[Nyarlathotep] Chapter Two: Paris et Poissy

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Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Friday, January 5th, 1923. Paris.
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Alas I did not receive the rest that I so desired, as the journey across
The Channel was most unpleasant, a stormy evening. Reaching Calais in the
late evening, and passing through customs with an efficiency most
remarkable, we embarked as soon as possible upon the Orient Express.
There, at last, we could at least manage some rest over the next four
hours, as we made our way to The City of Light.

It was the smell of fresh coffee, the pain aux raisins, and pain au
chocolate, which greeted us in the early morning. After breaking our fast,
and making a booking in a local hotel, we made our way to the Bibliothèque
Nationale, for we had no other clues from Professor Smith except the
association with Conte Fenalik. It was with great fortune then that we
made an association with a young student, Remi Vangeim, who offered his
services as a researcher and was most honest in his price and the quality
of his work.

To the best of our ability we assisted the young man in the researchers,
although understandably, some wished to see the great sights that a city
like Paris has to offer. Nevertheless, by the end of the day we had some
success! We had located a diary which referred to a certain incident
involving Comte Fenalique, a man who would hold feasts "most lavish and
lascivious", and who was arrested just prior to the revolution.

Tomorrow we shall continue our investigations. M. Vangeim has indeed been
worth his fee!

Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Saturday, January 6th, 1923. Paris.
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Today we were most fortunate in being able to conduct our researchers and
to see more of this fine and exciting city. With further investigations we
were referred to an old diary from a captain of pre-revolutionary France,
held in the Bibliothèque de l'Aresenal, near the Place de la Bastille. In
reading this material we discovered that that the Conte's arrest occured
at his mansion in Poissy, north and west of Paris.

The material in the diary was disturbing. As expected it discussed how the
Conte's parties included orgiastic behaviour. However the captain also
referred to torture devices, and a corpse. The house was burned to the
ground, and the Conte was taken to Charenton, an asylum most famous, for
it was there were the Marquis de Sade was also incarcerated some decades
later. The Conte, the diary explained, was eventually locked in a cellar
for attacking another patient.

On this discovery young Remi referred us to a recent article in
L'Humanité, a newspaper which I believe betrayed his political
convictions. Nevertheless, the article was of great import, a public
announcement from the acting director of the asylum, Dr. François Leroux,
referring to the recent death of the previous director, Dr. Etienne
Delplace.

We now have two places of great interest to investigate; the asylum ay
Charenton, and the remains of the mansion at Poissy. I do not look forward
to either, but our path is set before us.

Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Sunday, January 7th, 1923. Paris.
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After observances were made, we made our way to Charenton, south and east
of the Gare de Lyon. Most fortuitous that we were visiting an asylum, for
on this Sunday it was open with many family and friends of the
unfortunates visiting. It must be said, the Maison Nationale de Santé it
is a building most vast, and most beautiful in the Italian style. However
we are not here to view the architecture, we are here to investigate the
Conte Fenalik.

Posing as historical researchers in the life of the famous residents of
the sanatorium we sought an audience with the acting director of the
asylum. Whilst waiting for his attention I noticed a book of events from
the previous director among much paperwork. I took this opportunity - as
who would believe our story? - to purloin the notebook, with every
intention to return it at the earliest opportunity.

There was not much to be discovered at the asylum itself. We had a tour of
the grounds and were given the opportunity to engage in study at their
library. Frau Weissmuller struck a conversation with one of the workers,
whom I would discover later had a diner with and discovered information
most pertinent to our investigations. The events book however spoke of a
discovery of a man most emaciated in the older wards, who spoke in old
Greek, and Latin, repeating the names Marosh, Gorgynia, and Sofia.

Frau Weissmuller's dining partner was most useful as well; Paul Mandrin
explained to us that the previous director had died by a fault in the
electroshock machine and had been most obsessed with a private patient,
claiming that he had uncovered the secrets of a racial unconscoius memory
most universal and of new languages in the world of dreams. It would
appear that the doctor was beginning to become a patient. This was
confirmed with the journal of events which I borrowed.

Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Monday, January 8th, 1923. Poissy.
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The morning newspapers are full of national pride relating to the
successful journey of a French expedition across the Sahara to Timbuktu. I
thought it diplomatic not to suggest that without a doubt the Tuareg had
been engaging in this journey for some time. Our journey that day was
significantly more modest, some thirty kilometres northwest from Paris to
the town of Poissy. Reaching the destination shortly before lunch, we
investigated the town hall for records of where the Comte's villa once
stood. By the late afternoon, having tried the patience of the clerks, we
had located the villa on the outskirts of town with plans most exacting.

