Tales of the Shadowmen 1: The Modern Babylon Read online

  “What have you found?”

  “Let us start with the footprints,” de Grandin replied. “You took the casts yourself. What do you think?”

  “I think that I failed to do a good job. The man’s foot must have slid, distorting the print. As a result, it looks much larger than a human foot could possibly be.”

  “Not so!” De Grandin crossed to the table that held the plaster cast of the single footprint that had been recovered from the garden. “Look at the sharpness of the edge of the sole, especially here, at the heel. If the foot had slid, the sharpness of the print would have been blurred.”

  “Are you saying that is really the size of his foot?”

  “Of his shoe, yes.” De Grandin replaced the cast. “We have only the one good print but there were other marks to show where he went. By using the measurements I had you take, we know the length of our man’s stride. I compare it to the stride of a running man whose height is known, a little math and we learn that our man is eight feet in height.”

  “But surely that’s not possible?”

  “I tell you it must be possible. The evidence is not like an eyewitness. It cannot forget or tell a lie. What it says must be believed.”

  Maigret frowned, as important as evidence was his inclination was to probe the people involved first.

  “Then, we must find a giant,” he said. “Surely a man like that can’t hide in Paris.”

  “Not by himself, but look at this.” De Grandin pointed to the plaster footprint again. The well-formed shape, the nail marks on the heel, they all indicate that this is a shoe of the highest quality. For such a colossal foot, it must have been custom-made. It would have cost a small fortune.”

  “Then, the giant has a friend?”

  “Very good, my young friend. We would certainly know it if there was an eight-foot-tall millionaire walking the streets of Paris.”

  “So, this giant has a wealthy friend,” Maigret said slowly, “And he is involved in a well-planned, well-executed crime. Does that mean that his friend is a criminal?”

  “I believe it does. What else do we know?”

  “We know that our giant is athletic enough to climb the high garden fence.” Maigret paused to think. “Before he climbed it though, he must have lured the dogs to the gate and killed them.”

  “That sounds reasonable, but we must be cautious of what sounds reasonable if it is not supported by the evidence. The bodies of the dogs, and the blood from their wounds, were found well inside the garden.”

  “So he climbed the fence before he attacked the dogs?”

  “It seems strange, but the evidence does not lie.”

  Maigret shook his head in wonder.

  “Sir, you make it so clear. It’s as if you were Sherlock Holmes.”

  De Grandin frowned. “Fah! That one is overrated. I should prefer to be compared to the great Dupin.”

  “Or perhaps the brilliant Rouletabille?”

  De Grandin thrust out his chin. The points of his waxed moustache seemed to stand at attention.

  “That puppy? He is the one who should be flattered to be compared to Jules de Grandin!”

  Maigret had to smother a laugh. His new friend wasn’t lacking for ego, comparing himself so favorably to two men who were arguably the greatest living detectives. He decided that it was probably a good idea to get back to the topic of the crime.

  “Is there anything else you have learned, sir?”

  Jules de Grandin nodded.

  “There is something strange and most disturbing about the wounds on the dogs. Look at this...” De Grandin moved to allow Maigret a clear vision of the mastiff’s body.

  “His throat has been slashed.”

  “Yes, but no knife made these wounds. See?”

  Maigret bent closer.

  “Teeth marks!” he exclaimed. “I don’t understand. No one saw or heard any other dog.”

  “Perhaps that is because these are not the teeth marks of a dog,” de Grandin said. “These marks were made by human teeth.”

  “My God! What sort of man could do such a thing?”

  “I would like to know that as well,” said a voice from the shadowed section of the lab behind them.

  Maigret and de Grandin spun to see a dark-clad man standing in the center of the room. He wore a black cape and a slouch hat, which hid much of his face. He had entered without a sound.

  “Who are you?” Maigret demanded. When there was no immediate reply, he started forward.

  “No.” Jules de Grandin laid a restraining hand on Maigret’s arm. “This man isn’t our enemy.”

