by Guy d'Armen
“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.
When these two left her alone in her quarters, she’d be free to explore and locate Ilona. Then back to the parlor to rip the Eye of Dagon from where it hung around Elisabeth’s translucent neck.
The whole place had a freakish ambiance to it. Noël had briefed them all before sending her in. The mansion used to be the clinic of Doctor Felix Benet. Benet had used a new source of radiation–Radium-X–to cure blindness and other illnesses, and
had been brutally murdered here. It still stank of death.
Add in the mansion’s current occupants: Trollish Le Chiffre snorting his amphetamines. Languid Elisabeth… fascinating in a menacing sort of way, like a flame drawing in the moth that cannot resist. Did she have a slight Hungarian accent? And her two escorts, they were quite a pair. Denis with his bulging eyes and bluish-green, almost oily skin emanating a squalid fish smell; he was in serious need of a shower. And silent Plaster, a girl of no more than 20 with a shock of white hair. Was it the fear permeating this place that robbed her hair of color?
As they passed a large mirror hanging in the hallway, Adélaïde caught a quick glance in it and could have sworn… Had she really seen only her own and Plaster’s reflections? No, she must have missed foul Denis’ reflection because he was lumbering a few steps ahead of them.
No matter, she’d be in and out of here quickly. Free Ilona, snatch the jewel and disappear. It was a bit of a trek to Room 13, though, and they seemed to be headed toward the basement…
As they approached a heavy wooden door, Plaster’s hand clamped over her mouth and nose with a chloroform-soaked rag. The last thing she saw was her friend, Ilona, shackled and hanging in the dank cellar.
When the Sun declined, the ladies of the Cordon Jaune were brought down for their evening lineup before Le Chiffre and Elisabeth. Counting the new girl–had anyone met her yet?–there were ten women currently working at this establishment. Last night, before Jeannette had come on board, so to speak, there had also been ten, but Claudette had left.
People came and went in this line of work, and the ladies weren’t concerned. They might have been if Madame Elisabeth allowed them newspapers or radios–Claudette’s body had been discovered nearby just that afternoon. Her corpse was completely depleted of blood, and the police, as usual, were baffled.
Le Chiffre, conversely, was concerned. Of the ten, only nine appeared at the lineup.
“Elisabeth!” he shouted, then turned back the women. “Back to your rooms, all of you! Now!”
Several of the girls, lead by the waif Cabiria, protested but complied on further threats from Le Chiffre.
After the ladies dispersed, he beckoned to his two looming bodyguards, and faced Elisabeth.
“Where is the new girl? Where is Jeannette!”
Elisabeth smiled at him lazily. “Ziffre, you really must learn to control your temper.”
“Woman, you’ll be the end of us all. Denis, Karl–” He snapped his fingers at the bodyguards “–take Madame Elisabeth to her room and lock her there.”
Elisabeth began to giggle softly. She raised one elegant arm and pointed behind him, urging him to look.
Le Chiffre slowly turned and almost fainted. Denis and Karl’s dark tailored suits were splitting at the seams. Eyes swelled in their sockets. Snouts elongated. Webs formed between fingers and toes of feet which no longer fit in discarded shoes. Oil seeped from bluish skin showing through the splits in once stylish clothing.
Thick red lips opened, showing row upon row of razor-sharp fangs. The incisors were particularly lengthy.
The jewel at Elisabeth’s throat glowed momentarily with ice-blue intensity, and then softened.
“Gentlemen, Herr Ziffre is becoming a nuisance. Take him to the cellar. No, no! Don’t hurt him–yet. He may still have his uses.”
Karl punched Le Chiffre in the face, and the two fish-men started to drag him away, gibbering quietly to themselves.
“Oh, and gentlemen?”
The two creatures paused.
“Better stay out of sight. We wouldn’t want to frighten the girls, would we, darlings? I’ll call them down for this evening’s lineup.”
The two fish-men gesticulated in parody of a human nod, and continued to shamble away, dragging Le Chiffre and leaving a faint trail of fish-slime in their wake.
It had been too long. Adélaïde should have been out over an hour ago. Time for Plan B.
Doc Ardan and Jens Rolf had come into the Cordon Jaune with the evening’s first round of customers. They had both noted the Eye of Dagon hanging from the Madame’s neck, but the first order of business was to locate and liberate Adélaïde and Ilona. The Madame had made cooing noises over Doc, murmuring over the handsome bronze giant and making a point to caress his shoulders and biceps.
Elisabeth was undeniably mesmerizing, but Ardan could sense something vile and repellent at her core. He stoically bore the indignity of her touch, but when Elisabeth prattled on about what a lucky girl Plaster would be that night, Rolf kept things in motion, playing his part perfectly.
“Fraulein Elisabeth,” the German snapped, consulting his watch, “if we could proceed, our time is limited.”
“Of course, Mein Herr, forgive me. This girl’s name is Manon. I presume she is acceptable?
