Strange Tales of French Crimes

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 495, 2 July 1932, Page 27 (Supplement)

Strange Tales of French Crimes

By . . .

DR. EDMOND LOCARD H. ASHTON-WOLFE.

A Message from the Ultra-Violet

Monsieur Duprez, examining magistrate of the Lyons Criminal Investigation, muttered angTily. Throwing a letter, which he had been reading, across to his secretary, he exclaimed: “This is the third silly anonymous letter to-day, informing me that Dr. Pierre Marain, of Vennissieux, practices black magic, and that he has murdered several of his patients. This last letter goes a step further and accuses him of also murdering his wife Yvonne. No details, of course, but a querulous request that the body should be exhumed and examined. Let’s see —his wife came from Lyons and was formerly a Mademoiselle Aicard. When did she die?” The secretary read the letter slowly, and then rose and consulted a file of papers. “Ten days ago, monsieur. There may be something in this, if you will permit me to say so. Dr. Marain runs a nursing home and has a great reputation as a specialist; but he is also a fanatic in his way, spending every penny on research.” “What is his speciality?” “Cancer, I believe. Shall I get his record from the Surete?” “Do, Lenoir; and while you are there, ask the technical director if he can spare the time to come here for a few minutes.” Ten minutes later the chief of the Technical Laboratories entered the office. The magistrate greeted him with a smile. “Thank you, cher docteur. I know you are busy, but I am worried about this pile of anonymous letters. You know, every now and then—” “Yes, I know; we cannot always treat them with the contempt which thev deserve. What is it now?” “They all accuse Dr. Marain and his sister, who is also his assistant— What is the matter? Why do you say ‘Ah-h’ like that?” “They all accuse him of > murdering his wife, n’e6t ce pas?” “Yes; how do you know?” “I’ve also received some strange letters. Furthermore, I have had a chat witli the doctor who was called in to deliver the certificate of death. There —now you say ah-h!’* “Naturally, when you spring a surprise like that on me. Come, let us go into this matter then.” At that moment the secretary returned with a bundle of papers. “Sit down, Lenoir. I want you to make some notes—entrez!” this last in reply to a knock. A gendarme came in with a letter. “There is a naval officer waiting, monsieur le juge. Shall I wait to take the The magistrate opened the letter and read it, his face slowly assuming the immobility with which lie had schooled himself to hide surprise. “ies —tell him to wait. X will ring for you.” When the gendarme had gone, M. Duprez handed the letter to the laboratory chief, who scanned it rapidly, then, rising: “With your permission, I will send for my own dossier.” The magistrate nodded. ‘‘Now, docteur—” when an assistant had brought the required papers—“let us first see your copy of the doctor’s report.”

“Here it is—short, but very queer. The dead woman had been noted for her beauty. She was only 28 when she died, yet the doctor says that she had become hideous—tile face shrunken, the body emaciated, and the skin a strange drab colour. Not white, drab! On her left side he noticed a curious purple puckering of the skin—cup-shaped he calls it. The eyes, too, had an appearance as though the dead girl had been blind for some time.”

“What a horrible description! I also knew Mile. Aicard, and only a year ago she was strangely beautiful. Well?”

“That is all. His examination and the report of his colleague Dr. Marain convinced him that the poor girl had died from some malignant growth. The husband is a cancer specialist, you

But even supposing your implied theory were true, why should he kill her? She leaves no money—in fact, it is notorious that she was very poor. Well, Lenoir, what do they say at the Surete ?”

cry little. Excellent reputation. Great scientist. Several monographs. But the Surete has been forced to investigate the recent deaths of several inmates of his ‘clinique.’ They died unexpectedly. Cancer in every case.” The magistrate started up, then remembering his pose, feigned to search for a pen. “The investigation gave no results, and would never have taken place but for local gossip.” “H-m-m—then let us hear what this officer, Jean Mora in, lias to sav ” and he pressed a bell and gave an order. A young, pale, fair-liaired man in naval uniform entered.

“lou wish to make a statement, it appears regarding the death of Madame Marain ?”

“Yes. Are }'ou Monsieur Duprez? uiiank you, as the magistrate nodded and pointed to a chair.

nm l 4 VUS en £ a o e<i to be married to Mile. Aicard. I am afraid we were both \ery foolish where money was concerned. I had only my pay, and when I heard that my i.ancee was to be an heiress J was terribly afraid spiteful people’ would call me a fortune hunter. We had several quarrels about it, and at last she broke off the engagement. Yet am sure she loved me. However, when -I returned home, after being away two years in the colonies, I found that sh-' liad become the wife of Dr. Marain.” “An heiress, you say, monsieur?” the magistrate queried, surprised. “Oh, that was before she married that monster Her aunt, who died a month ago, had made a will leaving ull her money to her niece; but this aunt was a strict Catholic, and when she heard that Mile. Aicard had married a pa"an - for Dr. Marain is noted as an atheist —she let it be publicly known that every penny should go to convents and churches.

