Doc Ardan and The Abominable Snowman

by Guy d'Armen

  “But you need to obtain authorization from the Investigating Magistrate,” said Ferval, still hesitating.

  “You mean, this kind of authorization?” said Ham, smiling, producing a letter signed by Judge Coméliau, whom he had met before they even got to La Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital.

  Ferval smiled. Certainly, his friend from Harvard had not usurped his reputation as one of the finest legal eagles of the bar!

  It was five o’clock when Judex / Vallières heard a Talbot turn into the Rue de Turenne accompanied by a howl of screeching tires. He drew aside the curtain of the first floor window and saw two men jump out of the car and walk at a brisk pace towards the Berthelaux house, They were followed by the well-known figure of Inspector Ménardier.

  The police!

  The net is closing, thought Judex. I do not know what you did during your unexplained absence, Berthelaux, but the police are on to you. You can’t escape me though... You belong to me!

  He let the curtain fall, as he heard the police ring the doorbell several times.

  “Monsieur Berthelaux?”

  “This is he.”

  “I’m Inspector Ménardier of the Police Judiciaire. May I come in?”

  “May I see your badge?”

  The badge flashed, revealing a quick glimpse of the service pistol under the inspector’s jacket.

  “Fine, Inspector! What can I do for you?”

  “Let me introduce you to my two friends: this is Mr. Brooks of the New York bar, and Mr. Mayfair, also an American. I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, but we have evidence that leads us to believe that you’re in great danger.”

  “That’s ridiculous! I’m an honest businessman. Who on Earth could want to hurt me?”

  “It’s about the International Bank of China.”

  “Sorry, Inspector, but that’s all in the past. However, since you’ve come all the way here on my behalf, you might as well follow me into the library...”

  The three men accompanied the banker to the other side of the house. The library was a sumptuously decorated room, filled with ivory carvings, and a collection of small objets d’art made of wood or terracotta lining the shelves.

  Berthelaux sat in an impressive armchair in a corner and silently invited his “guests” to take the remaining seats.

  “As I said,” began Ménardier, “we’re convinced that four of the founders of this bank, Baron Hampain, Finalit, Dasseaux and Bouriet, were murdered. You are the last surviving member of that group. But don’t worry, reinforcements are on their way. You’ve got no reasons to be concerned…”

  “Tell that to my dead colleagues!” said Berthelaux bitterly.

  “Is it possible,” interjected Ham, “that the problems at the International Bank of China might have injured a Chinese tong? Two years ago, a colleague of our friend Ardan, Dr. Lyndon Parker, faced such an organization called ‘Si-Fan.’ Could the same thing have happened here, and it is that organization which is now seeking revenge on those it holds responsible for their losses?”

  Berthelaux thought for a moment, then said:

  “Well, now that you mention it, one of our most important Chinese depositors, who, of course, lost all their money in the bankruptcy, was called Ming Tsai Tsu. He was the head of a consortium known as the Shin Tan...”

  “The Shin Tan?” exclaimed Ménardier. “Over the years, I’ve had to investigate matters relating to Orientals. It is a little known fact, but there are many Far Eastern secret societies operating in France. They are extremely powerful and have branches throughout the world... The Shin Tan is one of them. Their Master is said to be a Mongol ‘demon’ known only by the nickname: the ‘Yellow Shadow.’ The few informants who told us about him died suddenly—and not from old age. They all perished from unexplained causes.”

  “If this Ming character was hurt by the collapse of the International Bank of China, it isn’t surprising that he seeks revenge,” Ham said. Turning to the banker, he added: “I’m afraid that your financial shenanigans, Monsieur Berthelaux, have had unhappy and unforeseen consequences!”

  “Or perhaps,” said Monk, “it’s a reprisal against the French government’s involvement in the death of 52 demonstrators in Canton last June?”23

  “In any event,” said Ham, “this cannot but stir the ardor of the defenders of the Treaty of Versailles and ruin the Franco-German rapprochement advocated by your President, Monsieur Heriot, and President Von Hindenburg.”

  “One thing is certain,” concluded Ménardier, “all trails lead to you, Monsieur Berthelaux!

