The Dream Killer of Paris (9 page)

When the taxi dropped us at No. 89 Avenue Niel, a hundred yards away from Place Pereire, I admired the façade of the famous house for a few seconds.

Nestling between two much taller buildings, it was two storeys high (not counting the attic under the mansard roof which had been converted into fats in the traditional Haussmann style) and was less imposing than I had imagined. But it had an indefinable charm, largely due to the reputation for brimstone and mystery the Institut had acquired after fifteen years of research on the very margins of science.

It was here that Arthur Conan Doyle had set a chapter of his novel
The Land of Mist
in 1926 although, for reasons which escaped me, he had located the metapsychists' headquarters in Avenue de Wagram instead of Avenue Niel. It was here too that Malone, Mailey and Roxton, Professor Challenger's friends, had witnessed materialisation experiments which had left them flabbergasted.

The most renowned mediums had crossed the threshold of this building and been put under the microscope by the Institut's team of researchers. Eva C. went through just such an ordeal. Jean Guzik held nearly eighty séances during which he revealed his terrible ghosts of animals, eagles, dogs and rodents, and the enormous beast, a kind of bear or Pithecanthropus, which had so frightened those present. Luwig Kahn, the man who could read without using his eyes, was extensively studied. Franek Kluski submitted to dozens
of meetings where he demonstrated his gift for making ghosts materialise and allowed casts to be made of spirit hands. Pascal Forthuny, the great clairvoyant, displayed the full measure of his talent. A few months earlier the Austrian, Rudi Schneider, had been subjected to relentless testing.

‘I hope there's someone there,' I remarked, approaching the front door.

‘Bah! There should be an ectoplasm to open the door at least.'

I only had to knock once before a uniformed butler opened the door.

‘Messieurs, are you here for the meeting?'

‘Uh, not exactly. We're detectives. This is my associate, James Trelawney. My name is Andrew Fowler Singleton. We would like to talk to Professor Richet.'

‘Unfortunately, the professor has been detained elsewhere. He will not be here today.'

‘Perhaps Dr Osty could see us then?'

‘I'm afraid that won't be possible either. A séance is to be held shortly in the assembly room. Dr Osty is on the second floor at the moment, having tea with our medium. He is helping him relax and prepare for the séance properly.'

‘Oh, what a pity!'

As far as we could judge through the half-open door, the hall was filled with people. Behind the butler we could see small groups of men and women chatting.

‘Edgar, why are these gentlemen not coming in?' said a voice suddenly. We only saw the man's face a few moments later.

He was about fifty, tall, with carefully brushed grey hair and a slightly aristocratic and mannered air.

‘These gentlemen are detectives. They would like to see Dr Osty.'

‘How do you do. Detectives you say?'

‘Mr Trelawney and Mr Singleton.'

‘Trelawney? Singleton? That's strange, I've heard your names somewhere before. Yes, of course! What was I thinking? Your reputation has been much discussed in the spiritualist press. Please, come in. I am honoured to meet you.'

We entered the hall where approximately thirty people were standing around in five or six groups. They could not be all the guests though because two other groups were going up the large staircase opposite us, passing a footman coming downstairs with a tray.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. Paul de Vallemont. I am a friend of Dr Osty and Professor Richet's, and incidentally one of the
vice-presidents
of the Institut. The professor is detained in Switzerland for a few days. As Edgar told you, Dr Osty is going to introduce someone who promises to be the king of clairvoyants, maybe even more talented than dear Forthuny. So I fear that you will be disappointed.'

‘Is that why there are so many people?' asked James, looking around the hall.

‘Yes. A few honorary members of the Institut are here, as well as some professors from the Sorbonne and the Académie who accepted our invitation, and not forgetting the great many people who saw the announcement in the
Revue Métapsychique
.'

‘Perhaps you can help us, Monsieur de Vallemont,' I said, returning to the reason for our visit.

‘I would be delighted, gentlemen. But please, let me offer you a drink!'

The footman was heading towards us and we each took the glass he proffered.