Arrival at the site was late afternoon, a small house surrounded by an old
brick wall and covered with a exceptionally large rose bush, thorny in
these winter months. We were greeted at the door by Christian Lorien and
explained our interest in this location most historic. An educated man -
we would learn he was the town doctor - he was most interested in our
investigation and invited us inside, whereupon we were introduced to his
wife Veronique and their young child Quitterie, who took quite an interest
in M. Sergio Garcia, and especially his skill at legerdemain. As it was
already late and becoming dark we were invited for dinner and to stay the
night.

Christian showed us a letter that he had received from one Edgar
Wellington from Lausanne some six months prior concerning the whereabouts
of an Arabic artifact which M. Wellington believed would be present in
this abode. Then an event most peculiar; I had already noticed a scar on
M. Lorien's left hand, which he said was an infected would from a rose
cutting that caused several weeks of illness. I also noticed that Mdm.
Lorien suffered from arthritis, again on her left hand. But the third
event, Mon Dieu! The child accidentally spilled coffee on M. Garcia and
herself, leading her to scream most loudly, even though the liquid was not
hot at all, her left arm was most inflamed.

The poor child was taken to bed, and we continued our conversation, and
planned the digging that would be required the following day as the plans
of the estate suggested that cellars of the old house still remained.
Again there was another scream from the child; Veronique raced to her aid,
bringing her downstairs. Quitterie's armed was still inflamed and she
claimed that the "bogey-man" was at her window, on the second floor.

A bad dream? Or is something epiphenomenal stalking us? I went to bed most
uneasy, despite the comfortable accomadation.


Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Tuesday, January 9th, 1923. Poissy.
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M. Christian Lorien was most fortunate that he had no morning appointments
and was able to assits us most graciously in locating the entrance of the
cellar steps. Nevertheless, he had business to attend to in town, and for
the rest of the day we worked at excavating the site, a task well suited
to the brawn of M. Frazer and the brains of Frau Weismuller. After digging
for much of the day, breaking through more than two metres of earth and
charred brick we revealed an old steel door at the base of the stairs.

M. Lorien had returned by this time and brought crowbars to force the door
open, along with torches to guide us in this old cellar. Past the door we
worked our way through a morass of thick tree roots, unable not to notice
that due to great coincidence each thick root terminated in five thinner
roots bearing a resemblance most alike a large human arm. Beyond these was
several rooms off the main corridor, housing various medieval torture
devices and skeletons of the deceased. The diary of the French captain all
those years ago was most subdued in its descriptions.

Strangely we noticed a dim light ahead, further down the corridor. This
could not bode well. Reaching the end of the corridor however a sight most
superb and macabre. A great roses, growing below the ground, propped up
several skeletons as it they were in a dance. The roses were in a range of
colours most scintillating; violet, orange, aquamarine, even green! They
also glistened under our torchlight with an oily sheen which dripped from
the stems. I could not resist and sought to draw a draught from these
roses, a most unfortunate decision. The smell was most unpleasant, and
worse still I was pricked by a thorn, causing enormous pain to my nose and
great swelling. At the same time however, we carefully extracted a large
arm, cool and smooth to the touch, most certainly part of the Sedefkar
Simulacrum.

As we did so, a mist began to congeal and swirl in the room; M. Frazer was
unfortunately overcome with his experience of the Great War and believed
that we were under the attack of gas, and urinated on his handkerchief as
a type of mask. The mist however dissipitated, or rather, flowed down the
corridor and towards our point of ingress, despite the fact that the
draught was in the other direction. In the cold, fresh air, we made our
exit and stayed another night with the Lorien family.

Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Wednesday, January 10th, 1923. Paris.
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The following morning we travelled with Christian Lorien into the town to
inform the authorities, both religious and secular, of the discoveries
that we had made. I could not help but notice that the child's arm had
almost completely healed, and Veronique's hand did not not shake as she
poured coffee in the morning. Casting a glace at Christian, I also noticed
that the scar on his arm was much less significant. We thanked him and his
family most graciously for their assistance and generiousity of the past
days, however I suspect that it was we who would be lifting a great burden
from their life.

We returned to Paris by early afternoon and made our bookings for the
Orient Express, which would not leave La Gare de Lyon until midnight. It
was fortunate that M. Garcia had a special trunk for a ventriloquest's
dummy which suited the simulcrum piece perfectly. The rest of the day was
a sunny, yet cool, as pleasant as Paris could be in the middle of winter,
and we explored Paris as a normal tourist would. That evening we shared an
excellent diner, which we were enjoined by our young researcher most
helpful, Remi Vangeim, before boarding the midnight train to Lausanne.