  That night, at the laboratory at the Sorbonne, Doctor Jules de Grandin, assisted by young Francis Ardan, examined the microscopic metallic olive found in the victim’s skull.

  The analysis revealed a very advanced technology, well beyond the capacities of either France or the United States.

  De Grandin consulted some old books and various documents that he kept locked in a safe. Then, after carefully putting them back, he said:

  “In 1901, a man known by the pseudonym of Anton Zarnak spent twenty years in Tibet studying the occult with those he called the ‘Masters of A’alshirie.’ I had access to some documents kept secret by Zarnak, and the components of this ‘olive’ appear identical to their technology. I do not pretend to understand it, but I know that its power can affect the mind.”

  “What if the bankers were remotely mind-controlled?” said Ardan. “That ‘olive’ turned them into human robots, subject to the will of another—the inventor of this devilish device—who forced them to empty their bank accounts, and then to commit suicide!”

  “It is indeed quite possible,” nodded de Grandin, stroking his mustache. “Anyway, my young friend,” he added, with a friendly tap to Ardan’s shoulder, “that’s what I intend to write in my report. Par la barbe d’un bouc vert! You will not spend another night in our jail at the French taxpayer’s expense!

  As Ménardier had said, the Police Judiciaire’s archives contained very little information about the Shin Tan. There were some extremely sketchy reports from informers, and a document written by the “King of the detectives,” the great Chantecoq himself. He had identified one of the few French agents employed by the Shin Tan, a man named Leclerc, who served as a cover for the organization when conducting a number of secret transactions with the French underworld, whose well-known patriotic fervor would not have easily accommodated the notion of dealing with Oriental heathens.

  Leclerc’s family, according to a report from the last century, written by none other than Chevalier Dupin, had served the Shin Tan for several generations. Leclerc himself met his masters every week at six a.m. at the Notre-Dame Cathedral. Ménardier and his men had only a few hours to get ready.

  Ménardier was hiding inside the Saint Denis portal. He was on the lookout in the shadow of the cathedral, his eyes piercing the darkness broken only by the feeble light of candles.

  The four bells of the north tower, the Benjamines, struck six o’clock. The Inspector pulled up his overcoat and, by reflex, checked the time on his pocket watch. Leclerc had entered the empty cathedral by the north transept five minutes earlier. The police, as a precaution, had evacuated the church personnel and the few church goers, replacing them with officers in disguise. The man had stood for a moment on the porch, scanning his surroundings. Apparently reassured, Leclerc had then crossed the cathedral without noticing the presence of the police, and gone towards a confessional. Still lurking in the corner of the chapel, Ménardier had seen him enter the booth and sit at the place normally occupied by the priest.

  Now, the wait was on...

  Ménardier had begun to doubt the arrival of the minions of the Yellow Shadow when, suddenly, an electric torch was lit several times on the other side of the nave. The signal came from Brooks, lurking on the other side of the cathedral.

  Ménardier looked up at the side entrance. Here we go, he thought, checking his 9 mm Luger. Si vis pacem, para bellum, he added, because he hardly knew what to ex
pect from the Shin Tan...

  With an undulating walk, a Eurasian woman had suddenly appeared and slowly approached the confessional. Tall, beautiful, she wore a black silk dress that molded her beautiful, slim body. The top of her dress did nothing to hide her voluptuous chest. A long string of pearls hung around her neck. Her proud bearing and extreme sensuality clashed with the austerity of the cathedral.

  The young woman slipped under the short curtain of the confessional and knelt with a grace so full of lust that the Saints themselves would have sighed in despair. Ménardier twitched when she rummaged in her bag, but she only pulled out a wad of bank notes, which she handed to Leclerc. The latter began to count them feverishly. Then, quietly, the woman got up and left the confessional.

  This was the moment that Ménardier chose to leap from his hiding place and shout:

  “Police! Nobody move!”

  The door of the confessional suddenly burst open and Leclerc rushed into the nave. Ménardier aimed his gun at the villain, but, faster than lightning, the man had already vanished in the darkness between the stone pillars.