“Well, the news of the marriage was. a terrible blow, the more so 6ince 1 had meanwhile come into sufficient money for all our needs. I cursed my vile temper which had caused the quarrels, and filially I made up my mind to see Yvonne—that is Madame Marain —to !>e sure that she was liappy. A horrible woman, the siV.ter of the doctor, received me; I shall never forget her

hateful, cunning eyes. She told me sneeringly that her sister-in-law did not wish to see me. It was a lie, I feel “I thereupon wrote several letters, hut they were returned to me unopened. Finally, I went one evening and climbed over the wall, determined to enter the house by force. I had a feeling that my poor darling needed me. It appears that she was virtually a prisoner. No one had seen her for montht*

“I got as far as the back door, and was standing watching with amazement a kind of purple light, which made a loud roaring and crackling noise—whirling in beams like a searchlight about the open window above me—when I heard a shriek. Oh, it was the voice of Yvonne, I feel sure. I answered witli a real sailor’s roar and hammered on the door. “It was locked, and of stout wood, so 1 decided to climb up by a water pipe and enter the house through the window. I had just placed my foot o:i a spike in the wall foi*' purchase, when I was seized by the neck. Hands that felt like hammers struck me from all sides. I was kicked, punched and beaten with a whip by a gigantic madman, who was foaming at the mouth, and uttering vile curses. It was the doctor. “I was no match for this gorilla, and quite in the wrong, so I ran for it, barely getting away alive. That was last year: and now my Yvonne has died. I know he murdered her, after using her body for his evil experiments.” “What do you mean?” “What I say—every peasant in Vennissieux knows that he needs living beings for his black—” The magistrate held up his hand. “Stop, monsieur. You are wasting my time. You, an officer in the French Navy, you listen to stupid old wives’ tales like that. I am astonished—really. You admit, yourself, tliat you were trespassing; you were thrashed by the man who had married your sweetheart, and, frankly, I can’t blame him. All you saw was a peculiar purple light. Have you never heard of sunlight treatment? And you think you heard a scream. Tt is too absurd. Good day, But for the gendarme, it is probable tliat the magistrate would have been attacked. The blood surged into the man’s face, his fists clenched, and the vile temper of which lie had spoken flashed instantly into being. The gendarme stepped forward in alarm, but the sailor mastered himself with an effort, and, turning, rushed out. “There, you see, cher docteur,” said M. Duprez, with an eloquent gesture, “that is what it all amounts to. Whirling blue lights —a scream, or a cat, squalling—and the fact that Dr. Marain and his sister arc not popular. Yes?” as the gendarme again appeared. “Monsieur Laughton would like to sec you, sir.” At a nod the chief inspector of the Surete came in. Ilis weird eyebrows were drawn together in a forbidding frown, but he bowed punctiliously to the men present. Then, when the gendarme had withdrawn: “I saw Captain Morain go down the stairs as I came out. He was spitting and cursing to himself as though crazy. Did he come about Dr. Marain also?” “By also you mean that’s what you’ve come about, Laughton,” said M. Duprez, with a smile of relief. “Good man; perhaps you’ll bring light where all is dark.” “A patient at the nursing home —a young girl, Mile, de Florio, of Italian parents, has died —suddenly. The doctor who was called in consultation at the parents’ request, and who examined her after dentil, says —” Laughton consulted some documents lie carried—- “ ‘Symptoms strange. Total blindness supervened in four days. A malignant growth of unknown vigour. Death as a natural result. Curious purple mark over the heart.’ The parents are goin» to demand an Inquiry, monsieur.” The magistrate nodded, and sat tapping his teeth with a pen, thinking deeply. “But why, in heaven’s name, why? What has the fellow to gain by these deaths ?” “He niav be insane,” said the laboratory chief quietly. “Tliat is—a mono maniac. What do you know about the fellow and his sister, LaughtonJ?”