‘Canard-Duchêne from 1927. I am told that it is excellent. It is the château of one of our benevolent donors. Ah, I am always
very honoured to receive within these walls some of our English sympathisers. You know, we have several of your compatriots on our committee.'

‘Actually, I'm American!' my friend corrected him. ‘Originally from Boston.'

‘And I'm Canadian. From Halifax, Nova Scotia. But that's not important. We should explain that we're investigating—'

‘Canadian, but of course! Everyone here has heard of your father and what he has done for the spiritualist movement in your province.'

Once he had started talking, Monsieur de Vallemont was like a runaway train.

‘Monsieur de Vallemont,' I resumed, ‘we are investigating the death of the Marquis de Brindillac.'

‘Oh, the poor Marquis! It is never pleasant to die but what happened in his case was appalling.'

‘Did you know him well?'

‘Certainly, as did everyone at the Institut Métapsychique. He no longer came to see us very often at Avenue Niel but I visited him at his château in Étampes on two or three occasions.'

‘Have you been there recently?' asked James.

‘The last time was in June. Dr Osty went there four or five weeks before his death.'

‘That is just why we would like to see him. The Marquis de Brindillac was working on sleep and dreams – is that correct?'

‘Indeed. It is a fascinating subject, it is true. The Marquis asserted that it was new psychic territory to be explored, and is almost entirely untouched at present. Do you realise that at a time of the general theory of relativity and quantum mechanics, we still don't know anything about sleep? And yet we devote nearly a third of our lives to it. As for dreams, our ignorance is even more striking.
Come, could you tell me what dreams are for?'

‘To provide a few pleasant moments of relaxation,' replied James. ‘Sort of cheap holidays where the brain distracts us by sailing along through a wonderland.'

‘You may be right, Monsieur Trelawney. But, in fact, no one really knows what to make of them. It is one of the greatest mysteries the human mind has ever had to solve. And that is exactly what our dear departed friend was working on. He spent entire nights, poor man, in the work room of his château watching over the rest of his household who served as case studies.'

‘To what purpose?'

‘Understanding when dreams appear. He discovered that they actually occupy a fairly small proportion of the time devoted to sleep. They appear one and a half hours after we fall asleep and return regularly in brief sequences of about twenty minutes. But for most of the night our bodies and minds are completely inert.'

‘He was also studying lucid dreams, I believe.'

‘You are right, Monsieur Singleton. He was both fascinated and disturbed by his ability to control his dreams and to pace around inside them like an actor on stage. Have you ever experienced a lucid dream?'

‘Never!' replied James. ‘And I must admit that I very rarely remember my dreams. Even the most banal ones.'

I had no desire to talk about my recent personal experience in the matter so I avoided answering by asking another question.

‘We understand that the Institut Métapsychique had been planning a public lecture on the Marquis's work at the beginning of next year. Do you know the details?'

‘I'm afraid not. Actually, I think that Dr Osty would find it very difficult to tell you as well.'

‘Wasn't he arranging the meeting in consultation with Auguste de Brindillac?'

‘I think it was more that the Marquis had managed to convince him of the importance of such a meeting, while remaining as evasive as possible about what he was actually going to say. The Marquis was like a child. He loved surprising the world and creating an event. Dr Osty had sufficient confidence in the old professor's intelligence and wisdom to agree at once to organise the lecture.'

‘So no one knew exactly what the Marquis wanted to say on that day?'

‘No one.'

‘Not even an inkling?'

‘I can only repeat what the Marquis told Dr Osty: a new world is opening up before us. It's not terribly enlightening, is it? We will know more when Amélie de Brindillac has finished deciphering her father's work and we publish it.'

‘One more question, Monsieur de Vallemont. Someone came to the Institut Métapsychique about ten days ago. More precisely, between Tuesday 9 and Saturday 13 October. He is an Austrian who claims to be a professor in Vienna.'

‘Many people come here, from all over Europe. We are a very active society.'

‘He probably introduced himself as Hans-Rudolf von Öberlin …'

‘Sorry, but I have no memory for names.'