  The Eurasian woman took advantage of the moment of uncertainty to scamper towards the choir. Ménardier turned his gun on her. He did not intend to kill her, just to stop her with a bullet in the thigh. He was going to fire when Monk broke into the cathedral, blocking his aim. The Inspector lowered his gun, afraid of harming the American who was now in his line of fire.

  Monk, spreading his arms, prepared to intercept the Eurasian woman, but she executed a perfect roll that placed her directly between the legs of her adversary. There, she struck him a hard blow to the groin. The gorilla-like Monk bent under the pain of the blow, but riposted immediately. His left fist described a curve, but encountered only emptiness. However, it had been but a feint. He followed it immediately with a right hook that the Eurasian could not avoid.

  The woman uttered a sharp cry of pain. Monk thought he had won, but as he was preparing to grab her, the Eurasian dealt him a violent karate chop to the larynx.

  Monk let out a rumbling noise and collapsed, nearly asphyxiated. Bug-eyed, helpless, he saw the woman step over him and fade away into the night.

  Meanwhile, Ham. who had observed the whole scene, had rushed out in pursuit of Leclerc, whose stocky body zigzagged between the pillars of the cathedral. The lawyer was gaining ground on his prey, and was about to tackle him to the ground, when the villain suddenly collapsed to the ground, uttering a horrible groan.

  Ham looked at Leclerc whose face was becoming swollen.

  “The Yellow Shadow… lachrymatory…” the man had time to whisper before he died with a gasp.

  His head rolled to one side. His black tongue, abnormally large, jutted from his open mouth like a tumor.

  “He’s been poisoned,” said Ménardier who knelt beside the lawyer.

  “Look! The bank notes!” exclaimed Ham.

  In the white circle reserved for the watermark in the center of the notes from the Banque de France, which normally depicted a blacksmith and a pretty girl in a toga, a grinning Tibetan demon mask had just appeared!

  The mark of the Yellow Shadow!

  “He poisoned himself by licking his fingers while counting the money,” said Ménardier. “I saw him do it. It’s diabolical!”

  They were then joined by Monk, who muttered in a hoarse voice:

  “That devil woman is gone!” Massaging his sore neck, the ‘gorilla’ added: “Right now, a shot of bourbon would do me the greatest good...”

  Ham smiled, pleased that his friend had recovered his usual banter.

  “I just searched the victim,” said Ménardier, “and I haven’t found any papers on him. Unless the post-mortem turns up something…”

  “Shit!” growled Monk. “Another dead end!”

  “Not necessarily,” said Ham. “I carefully memorized his last words... It’s amazing how death loosens tongues!”

  The Paris catacombs were spread before them, like a deadly maze winding through the darkness.

  Ménardier, Ham and Monk were marching in a line, their crepe soles stifling the sound of their steps. On each side of them, piles of human bones and friezes of skulls shone softly under the light of their electric torches.

  Ham shuddered. He had not taken the time to dress himself warmly and the stress only added to the chill generated by the ambient 57 degrees F. He had drawn his sword from the scabbard of his cane and followed Ménardier and Monk, who were both armed with crossbows. Behind them came a small squad of policemen, armed with Thomson submachine guns, dispatched by Commissaire Valentin of the notorious Brigades du Tigre.24

  Meanwhile, several elite policemen stood guard at the home of Berthelaux, which had been converted into an impregnable citadel. Ferval believed firmly that the banker would be the next target of the mysterious Mr. Ming...

  As for Francis Ardan, the file requesting his release was now on Judge Coméliau’s desk. There was no doubt that he would soon sign it, and that the young man would be free before the end of the day. However, Ménardier had not seen fit to wait for Ardan’s release to launch his offensive.

  Leclerc’s last words seemed to indicate that the Parisian lair of the enigmatic Mongol—whom no one doubted was behind the mysterious “olives” implanted in the villainous bankers’ brains—was located near the lachrymatory, one of the famous tombs located in the Paris catacombs. Ferval orders were clear: to protect Berthelaux on the one hand, and to invade the ossuary.