“She’s a horrible creature —not a trace of colour in 6kin, hair or lips, a kind of uniform drab that makes you shiv-cr. A virago—and clever. The brother is a huge man—jovial, on the surface. Very handsome, with charming manners. Clever man. Something queer about his eyes. That’s all we know. They have never come under our notice until now.” “Good. Well, gentlemen,” said M. Duprez, rising, “if the parents choose a lawyer and demand an inquiry, it

may help, or it may do much harm. Meanwhile, the Surete will keep a watch. I will communicate with you again. Wc have nothing tangible as yet.” Two days later there came an urgentmessage to Dr. Locard—from the magistrate. He found him in excited conversation with Captain Morain, whose fnce exuded triumph. Laughton was standing opposite the officer, taking notes.

“This is unexpected, docteur. Captain Morain here tells me that the enormous wealth of the old aunt has been claimed by this Dr. Marain, who has produced two wills—one, the aunt’s, which leave** the money to his wife; the other a will written by Mmc. Marain when she was dying and witnessed by the sister and an old servant, which leaves a?l her money to him. Laughton says that the nmn was almost penniless. His practice and the ‘clinique’ are a failure owing to his evil reputation. All the property is mortgaged. The creditors were beginning to clamour and threaten, when these wills were produced. That brings the business into focus, eh ? Now, Laughton, will you send to the notary who holds the documents—here is an order; our laboratory will examine them. I will communicate our results to yo i. Captain. Good day. Now, Dr. Locard, I should like to have your report on the wills at once, if possible. This matter is serious and urgent. I shall be at my home waiting to hear from you.”

An hour later, in answer to a telephone message, M. Duprez climbed the stairs to the scientific department and entered the office of its chief. He eaw that the two principal officers of the police judiciairc, Laughton and Jules Voltaire, were also there waiting for him.

“These are both forgeries,” said the laboratory chief quietly when M. Duprez sat down. “The will of the old aunt is authentic, but the date 1911 has been changed into 1917 by altering the figure one. It thus annuls the witl made in 1913, leaving all her money to the church. The other is in the wife’s handwriting—terribly shaky, but clearly recognisable. We have some of her letters to Captain Morain here; it is what we call the guided hand trick. The poor woman’s hand was held and guided over the paper by her husband —in three places her strength failed her, and characteristics of his own fisc are to be seen. Come and look at them both in the ultra-violet cabinet.” They entered a room which wsls only illuminated by a ruby lamp. Dr. Locard turned a switch; at once a crackling vibration was heard ancl a strange bluegreen glow issued from a complicated lamp in the low ceiling, illuminating .% small table beneath it. “Look clear, isn’t it?” said the chief, holding the will and moving it about in this light. Everywhere the writing appeared to be a dull grey—except at the figure seven. This glowed with a purple tint., and in the violet rays the addition of a curl and tail to the one, which changed it into a seven, stood out clearly although written in a different ink. In daylight no difference could be seen. “Have you looked at the other willi in your magic rays, docteur?” “No; that is a different kind of forget me look at it, will you?” Again the crackling, oscillating green light glowed eerily, and M. Duprez moved the sheet of paper to and. fro in its rays. “What is this tracing at the bottom?” he asked suddenly. “Where? I have not noticed any.” Dr. Locard eagerly bent over the paper. “Good God!” came the sudden startled exclamation, and without a word of apology tlie chief dashed out, followed hv the others. They saw him hastily light a large Bunsen flame under a dish full of fine sand. On this he threw a

handful of iodine crystals. At once a cloud of pungent purple vapour rose and swirled in spirals and streamers over the heated sand. As Dr. Locard moved the paper to and fro, these vapours appeared to settle in certain spots, until a line of writing became faintly visible at the bottom of the will. The redrustry colour was horribly suggestive. “The poor girl used her own blood and a hairpin, or a split match, to write this. Listen!” In a strangled voice he read out:

“Je meurs assassine par mon mari La luraierc bleue—aveugle—”

(I die murdered by my husband—the blue light—blind—) “Dreadful, isn’t it?—a message from the ether. Now we have the monster—”

“No, we haven’t, monsieur,” broke in Voltaire. “A jury would laugh at that, and declare it was one of our tricks. As my illustrious ancestor said—”

“Never mind what he said, Voltaire; I don’t suppose he did, anyway,” interrupted Laughton rudely. “But he’s right, M. Duprez. We haven’t a shred of evidence except for the forgery; and the least false move now— Look, the writing lias faded again. It only becomes visible in that stinking smoke.” M. Duprez nodded assent. “A ghastly business. I wonder liow he did it? Mile. Florio is not buried yet. I will order a post-mortem, to be carried out secretly. You, Voltaire, go, if you can, as a patient, and try to have a look at liis place. Dr. Locard. will you please prepare photographs and reports of all this? I will then map out a plan of attack. Good day.” (See next Wednesday for conclusion oJ story.)