II. A Strange Encounter

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Harry Dickson was leaning over the railing overlooking the sea. His attention was captured by a small group of men moving about on the beach below. Twenty people seemed to struggle with some kind of equipment, making gestures that intrigued the young man. Thus, he failed to notice the young woman who approached him.

“Are you Harry Dickson?” she inquired, raising her voice to be heard over the squall.

The young man looked at her distractedly and nodded.

“My name is Adèle Blanc Sec,” she continued. “You seem extremely interested in that troupe of performers. If you’d like, I could introduce you. I know the director.”

This time, Dickson took a second, longer look at the young woman, who smiled while, with both hands, holding a huge bonnet, which otherwise threatened to fly off into the wind.

“They’re making a moving picture on the beach,” she said. “The director is Jean Michel. He knows Pourville very well; he often comes here to film stories of monsters and vampires...”

“I think we have enough monsters as it is,” replied the young man, suddenly more interested in the woman than the happenings on the beach. “How do you know my name?”

“The exploits and reputation of your master, Sexton Blake, are well known on the Continent. And I suspect that your visit to France must be a more important event than the presence of those actors on the beach.”

“To be honest, I don’t know why we’re here,” said Dickson. “We arrived two days ago and Mr. Blake hasn’t said anything to me about the purpose of our trip. So I decided to go sightseeing and enjoy this wonderful coastline.”

“It’s not only Sexton Blake who’s been drawn to Pourville; I’ve heard that an entire delegation of high-ranking clergy have arrived and taken up residence in the rectory. Should we next anticipate the presence of the Pope?”

“Don’t make jokes. If my Master is here, you can bet that something of the highest importance is about to happen. But he hasn’t told me yet. Maybe he’ll soon explain the reason for all the hustle and bustle here; but maybe not...”

“Since you’re here as a tourist, Mr. Dickson, and the wind seems to be getting stronger, I suggest we continue this delightful conversation at the café behind us?”

Harry Dickson did not have time to answer that before the young woman had already seized his arm.

“C’mon, this is my treat,” she said. “I like to take the initiative!”

 

Sexton Blake smiled, seeing his student in such attractive company.

“May I join you?” he asked.

After the usual introductions, Blake ordered a hot chocolate and looked at Harry and the young woman. His face took on a more somber expression, as he began recounting the story of the so-called “White Lady.”

“This story intrigues me,” he concluded. “I’m not sure what to think. Sometimes, it all sounds like a huge practical joke. I’m sure that it will take me some time to figure this out.”

“The woman found on the beach,” said Dickson. “How is she?”

“Under close guard in Dieppe. It seems that her gaze drives men mad. I visited her at her bedside yesterday, but I confess that I did not venture to test it. Two men are dead because of her since the beginning of the week, and another is now permanently confined to an asylum in Dieppe.”

“Have they learned her identity?” inquired the young man.

Sexton Blake did not reply. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he stared thoughtfully at the young couple. Both were excited, eagerly waiting for the great detective to speak again.

“My dear Harry, you are useless to me just now. I need two or three days to see more clearly. To answer your questions about the mysterious White Lady, I suggest that in the meantime, you look for clues in the places I’ll indicate, such as the castles of the Loire and the vineyards of Nantes...”

As the young man looked surprised and remained speechless, the detective continued:

“Yes, I’m suggesting you take a short vacation in the Vendée, to the town of Tiffauges more precisely. Go there and bring me back some potentially valuable information. Who knows? You might even find the solution to this mystery! And that will give me time to get organized here...”

Adèle Blanc Sec had drunk in every of the great detective’s words.

“Can I accompany your student?” she asked. “If this is not too confidential a mission...? I have excellent memories of the wines of Clisson and Sorinières.”

“Why not? There is nothing particularly mysterious about this trip. If Harry agrees, I see no problem.”

After arranging for their next rendezvous, the young woman left hurriedly, leaving the two men alone.

“I hope, my dear Harry, that you won’t mind me having saddled you with this young woman? But she looked so eager, and is certainly a very charming traveling companion!”

“Not in the least, Guv! I know that your investigation will progress more quickly if I’m not around. As for Mademoiselle Blanc-Sec, the only I hope is that she does not bring any of those horrible hats of hers!”

 

III. The Lord of Tiffauges

 

The young couple got off at the train station in Angers. Two rooms had been booked for them in a hotel at Tiffauges, which the two travelers reached by bus. Harry Dickson had enjoyed his companion, her scholarship and her sense of humor, even if he found her excitement rather annoying.

Once at the hotel, Harry carried Adèle’s luggage to her room.