  Maigret looked back and forth between his friend and the mysterious newcomer.

  De Grandin nodded to the stranger.

  “You’re Judex, aren’t you?”

  Judex! With the mention of that name, Maigret understood. For two years, the Paris underworld had been haunted by a mysterious figure who acted as self-appointed judge over the criminals the law couldn’t reach. Gauthier had mentioned the cloaked figure several times, always with anger and a touch of awe. The Inspector had little use for vigilantes. An infallible vigilante who seemed able to appear and disappear like a ghost was even worse.

  Others had a more charitable view of the cloaked man. Maigret had heard some compare him to a modern Rocambole, a figure of superhuman cunning and strength who acted outside the law but who targeted only the worst of criminals.

  Maigret had suspected the reports of the cloaked figure had been exaggerated, or even manufactured by the older members of the force as a story to tell to rookies. Now, facing the stranger in black, he realized that it was no fabrication. Judex, the self-appointed judge of the underworld, was real.

  “I am Judex,” the man said, “and you are Constable Maigret and Doctor de Grandin. The same Jules de Grandin who studied for a time under Sâr Dubnotal, if I am not mistaken.”

  “You are well-informed, Monsieur,” de Grandin said with a little bow. “I did spend six months with the Sâr, though I am hardly the psychagogue that he is.”

  “I fought the man who took Mademoiselle Leonard,” Judex said. “I call him a man for I don’t know what else he could be. The criminals working with him called him ‘Gouroull.’ ”

  “What sort of name is that?” Maigret asked.

  “An appropriate one,” Judex replied. “I don’t know what it means but it sounds like ‘ghoul,’ ‘gargoyle’ or ‘gorilla.’ I can see how any of those names could be applied to the creature I fought. He was bigger than any man I have ever seen, with a hideous face and the agility of a devil.”

  “Could he have actually been a gorilla?” Jules de Grandin asked, “Or an orangutan? It wouldn’t be the first time an ape committed crimes in Paris.”

  “I don’t believe the creature I fought was an ape. It stood upright and its face was human, though terribly scarred.”

  “Perhaps it was an ape-man,” Maigret suggested, “Like that creature Balaoo who terrorized the city only months ago.”

  De Grandin nodded.

  “I was not involved in that case, but I did help in the arrest of the madman Otto Beneckendorff. He experimented to create a hybrid of ape and man. Could this creature be the successful result of such an experiment?”

  “As I said,” Judex replied. “He isn’t like any man I have ever seen. I had hoped you could tell me what he is.”

  He produced a sealed test tube from the folds of his cloak and tossed it to de Grandin.

  “I wounded Gouroull when we fought. I shot him four times in the chest with my pistol, but he didn’t fall. This is what bled from his wounds.”

  Jules de Grandin’s brow was furrowed as he smelled the fluid.

  “This is not blood.”

  “No,” Judex replied. “It is not blood, and I don’t believe Gouroull is any natural creature. I’m hoping you can tell me what he is. This ichor is beyond my ability to analyze.”

  “But not beyond the ability of Jules de Grandin, eh? Don’t worry, Monsieur; I will
justify your faith in me. Maigret, bring me the microscope.”

  Jules de Grandin placed a single drop of the dark fluid onto a glass slide and applied a cover. He slid the specimen under the microscope and peered at it intently.

  “Name of the Devil! I have never seen anything like this before. It has a cellular structure like that of blood but it doesn’t seem to be organic. It will take me some time to be certain, but I think this is a synthetic blood.”

  He looked up from the microscope. Except for Maigret the room was empty. Judex had disappeared as mysteriously as he had come.

  A small red light came to life on the surface of the mahogany desk. Fritz Kramm noticed it at once, but didn’t acknowledge it. He was sitting in his brother Cornelius’ office at the charity clinic on the Rue Mouffetard, listening to one of the staff doctors.

  Fritz raised his hand to interrupt the young physician.

