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Chapter 3: Chasing Phantoms
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The Seine Department's headquarters was an imposing building, housing the bureaucratic machinery of Paris's police force. Upon entering, Dupin had to lead the British adventurers through a never-ending flow of foot-traffic. Clerks rushed past, ferrying documents from one department to another; anxious citizens milled about, waiting to present their various grievances to some hapless functionary; uniformed officers shoved shuffling, reluctant ruffians to their holding cells. All in all, it was just the sort of pandemonium one would expect to find in a major metropolitan police building.
Then Dupin led his charges down a long, winding spiral staircase. After the first four floors, the noise and bustle of the ground level faded into silence. "This is our Records department. Just a moment; I shall announce us." Dupin rapped on a door, and a loud crash could be heard on the other side, with the unmistakable sound of paper stacks toppling to the floor. Muffled cursing followed. Then the door opened to reveal a portly, bespectacled fellow with curly black hair, a beard, and a handlebar mustache. "Inspector Dupin! So sorry!" babbled the clerk. "I got so, so absorbed in my research, and when you knocked—"
"Never mind, Gaston," the older Frenchman said tiredly, as though all too used to this sort of thing. Gesturing to the clerk, he said, "Monsieurs, Madame and Mademoiselle, may I introduce Guardien Gaston Leroux, one of our most, ah, dedicated archivists, and something of an amateur author besides." Turning back toward Leroux, the Inspector inquired, "Have you found anything on this Moriarty character?"
"Ah, well, quite a bit, actually. Good birth, excellent education, mathematical genius, criminal mastermind, late head of the League of—"
"Yes, yes, we know all that," Allan snapped. "Do you have anything recent? Say, within the last year or so?"
"On Monsieur Moriarty? Non – in fact, the most recent information we have was provided by an American Secret Service agent, detailing the circumstances of his death."
Allan sighed. "So, it's a dead end."
"Not necessarily," the clerk said, holding up a finger. "Your Moriarty may be moldering somewhere in northern Asia, but I have here files pertaining to another masked man, known to have operated here in Paris, whose career goes back at least two decades…."
"Oh, Gaston, not this again!" exclaimed Dupin. "We are searching for a real criminal mastermind, not one of your urban legends!"
"But Le Fantôme is real! Former Commissary Mifroid wrote the case file. I myself visited the underground lake where he made his lair, and discovered the skeletons of some of his victims. There were multiple eyewitness accounts, and I believe there is an old facial composite somewhere in here…." Turning his head from side to side, the clerk began digging through the mess of fallen papers.
"Please forgive Guardien Leroux," Dupin said with a sigh. "I'm afraid his taste for crime fiction often leads him to contemplate the more bizarre and unbelievable accounts that pass through our records. Le Fântome de l'Opéra is an urban myth here in Paris. An old opera house burned down two decades ago, and some people began telling fantastic stories about a disfigured man, living beneath it in the catacombs, who supposedly started the fire."
"Aha! There he is!" cried Leroux, holding up an old piece of paper. "When I first read Madame Shaw's description, I was immediately reminded of this image." His rosy cheeks dimpled by a triumphant smile, the stout clerk laid the wanted poster upon his desk.
The poster presented two faces, or rather, two images of the same face. The one on the right featured a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and piercing, intelligent-looking eyes. The face might have been handsome … had half of it not been horribly disfigured, as in some terrible burning, or by a cruel accident of birth. Wild hair was drawn around the face; the black-and-white print gave the impression of a lighter shade, perhaps blond or aged silver.
The image on the left showed the same eyes, chin and lips, but with everything else obscured by a mask. Black hair framed this disguised visage, tied back in a short French ponytail. Assuming that the right-hand composite was the man's natural appearance, the black hair must have been a wig.
Allan stared at the printed image. Good God! With that mask, and in the right light …"Mrs. Shaw, could this be the man who attacked you?"