The two young people knew what kind of information they had come to seek in this small Vendean village and they made their plans that evening in the restaurant, as they enjoyed a grilled turbot.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to the castle,” said Dickson. “If we don’t find what we need there, we’ll visit the town hall and the school library. The ancient lord of Tiffauges was the infamous Gilles de Rays. I still don’t see the connection with the White Lady of Pourville, but if my Master sent us here, there must be one... Did I say something wrong, Mademoiselle Blanc Sec? You seem distracted...”

“I’m so sorry! I was eyeing your pumpkin soufflé. It looks delicious and you’ve barely touched it. May I have it?”

 

Meanwhile, Sexton Blake was walking along the dark corridors of the Pourville presbytery. He was often hampered by various clergy who seemed to appear and disappear out of nowhere. The place, usually so quiet, had become a veritable beehive of activity. The detective had learned of a new case that very morning. An archbishop had braved the ban and lifted the White Lady’s blindfold. The poor man had immediately gone mad and had since gone on to swell the numbers of patients at the asylum.

“You still believe she is the White Lady of the legends?” Blake asked a bishop who stood guarding the door of the room where the young woman was being held.

“More than ever, Mr. Blake. The signs are unmistakable. She must remain locked up here for fifteen more days. After January 31st, it will all be over, the curse will be gone, and this hapless woman will be free to do as she likes.”

“You mean that her eyes will no longer pose a danger to others?”

“That is what our holy scriptures say, yes.”

“With all due respect for your local beliefs, I still find it hard to accept,” objected Blake.

“It matters not what you think. We must keep this woman locked up until the end of the month. You’ve seen the harm she can inflict.”

“Indeed,” said the detective, thoughtfully. “Well, in that case, I have very little to do here. I’ve already sent my pupil to Tiffauges to retrace the footsteps of Gilles de Rays. I’ll use this opportunity to explore the region until his return.”

“Whose return? Your pupil, or that demon de Rays?”

At first, Blake thought that that last remark had been but a joke by the bishop. Then, he remembered the prophecy and felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

 

At noon, Harry Dickson had already advanced in his research, but nothing he had found so far enabled him to find a connection between the infamous Glles de Rays and the White Lady of Pourville.

He had spent much time reading about de Rays. The character was a sadist, a master of cruelty. Although he was a major figure in the Hundred Years War and had fought alongside Joan of Arc, he was tried by the Church for witchcraft and the murder of thirty children and burned at the stake on January 26, 1430.

“At the stake, just like Joan of Arc,” piped a voice behind them.

Harry Dickson and Adèle Blanc-Sec were perusing the municipal archives of the town of Tiffauges and had not heard anyone enter.

“That’s right,” replied the young detective, turning. “It’s rather amazing that these two people could work together: a demon and a saint.”

“They did more than work together,” said the small man with a mischievous air. “Please allow me to introduce myself: I am Doctor Jules de Grandin, of the Faculty of Forensic Medicine of Paris. Where was I? Ah yes! Joan and Gilles de Rays were very close—lovers, one might say. They had made a secret pact that is mentioned nowhere in the history books, but was very much real. The Vatican still has a copy, but keeps it well hidden. According to it, they were to follow two completely opposite paths, Joan that of Good and Gilles Evil. They assumed that both paths would cross in the Hereafter and they would find themselves reunited forever beyond death...”

“This is a very strange story,” said Dickson. “But with their bodies reduced to ashes, wouldn’t it have been rather difficult to reunite?”

“That was not a problem. They had both studied witchcraft and knew enough to take possession of earthly bodies in order to be reunited, according to their wish, that is to say, four hundred and eighty years after their deaths.”

“Four hundred and eighty years? But for what purpose?” Dickson asked.

“In order to raise a new army. According to legend, this army is stationed somewhere between France and England. More than two thousand corpses mounted on horses, awaiting Joan and Gilles’ orders to attack the perfidious Albion and end, once and for all, the feud between France and England.”

“I see,” said Adèle. “But if Joan and Gilles de Rays must meet to raise their army, how will they recognize each other in their new bodies?”

“They had made an appointment at a specific place that only they knew. And then, there is the matter of their eyes. They are the eyes of corpses, since their new bodies are bodies of the recently deceased, and those who look death in the eye become mad.”

“Do we know exactly where one might find this army?” asked Dickson.

“It would be off the coast of Pourville,” answered de Grandin. “The two lovers have only fifteen days to take possession of their new bodies and meet in the flesh. After that, they and their army return to dust and the eternal void.”

“Four hundred and eighty years from Joan’s death is now,” said the young detective. “So we have until the end of the month to stop them.”