  Around noon, the task force sent by Valentin quietly joined the trio at the entrance of the catacombs. Silently, the dozen men made their way into the depths of the capital. Like an army of ghosts, in absolute silence, they rushed down through an endless succession of aqueducts and winding quarry tunnels.

  When they reached the ossuary, the access of which was blocked by a heavy metal door, Ham shuddered at reading the words carved on the lintel: “Stop! Here begins the realm of Death...” The curator of the Carnavalet museum had handed him a key and Ménardier used it to unlock the enormous metal bolt as discreetly as he could.

  The expedition resumed its macabre progression, heading for the crypt of the lachrymatory. Suddenly, Inspector Pujol, one of Valentin’s men who had gone ahead as a scout, warned them of the presence of guards preventing access to the tomb. Ménardier asked the men to extinguish their torches and they continued their advance in the most complete darkness, walking silently in single file. Ham shuddered again.

  Soon, they reached the crossroad where Pujol waited. With a gesture, he showed them the tenuous glow of torches shining at the end of a gallery leading to the tomb.

  They tip-toed forward, hugging the damp walls. As they reached a column of bleached bones, Ménardier beckoned Ham to join him. The lawyer walked silently and cast a wary eye behind the pillar.

  Two figures stood there, motionless. There were two dacoits with long hair and dead eyes, armed with large knives, guarding the crypt. Ham turned around and ran his thumb across his throat. The message was clear! Monk and Ménardier took aim with their crossbows in perfect synchronicity and shot. Whistling through the air, the bolts pierced the necks of the sentinels, who barely had time to cough up some blood before expiring. Their bodies had not even touched the ground when they were picked up and removed by the policemen.

  In the center of the darkened hall stood the lachrymatory, the famous tomb of the poet Nicolas Gilbert, bearing the famous inscription: Au banquet de la vie, infortuné convive, j’apparus un jour et je meurs... 25There was no sign of life, or activity. The echo of the removal of the dacoits had not raised any alarms...

  Pujol and his colleague Inspector Terrasson went to check the neighboring tunnels and quickly returned, gesturing to certify that the premises were secure.

  The squad then began to conceal themselves around the tomb, and the interminable wait amongst the remains of six million dead began. The strangeness of the place, the threat of the Shin Tan, the ominous Mr. Ming, all these things worried Ham. To add to h
is torment, Monk taunted him by making constant, apelike grimaces at him.

  At about six o’clock in the evening, they heard a creaking sound echoing through the tomb; a stone rubbing against another stone. Ham, shivering with cold, stood up. Around the room, the policemen, alert, stood up quietly, ready for action.

  A sliver of light appeared on the wall behind the tomb, then widened to reveal a secret passage from which emerged a silhouette. It crept cautiously into the tomb. Monk immediately recognized the Eurasian woman whom he had fought at the cathedral. Her right arm was in a sling. She emerged from the shadows. She was just as stunning as she had been at Notre-Dame; this time, she wore a short dress made of silver lamé. She inspected the tomb with a flashlight, but did not detect any danger.

  The Eurasian woman then went to the sarcophagus and touched a secret mechanism, which revealed another secret passage. The sarcophagus opened over a narrow stone staircase which the woman took, hurrying down. Already, the sarcophagus was about to close when Ménardier, rushing forward, slid his crossbow inside to prevent the mechanism from shutting down. The weapon bent, the wood groaning under the strain, but the opening remained ajar...

  The Inspector quietly slipped through the passage, immediately followed by Monk, Ham, and the men of the Brigades du Tigre. The spiral staircase curved through countless strata of bones carved with runes and ended up in a narrow gallery. Below it was a vast cavern, carved out of the stone, illuminated by a pulsed light accompanied by a low hum.

  The policemen, holding their guns at the ready, looked into the cavern, which was filled with banks of scientific-looking machinery. At the center of the room was the Eurasian woman. She stood in front of a human-sized glass jar; inside which was a dark, motionless humanoid form. It was a bald man with amber-colored eyes, wide open, in an olive face, dressed as a clergyman, seated in an armchair, the high back of which was carved with dragons and chimeras. His head was under a transparent helmet bristling with coils, conductors, and resistors.