Charlotte stared hard at the poster. "It … it might be. I remember that he was tall, and terribly thin. And he was very strong; I think he must have thrown me at least twenty feet. And poor George…."
"Well, this certainly complicates things," Mina muttered. "So we might be looking for M, or for this Phantom character."
"Or for some entirely different criminal using the guise of Le Fântome to conceal his own identity," Dupin said sourly. "Yes, this does indeed complicate matters."
The members of the League stood around Leroux's desk, gazing at the faded wanted poster. Then Allan sighed, drawing himself up. "Well, that means we have some leads to follow. Mrs. Shaw, the kidnapper left you a note. Where and when does it instruct you to deliver the gold?
Charlotte reached into one of her pockets, withdrawing the letter. "He said to have my family fortune delivered to the Port de l'Arsenal in two more days. If it is not there by midnight, he says—"
Allan nodded quickly, cutting off the kidnapper's threat. "Not to worry, Mrs. Shaw, you and your husband will be in good hands. Miss Harker, Mr. Skinner and Captain Nemo will help you find the hand-off point, and the four of you will keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. Whether this is the work of Moriarty or some other criminal, our man must know the port well. He probably spends time there himself. With any luck, he'll show up there prior to the deadline. If he does, you will apprehend him – alive, Nemo – and discover Mr. Shaw's location."
The Indian nodded. "Your reasoning is sound. Even in disguise, when the villain shows himself, he will not escape us."
"I'm counting on it," Allan replied. "Miss Harker, your thoughts?"
The vampiress shrugged. "It sounds logical enough. And what will you be doing while we're watching the port?"
"I'll answer that in a moment. First, Inspector, may I ask for your assistance?"
Dupin gave a nod, placing his hat over his breast. "Of course, Monsieur Quatermain."
"Good. While Mrs. Shaw and the others are over at the Port de l'Arsenal, you, Doctor Jekyll and I will be following up on this Opera Ghost affair."
"But it is irrelevant to the case!" the Inspector exclaimed. "It is a fantasy, concocted by inflamed imaginations and spread by gossips!"
The clerk tried to cut in. "But—!"
"And even if the tale were true," Dupin added, giving the clerk a hard glance, "why would a deformed arsonist from twenty years ago suddenly reappear and kidnap a foreigner? Other than the costume, there is no connection! It is obviously a ruse, meant to mislead us."
Allan gave the Inspector a sympathetic nod. "Quite likely, you're right. On the other hand, we can't afford to overlook anything. If this Phantom really is behind the kidnapping, our search may flush him out. If not, the real kidnapper might have some sort of connection to the case. And in any event, we'll still have our team waiting to catch him at the port."
Dupin gave a resigned huff. "I still say that it is a waste of time. However, you are right that we cannot afford to ignore potential leads. Even if they lead to nowhere…."
"I can help!" Leroux exclaimed. "I know the case better than anyone. I have all the files right here!"
Allan glanced at Dupin, who was clearly not happy with the idea. "It couldn't hurt to bring him along," the grizzled adventurer said.
Dupin gave the clerk a sour look. Then the older man sighed in resignation. "Very well."
"Oui! Oui!" cried Leroux, his portly body trembling with joy as he rushed to gather his papers. For a thirty-year-old man, Allan thought, he acts like an overgrown schoolboy.
"All right then," the white-haired explorer declared. "We'll meet back at the Nautilus at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning!" Skinner complained. "You mean you expect us to stay out all night? Without any sleep? "
"Yes," replied Mina, "because our kidnapper may wait until early morning to survey the docks, reasoning that most people will be asleep."
"Or too tired and careless to notice him," added Nemo, his dark-eyed gaze seeming to bore straight through the invisible man's sunglasses. "Let us hope that our vigilance proves him wrong."
Allan couldn't help but smirk as an audible gulp emanated from Skinner's throat. "Good. We have two days to find and capture this so-called Phantom. Let's get a move on!"
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