‘According to our information, he would be about sixty-five, with long white hair and enormous sideburns, a hooked nose and, above all, very dark, calculating eyes which make an impression on everyone—'

‘Oh, those eyes! Of course I remember! How could I forget? The man did indeed come here. It was, let's see …Wednesday 10 October, mid-afternoon.'

‘So you saw him?'

‘I did more than that. I was the one who received him.'

‘Monsieur de Vallemont!' cried James. ‘Let Dr Osty prepare for
his meeting. You are the man we need!'

At the top of the staircase the footman rang a small bell to rally the troops. The guests waiting in the hall hurried up the stairs.

‘Gentlemen, I hope you will do us the honour of attending the meeting? It promises to be fascinating. If you wait until the end, Dr Osty will be happy to speak to you.'

James and I exchanged a look. We had several questions to ask Monsieur de Vallemont but he clearly didn't want to miss the start of the festivities for anything.

‘With pleasure,' I replied, ‘if you will allow me to discuss a few small details with you on the way to the assembly room.'

‘Of course. Follow me, gentlemen, follow me,' he said, leading us towards the carpeted stairs. ‘Oh! Since you are connoisseurs, did you know that our laboratory for elemental chemistry is behind that door over there? A beautiful room measuring thirty foot by fifteen, with all the necessary recording equipment – both photographic and sound – phosphorus lamps, infrared transmitters, luminescent screens made of zinc sulphide, etc. In this laboratory we can carry out the most complicated experiments on fluidic materialisations or telepathic phenomena. It is one of our pride and joys at the Institut. If you wish, I can show you round.'

‘With pleasure … another time!' replied my associate. ‘Monsieur de Vallemont, what did this fellow want to know?'

‘The same as you.'

‘Meaning?'

‘What the Marquis was working on.'

‘Did you tell him?'

‘I only told him what I knew. There was no reason to make a secret of it.'

‘And that's all?'

‘In the end, he proved to be a bit too insistent. I explained that
if he wanted to know more he'd have to wait until the start of next year, when it was anticipated that the Marquis would present the results of his research in public. The news seemed to disturb him.'

‘Did he tell you his profession?'

‘A doctor in experimental psychology. It was apparently in that capacity that he wanted to know about the work of Auguste de Brindillac. I remarked that the best thing, then, was to speak to Brindillac himself. He retorted that he intended to. Then he shook my hand and left, smiling unpleasantly.'

‘Nothing more?'

‘No.'

‘Had you seen him before?'

‘Never.'

‘You hadn't come across him anywhere at all?'

‘I would have remembered. He had a strange way of staring at you as if he wanted to examine the very depths of your thoughts. Something like that isn't easily forgotten. But I am wondering why he interests you. Have you established a connection between him and the death of the Marquis de Brindillac?'

‘No. We're simply gathering information.'

We had reached the top of the staircase. Paul de Vallemont was hurrying to reach the assembly room as quickly as possible.

‘Monsieur,' I resumed, trying to detain him a little longer as we approached the door. ‘Have you read the article in
Paris-Soir
about the death of a poet in similar circumstances to Auguste de Brindillac?'

‘Of course. Like the rest of Paris, I imagine.'

‘What did you think?'

‘That it is an extraordinary way to die … So twice in the space of a few weeks is very strange.'

‘Precisely. You are used to dealing with the unusual, the bizarre
and the extraordinary here. You must have an opinion.'

Paul de Vallemont turned his head towards the
assembly-room
door regretfully. We heard the sound of a male voice. The meeting had begun. Politeness prevented our host from ending the conversation too abruptly but we knew that we only had a few more seconds.

‘Yes, we deal with the extraordinary every single day,' he said as courteously as ever. ‘Look, behind the other door over there, on the other side of the landing, is our library; it is one of the largest collections in the world relating to the other side and the supernatural. What were we talking about? Oh yes, the article! My colleagues and I have discussed it at length, as vigorously as we discussed the death of the poor Marquis at the beginning of the week. A Management and Administration Committee meeting was also organised yesterday morning to examine the issue.'