“Well, at least, now we know the identity of the White Lady,” observed Adèle.

“Don’t forget, this is nothing but a legend,” said Jules de Grandin smiling, while the young couple rushed outside.

 

IV. A Fascinating Discovery

 

“So you now know the story?” Sexton Blake asked Harry Dickson, who listened intently to his master in his small suite at the Hotel de la Plage.

“It is much too fantastic for my taste,” replied the young man. “I don’t believe for a moment in the reincarnation of Joan and Gilles. It is an interesting legend, yes, but I’m not going to accept that the poor girl held at the presbytery is the Maid of Orleans.”

“I agree. Still, we know that the girl’s gaze is deadly, and de Rays only has three days left to keep his rendezvous with her.”

“Then she’ll be disappointed,” Dickson joked. “She must be under tight guard and, I assume, unable to go out even for a walk.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, my boy. Not only will their reunion take place, but I can state that it will almost certainly happen between 6:00 and 6:30 p.m. tonight.”

“You must be kidding, Master!”Don’t tell me you now believe in ghosts?”

“Not in ghosts, Harry, but in the Devil, certainly.”

The great detective stood up abruptly and looked at his watch.

“Come, my boy, it’s time for us to attend the reunion of these two major historical figures.”

 

Sexton Blake parked the car at a respectable distance from the beach. The two men were still several hundred meters away from the ocean.

“I spotted a place where we’ll be safely hidden from both the wind and prying eyes. We’ll be able to watch without being seen, and I think, my boy, that the show will be a very interesting one indeed,”

They walked a good five minutes before reaching the edge of the first cliff; they then took the narrow path leading to the beach. Blake eventually went to hide inside a small crack in the rock, deep enough to accommodate two men. Then, the wait began. The roar of the wind eventually grew less violent as the sun set, obscuring the landscape. Still, from their standpoint, the two detectives could observe the beach quite clearly.

“How was the food in Tiffauges?” asked Blake, making conversation.

Dickson was about to reply when, suddenly, he saw a shadow moving slowly along the shore.

“The White Lady!” exclaimed the young man. “But what is she wearing on her head? It looks like a penitent’s hood.”

“It is. That’s what the bishops forced her to wear to conceal her eyes.”

“Look!” almost screamed Dickson. “There’s someone else coming!”

“It should be our friend Gilles de Rays,” said Blake. “Right on time, too!”

A dark shadow moved towards the young woman. It looked like a tall, athletic man.

“According to the legend, they should be two reanimated corpses,” said Dickson, “inhabited by the spirits of Joan of Arc and Gilles de Rays.”

“Indeed,” said Blake, “but wait! There should be more surprises in store!”

The two shadows, one white and one black, now met. Suddenly, moonlight revealed a metallic gleam shining underwater. As the tide pulled the water back, it exposed a steel miracle at the bottom of the sea.

“Rails? Underwater rails?” exclaimed Dickson. “What is this miracle?”

At this moment, Gilles de Rays embraced the White Lady. The two lovers became like one on the darkened shore. The sea was black as ink, except for the two parallel silver slashes of the rails. Harry Dickson watched, fascinated. Then, something came out of the sea; something huge; an imposing, dark mass—not a sea monster but a giant steel engine that slowly emerged from the water, moving smoothly and silently on the rails.

“A locomotive!” said Blake whose face betrayed his excitement. “I was right!”

Dickson no longer knew what to say. On the beach, Gilles de Rays gently detached himself from the White Lady, while still holding her hand. With a graceful gesture, he invited her to get inside the locomotive. A door had slid open on the side of the amphibious engine. As the young woman raised her foot, a small scale retractable ladder appeared beneath it.

Sexton Blake withdrew a powerful torchlight from his pocket, pointed it towards the sea, and then turned it on and off quickly three times.

Everything happened very quickly. Lights appeared in the distance, immediately followed by the sirens of the French coast guard, moving at high speed towards the beach.

The White Lady turned tail and quickly ran towards the cliffs—where Sexton Blake and Harry Dickson were hiding. Gilles de Rays pulled a revolver from his pocket and aimed it at the girl. A shot rang out. The White Lady collapsed on the beach, a few meters away from the two detectives, who rushed to her help.

In the meantime, the coast guard had arrived near the amphibious locomotive. A policeman pulled out a megaphone and shouted:

“Surrender, Fantômas! This time, we’ve caught you!”

But the man in black had already entered the steel machine, which soon disappeared beneath the waves. The police ran along the beach towards the girl. She had lost her hood when falling and Harry looked horrified when he saw her.

