Doc Ardan and The Abominable Snowman

by Guy d'Armen

  “Mademoiselle Johnston–” Ardan crouched down, close to her.

  “Please, Doctor, no more, I am spent!” She hugged herself closer to the pack. “Just hold me, please, a little, and then I’ll try to be strong, and answer all your questions.”

  This was mostly uncharted territory for Ardan. If there were women involved in his adventures (and often there were), he usually left it to the wolves among his five aides to deal with them. No such luck, this time, he thought uncomfortably. He leaned down further to console her, and held her as she cried it all out.

  Finally, her sobs dwindled, and she nestled further into his arms.

  “Mademoiselle–Adélaïde, please,” Doc began tentatively. “I need to know.”

  “Yes?” she murmured, distantly.

  “What about Lupin? Do you know anything about him, or what happened to him?”

  “Lupin, Lupin, Lupin! Always this man Lupin!” She pushed him away, sharply. “All right, I’ll tell you!”

  That was when Ardan noticed. Her right arm was now tightly looped through the two leather straps of the rocket pack. Her left hand was also near the pack, fingers poised above the ignition button.

  “What–?”

  “So you want to know about Lupin, do you? All right, I’ll tell you!” The fingers of her right hand flicked, and as if by magic, the Silver Eye of Dagon appeared, held tightly between them.

  If Doc Ardan was at all capable of shock, this was certainly the time for it. She had actually managed to lift it from his inner vest pocket without him noticing, quite a feat.

  Adélaïde leapt up, left hand descending toward the ignition button, propelling herself toward Ardan. Her lips brushed his cheek at the same time she hit the button. As she launched into the air, accelerating away, she yelled down at him over the blast of the rockets. “You dear, silly man! You want to know where Lupin is? She is right here! You think my father is the only one capable of pulling this off? I am Lupin!”

  She waved at Ardan as she flew higher and higher. “Au revoir, mon cher Francis, au revoir! We shall meet again! Thank you for the Eye, it’s lovely!”

  Ardan stared up at her as she receded into the distance, her dress billowing about her shapely stockinged legs. Some of the same impure thoughts that Rambert had had also crossed his mind, and he also chided himself, not for his lack of purity, but for his lack of focus on the matters at hand. A lack of focus directly attributable to Adélaïde Lupin. A.L.

  And then she was gone.

  She was right. They would meet again. He’d make sure of it.

  FROM: SNIF.

  TO: Sous-Lieutenant Aristide, Service National d’Information Fonctionnelle, Paris.

  DATE: July 19, 1946

  SUBJECT: Your report re: A.L.

  Am more than disappointed with your performance, to wit:

  Poor decision-making: You either engaged A.L.’s services sight-unseen, or else knew A.L. was actually Lupin’s daughter and failed to inform me. Either alternative is unacceptable. Dealing with Lupin (or a member of his family, obviously), is always a risky business. You should have foreseen that she would double-cross us and keep the Eye. Her acquisition of Doctor Ardan’s rocket pack only compounds your missteps.

  Using S.N.I.F. funds and resources unwisely: You paid A.L. in advance for services not fully rendered. S.N.I.F. must now dedicate further resources to recovering the Eye from A.L.

  You are hereby demoted to the rank of Sous-Lieutenant. Had ultimate objective of securing Eye from Natas not been met, you would be facing immediate termination. Report directly to Montferrand for reassignment

  The heroine of this story, Adelaïde Lupin, introduced in the previous tale, is the daughter of Arsène Lupin and American journalist Patricia Johnston, whom the notorious Gentleman-Burglar met in Maurice Leblanc’s penultimate novel, Les Milliards d’Arsène Lupin. Adelaïde was retroactively created and introduced by Win Eckert in our previous tale. In this story (previously published in Tales of the Shadowmen 3), he paints a fascinating picture of a post-World War II France that is further beset by the ever-encroaching powers of darkness…

  Win Scott Eckert: Les Lèvres Rouges

  Paris, 1946

  Ilona Harczy hung naked in the damp dungeon, her arms spread and chained at the wrist to the stone wall. She was unconscious. Her wrists and fingers were scabbed over with dozens of small cuts. A brown and withered vine snaked under her dangling feet.

  When Ilona next awoke, the blonde woman was there.

  Somehow, even in the darkness, the woman glowed, an icy bluish light emanating from a jewel hung at her throat. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, showing blue veins beneath. In a flowing white gown, she floated ethereally above the cobblestone floor. Her lips were painted bright red.

  The woman gently took Ilona’s wrist and made another small cut. Ilona moaned as blood welled. The pale woman kissed and licked Ilona’s wrist. Only a few stray drops of blood escaped her lips, falling upon the floor and the almost-dead plant.

  The blonde woman continued to kiss Ilona’s wrist, and the bleeding stopped. Then she cupped Ilona’s breast in her hand, and softly kissed Ilona’s neck and short dark hair.

  “Now my love, it is complete,” she whispered. “You do love me, don’t you? You must, you know.”

  The blonde woman moved away into a shadowy corner. Two humanoid forms were illuminated as the woman approached them, the light from the jewel glowing brighter and brighter. The woman embraced each in turn, pulling thick necks to her waiting mouth. She intoned nonsense words that Ilona didn’t understand.

  “Iä-R’lyeh! Cthulhu fhtagn! Méne! Iä! Iä!”

  The jewel shone even brighter, its soft bluish light filling the room.

  Then the three were gone, and Ilona lapsed once more into oblivion.

  Nestor Burma looked up at the statuesque figure silhouetted in the doorway of the Fiat Lux Detective Agency’s inner office. “How may I help you, Mademoiselle…?”

  “D’Andresy. Monique d’Andresy.” She stood in front of him, raven hair spilling over the shoulders of the London Fog raincoat belted at the waist with a loose knot. “You are working on a case with an American doctor? Francis Ardan?”

  Burma leaned back in his creaky office chair and put his feet on the desk. The room’s only light was a feeble cone emanating from a small desk lamp. He puffed at his bull’s head pipe, red light from the coals illuminating his tired face.

  “Mademoiselle d’Andresy, I may be an anarchist, but I wouldn’t last long as a private detective if I made a habit of breaking my clients’ confidentiality.”

  “But, Monsieur,” she breathed, “my need is great.”

  She slowly walked around to the client chair beside Burma’s desk. Instead of sitting, she stepped one leg up on the chair and propped an elbow on her upper thigh, leaning her chin on her hand. Long nails were done in a perfect French manicure. Facing him, took a drag of her cigarette.

  “Perhaps we could come to an… understanding?”

  Burma’s eyes followed the curve of her leg from the four-inch pump to the lacy black top of a gartered silk stocking–and further. The folds of her raincoat fell away, the belt hanging loosely. Apart from the stockings and garters, she wore nothing else, intimate or otherwise.

  “I am sorry, truly, but I don’t think such an understanding will be possible.”

  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.

  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 ve
nture 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.