“Quite, thank you.”
Now both men were in separate rooms with the girls. Doc had broken a small glass tranquilizer under Plaster’s nose and eased her into a comfortable position on the bed. As he exited, Jens Rolf silently came from the room across the hall. Through the open doorway, Doc could see the girl Manon sitting straight up in a chair, eyes open and yet vacant.
“A slight trance, she’ll come out of it shortly,” Rolf whispered.
Doc nodded, and scanned the corridor in both directions.
“That woman, Elisabeth,” Rolf continued. “Something evil and depraved owns her soul.”
Doc nodded again, and raised a hand for silence. After a moment, he pointed and the two men made their way toward a butler’s staircase at the back of the house.
Nestor Burma was stationed out back of the Benet mansion at a basement window. His associate, a reformed burglar called Zavatter, worked at the lock.
“Voila,” said the cracksman as the lock came loose. Burma paid him off, sent him on his way, and held his position.
After 30 minutes, Ardan and Rolf had still not appeared with the women and the Eye. Burma emptied out his pipe on the pavement. He sauntered casually from the back alley and down the block to the idling Citroën.
He said a few words to Noël, then retraced his steps, crouched, and went in the open window.
Adélaïde’s wrists were shackled to chains hanging from the cellar ceiling. The room was featureless save for the tendrils of greenery which snaked the ground around her feet.
Adélaïde had been stripped down to undergarments and pumps. Her red wig was gone. She yelled at Ilona to wake up, but her friend was unresponsive. Adélaïde quieted when she heard the click of footsteps on the wooden stairs descending from the cellar door.
Elisabeth appeared, wearing black riding pants tucked neatly into black patent leather riding boots, and a white blouse cut low at the neckline. She held a riding crop behind her in both hands. Out for a day at the races.
“Welcome my dear, welcome!” She smiled broadly at Adélaïde, then whispered conspiratorially in her ear. “I knew it was you earlier today, as soon as you came into the parlor. I have an unusually strong sense of smell, and I could never forget your alluring scent.”
“What do you want?”
“What? What do I want?” Elisabeth asked innocently. “Why my dear, shouldn’t it be obvious? I want you.”
Adélaïde shook her head in confusion.
“Oh, I admit, I probably should have left Paris long before now, but once I met you when you delivered the Eye–isn’t it just exquisite, by the way?” She gestured at the luminescent jewel hanging between her pale breasts. “In any event, once I saw you, I knew it would be worth the risk of remaining a while longer. And I was right! Here you are, pretty as a package.”
“I still don’t understand. This was all a trap? For me?”
“But of course! When I met you, I could tell right away if I kept the Eye, you’d come here looking for Ilona. I’m a very good judge of character, you know.”
“Why me?”
“Do I have to explain everything? Dear Adélaïde.” Elisabeth pouted, puffing out her lower lip,
then caressed Adélaïde’s cheek with the end of the crop. Adélaïde stiffened.
“Oh, don’t worry, this is just for show.” She pointed at the cuts on Ilona’s neck and wrists. “You see, no crop made those cuts.”
Adélaïde shook her head.
“Oh, very well, I’ll explain, though it doesn’t matter in the end. Soon you’ll be pleading to join me. So. Your friend, Doctor Natas. Remember him? Once you had escaped from Oran with the Silver Eye of Dagon, he was able to piece together what really happened. He discovered the true thief of his prize. And–surprise! He put a price out on your head and a reward for the Eye’s return!” Elisabeth’s smile illuminated the room.
“Word spread–I am somewhat well-connected in that area,” she said modestly. “Natas’ head of intelligence, Pao Tcheou, also sent out a personal dossier on you. Information on your parents, your friends, anything that might be of use. You can imagine my astonishment to find Ilona Harczy listed as one of your closest friends.”
Adélaïde stared at her blankly.
“No? You are still confused?” Elisabeth sighed. “I once knew another Ilona Harczy. I was forced to kill her in Vienna, long ago. I counted it a stroke of good fortune to learn my late nemesis had a distant namesake! Out of curiosity, I sought her out, and discovered she was a chanteuse at the Calyx Bar–yes, the very place I took delivery of the Eye from you! I must say, the latter Ilona is much more beautiful than her predecessor, and once I saw her, I decided to keep her.
“Killing two birds, as the saying goes, I contacted you and arranged to exchange her for the Eye. After all, why not still collect on Natas’ reward? When we met, I knew I’d have you as well. I was smitten, I confess. It’s extended my Parisian stay a bit, and I probably should’ve moved on by now, but adding you and the lovely Mademoiselle Harczy to my stable will be well worth the risk and undue attention.”
“Undue attention?” Adélaïde asked. “It’s you. You’ve been killing those girls.”
“Well, one needs to replenish, after all. I think I’ve been pacing myself quite nicely, but you’re right, it is time we leave this place before the day breaks.”