  “Forgive me, Doctor Lorde. I’m afraid all this medical terminology is my brother’s domain and not mine. I’ll be happy to ask him to speak to you but beyond that...” He raised his palms face up.

  “Of course, Monsieur Kramm.” The young doctor smiled. “I’ll appreciate it greatly.”

  Fritz rose and showed Lorde to the door. Then, he crossed the room to a set of bookcases. He pressed a hidden release and one of the cases slid aside revealing the hidden elevator. As it did, the light on the desk winked out.

  “Who was that?” Cornelius Kramm asked as he stepped into the room.

  “That was that Lorde fellow. He’s hoping to do some research and wanted to talk to you about carrying on a study in the clinic.”

  “He has a first-rate mind,” Cornelius replied. “I’d like to see where his research goes, but I can’t allow it. The studies he would like to do would result in unaccountable deaths and I can’t have the reputation of my clinic sullied.”

  “How is your patient?”

  “He was resting comfortably when I left him.” Doctor Cornelius reached in his coat pocket and produced four light caliber slugs. “His ability to withstand damage is astonishing. And his recuperative powers are greater than those of any natural animal. Victor Frankenstein was a genius!”

  Fritz nodded.

  “If we had a few more like him, there is nothing we couldn’t accomplish. If only we could count on his loyalty.”

  “You worry too much, Fritz. After all, we have the thing he desires most in the world. The Monster wants to look like a man, to walk among normal humans and attract as little attention as possible. Who else could give him that except the ‘sculptor of human flesh?’ My carnoplasty techniques can make even a monster into a matinee idol.”

  “And then what, Cornelius? You know what happened to his creator. The same thing has happened to every human who has tried to use him since.”

  “Technically, Gouroull didn’t kill Frankenstein,” Cornelius shot back. “It was the man’s mania to destroy his creation that did that. But your point is well-taken and I have already planned for it. I am certain Gouroull would betray us as soon as he had his new face. That’s why he will never wake from the anesthetic.”

  “Really? You aren’t completing the surgery?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s a shame too. Making that face into something human would have been a wonderful challenge,” Cornelius shrugged. “Unfortunately for him, there’s so much I can learn by doing a vivisection. His amazing vitality should keep him alive for days, possibly weeks. In that time, I’ll be able to learn all of Frankenstein’s secrets. Then, I can create your army, dear brother. Undying, superhumanly strong and possessing much more tractable minds than our unhappy Gouroull.”

  Fritz brought out a decanter of cognac and two glasses.

  “We should toast the success of your studies.”

  He poured the liquor; never suspecting that every word they had said had been heard. Behind the bookcase, in the hidden shaft, a huge form dangled from the elevator cables. Gouroull’s eyes twinkled with hatred and inhuman cunning.

  It was early morning when the two investigators made their report to Inspector Gauthier. His face paled a bit when they mentioned Judex’s appearance.

  “That outlaw!” Gauthier snapped. “I’ll be certain to have two gendarmes ready to catch him if he tries to approach you again.”

  He listened patiently to their estimates of the size of the kidnapper. De Grandin left out the details about the synthetic blood and his suspicion about what that meant. The two had discussed the matter ahead of time and decided to hold back some information until Gouroull was captured. Telling the Inspector that his men were looking for the Frankenstein Monster wouldn’t help them at this point.

  Gauthier listened patiently until the report was done.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” he smiled tolerantly. “We have not found such a giant yet, but I now know we have our prime suspect as soon as we do.”

  He had asked Maigret to stay for a moment after de Grandin had left.

  “So, Maigret, how are you getting on with the good doctor?”

  “He is a remarkable man.”

  “He is certainly full of remarkable theories,” Gauthier said with a chuckle. “We’re to deliver the ransom tonight so you have only a little longer under his tutelage. It will be good to have you back doing real police work soon. Monsieur Leonard has raised the money and I think we will have Mademoiselle Louise safely home by late tonight and the kidnappers behind bars soon after that.”

