show it. “Do you know what became of him?”

  Violet stood up and slammed down her mug. “No, I don’t bloody know what happened to Lupin! I never saw the man once the whole time I was there. Now excuse me, I’ve had quite enough of this.”

  She stomped off and down the narrow gangway. Stopping, she turned back. “I am grateful, Francis. But this has just all been a bit much.”

  Ardan nodded, and she continued down the gangway, the young man from British Intelligence following her.

  “Violet,” he called, and she turned around.

  “What is it, James?” she asked, as he moved to take her in his arms.

  “Thank God, you’re safe now.”

  “Safe,” Violet said.

  “Yes, safe. Look, I’m sorry about Charles.”

  “Yes, well, so am I. I treated him pretty shabbily. Obviously, we wouldn’t have lasted. At least now he’ll never know.”

  “Yes. I am sorry.” He paused. “But you’ve escaped that devilish place. I’m here to take you back to London, get you well again. You’re free now.”

  “Free? Free?” She slapped him hard, once, across the cheek. “I’m pregnant, you bastard. I’m not feeling terribly free right now.” She stalked off, slamming the cabin door behind her.

  Upstairs on deck, Doctor Ardan approached Adélaïde. Remarkably, now that she had cleaned up and dried off, he could see that she was quite beautiful. Remarkable, not because he was immune to feminine beauty (he wasn’t), but because he rarely allowed himself to take note of it. She was tall, six feet, and her dress clung to her perfectly proportioned curves in all the right places. Dark, lustrous hair fell about her shoulders. She was, in a word, stunning.

  Ardan got ahold of himself and held out a bronzed, cabled hand. “Mademoiselle? We weren’t really properly introduced. I’m Doctor Francis Ardan.”

  Adélaïde sized him up, rather boldly. “Yes, Doctor, it is a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. The newspapers paint you as an adventurer. How do you say it… a wild man?” she asked provocatively.

  “I see.” Ardan cleared his throat, choosing to ignore her question. “Yes, well. Mademoiselle, I still have some more questions, and Miss Holmes doesn’t seem up to it right now.”

  “Of course,” she said. “What about?”

  “About the Silver Eye of Dagon.”

  “The Eye? W
e gave it to you.”

  “Yes, thank you. But how did you come to have it?”

  “I don’t understand?” Adélaïde looked at him quizzically. “We’ve given it to you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yes, but, no… I….” Ardan felt out of his element. He was never very at ease with women, but for some reason was even more out of his depth with Adélaïde Johnston.

  He took a deep breath and started over. “I am not a representative of the French government, but I have agreed to work with them in this case.”

  “Yes?”

  The scientist started to gain momentum. “They very much appreciate the recovery of this object. But we–they–wish to know. How did it come into your possession? They sent a man here, Lupin, who was supposed to help recover the Eye for them. I expected to find Lupin. Instead, I find you and Miss Holmes, and you have the Eye in your possession. I still don’t understand how that happened.”

  “Well, it was all very strange.” Adélaïde made eye contact and held Ardan’s gold-flecked eyes. “Violet and I were hiding at Doctor Rieux’s laboratory near the Place d’Armes after we escaped from Natas, when Rambert came to us with a message.” She wandered over near the rocket pack and sat down heavily on the deck.

  “Go on, please.”

  “He had received that message in the last medical drop of plague serum. I assume that serum came from you?”

  Ardan nodded. “Yes, after Lupin sent his information, I obtained samples of the plague strain Fantômas used over 30 years ago, and was able to develop a serum to combat it. The peste in Oran should start to abate shortly.”

  Adélaïde continued. “The note was anonymous, but it instructed that this Lupin go to a place near the city walls at midnight last night. There he would find a way out of the city.”

  “Mademoiselle Johnston, that note was supposed to go to Lupin. I arranged to remote-parachute the rocket pack and I don’t blame you for using it, but what happened to Lupin then?”

  “I don’t know, I tell you!” Adélaïde started to sob, slumping further down on the deck next to the rocket pack.