“How can it...?” he exclaimed

He did not have time to finish his sentence because a muffled explosion was suddenly heard from beneath the sea. Tons of salt water flew into the air and fell down again with a crash worthy of the Apocalypse.

The policeman, whose name was Juve, approached Sexton Blake, smiling.

“You were right from the beginning, my dear colleague,” he shouted. “Thanks to you, the greatest criminal mind of our times is gone.”

But the great detective paid him little attention; he was leaning over the young woman’s unconscious body.

“How is she?” he asked Dickson.

“The bullet went through her shoulder,” replied the young man. “The wound isn’t fatal, but she should be transported to a hospital as soon as possible.”

“Gentlemen,” said Blake, standing up. “May I present to you a girl I met only very recently. She writes adventure novels and she is one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. Her name is Adèle Blanc Sec.”

 

V. Adèle at the Hospital

 

Adèle was taken to the hospital at Caen and stayed there until her condition no longer caused any concern. Sexton Blake and his pupil sat at her bedside and the playful tone of their conversation suggested that the young woman had fully recovered.

“The speed of your inquiry was meteoric, Guv,” said Dickson. “It only took you the two days we spent in Tiffauges to unravel the mystery.”

“Let’s say that luck was with me,” corrected the great detective. “I was also aware of things you did not know”.

“Like the existence of that underwater locomotive?”

“Yes. This project goes back to the turn of the century. It was never completed due to sabotage. It was a Subatlantic locomotive created by the great French inventor, Arsène Golbert. It was supposed to connect Europe to the United States, but William Boltyn, the leader of the so-called ‘billionaires’ conspiracy,’ had the locomotive sabotaged. Only a few kilometers of track were laid in America and here, off the coast of Pourville. There were plans for an underwater station that, today, lies beneath the waves. It is this building, abandoned but still intact, that Fantômas decided to use as his new lair.”

“Why?” asked Adèle.

“I made some inquiries and that is where luck played in my favor, because I found out all that I needed rather quickly. The young woman found on the beach at Pourville, whose gaze was said to be was fatal, was actually named Paulette Arnaud. She is the heiress to the Arnaud industrial empire. Her sister, Thérèse, works for the French Secret Service, I’m told. After their father’s tragic death, her reason wavered and she was interned in a psychiatric hospital in Dieppe. You know how some lunatics come to believe that they are famous historical figures? Well, Paulette thought she was Joan of Arc. Fantômas came to learn of this poor girl’s predicament, impersonated the director of the asylum, by killing the actual director as usual, and freed her. Paulette was aware of the legend and the pact that allegedly bound the Maid of Orléans to Gilles de Rays, so Fantômas devised a diabolical plan to trap her in that nightmarish world...”

“Why?”

“In order to steal her fortune. Only the two girls know about their father’s numbered bank accounts, and patents... And Thérèse is obviously beyond Fantômas’ reach, so Paulette was the only hope he had to get his hands on the Arnaud fortune. Fantômas planned to impersonate her dead lover, Gilles de Rays, and convince the poor, sick, deluded woman to confide all her secrets in him. To get her ready, he managed to have her escape from the hospital and wander along the shore, where he would be waiting for her...”

“What about the madness epidemic?”

“Ah, that. Some of the milder cases were caused by pure and simple religious hysteria. But the others are attributable to Rajaijah, an Indian poison that induces madness. Fantômas had impersonated the girl’s doctor and secretly injected the men who dared lift her blindfold.

“How did you know the exact time of their rendezvous?”

“The tides! The sea would have to be at its lowest point to uncover the rails and allow the amphibious locomotive on the beach. Fantômas, disguised as Gilles de Rays, planned to bring Paulette to his underwater lair where she would reveal the secrets of her fortune.”

“But you had Paulette replaced by Adèle...”

“Yes. I met Mademoiselle Blanc-Sec at the same time as you. When you went to Tiffauges, I realized that she had the soul of an adventurer. I volunteered her help to the French police, though they didn’t like it very much. My plan was for Adèle to take the place of that poor deranged girl and go to the rendezvous, carrying a small explosive device that she would have used, given the opportunity. She accepted my offer with the greatest enthusiasm.”

“Is Fantômas really dead?”

“Perhaps, He might have died in the explosion of the locomotive, although there is as yet no proof of this. In any event, it is now the concern of the French police. I think we’ve successfully solved our case. Mademoiselle Blanc-Sec,” continued Sexton Blake, “thank you for all the help you gave us; I salute your courage. Get well soon and take good care of yourself. Now, come along, Harry, it’s time for us to be going.”

 

(English adaptation by Jean-Marc & Randy Lofficier)