  Maigret had gone home and slept for a few hours. He arrived at the laboratory to find the little doctor still working on the bodies of the dogs. They worked together through the early afternoon, until Maigret managed to persuade the older man to take a break. They walked to a nearby café that de Grandin knew and had a late lunch and a glass of calvados.

  After lunch, de Grandin lit up a fat cigar. He offered one to Maigret, but he politely refused and loaded his pipe.

  “There is something to be said for this, my friend,” the forensic doctor said. “Sometimes, I become so obsessed by the evidence that I forget the needs of the body.”

  “This is the only way I can think clearly,” Maigret replied. “I have to let things sink into my bones before I really understand them.”

  De Grandin nodded and the two sat in companionable silence until the little man’s cigar burned down.

  “I thank you, my friend, but now it is time to get back to my laboratory.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, it may be better for you and your bones to stay here and ponder a little longer,” de Grandin grinned. “No, I am not making fun of you. What you said is right. Each man thinks best in his own way. For me, it is in the close study of the evidence, but not so for you. Not every man can think like Jules de Grandin, but there is great value to thinking like Maigret too, I think.”

  They said goodbye and the little man hurried off.

  A peculiar man but a good one, Maigret thought. He thought of his other new ally, the mysterious Judex and wondered what drove a man like that. Surely, it wasn’t some abstract concept of justice. More likely he had suffered a very specific injustice in his own life and had brooded on it so long that he could no longer bear to see injustice anywhere. He preyed on criminals to avenge his own wrongs by proxy. What a grim life that must be.

  The mention of Judex had provoked an unusual reaction in Gauthier. It was as if the Inspector actually feared the man. Was it just that the caped man was an unpredictable element in the investigation, or was there more to it than that? Also, it had seemed to Maigret that his superior had actually believed the story of an eight-foot man. Had he simply not known what to do with such an odd detail? Perhaps now that Monsieur Leonard had agreed to the ransom, he was focused on other things.

  Maigret paid for his meal and began to trudge the streets. The afternoon breeze was warm and brought the aromas of the nearby park to him. There were young couples out, holding hands. He thought of Louise and felt a stab of worry. How foolish he was to risk losing her
to something as foolish as her father’s displeasure. When he rescued her, he should marry her as quickly as he could.

  Who had taken her, and why? She wasn’t the sort of person a reasonable kidnapper would go after. Her family was well-off, but there were many wealthier people in Paris, most of whom would make much safer targets than the daughter of a juge d’instruction. It didn’t make sense.

  Then, Maigret realized that it did make sense.

  His meanderings had brought him back near the laboratory. That was good, but he had spent several hours walking and thinking and the Sun was nearly down. He and de Grandin would have to hurry.

  “So this kidnapping is not what it seems?”

  Jules de Grandin sat next to Maigret in the carriage as it sped along the boulevards. He had taken the young detective at his word and left his examinations behind to accompany him.

  “I don’t believe so,” Maigret replied. “You said that the supplier of the giant’s shoes must be wealthy. Why should someone like that blackmail a man like Monsieur Leonard for money?”

  “But what if he were being blackmailed for something else?”

  “I believe that is indeed the case,” Maigret said.

  “Then, perhaps the money is a way to distract the police. They will focus all of their attention on the ransom, leaving the kidnappers free to play another game.”

  The carriage pulled up to the Leonard house. All of the windows were dark.

  “I knew he had sent the servants away during the investigation,” said Maigret, “but where are the police?”

  “They may have left to try to apprehend the criminals when the ransom is delivered,” de Grandin offered. “Still, to leave the house empty is strange.” Abruptly, he pointed as a light came on in an upper window.

  “There is someone here!”

  The two left the carriage and hurried to the house. The doors were unlocked and the foyer was empty. De Grandin motioned Maigret to silence as they went up the stairs. The door to the study was ajar and de Grandin caught Maigret’s arm before he could enter.