1934. Harry Dickson meeting Tarzan was too tempting a notion for Michel Stephan to ignore. In the following story, the American Sherlock Holmes investigates the true nature of the Lord of the Jungle, with surprising results and numerous twists and turns as we have come to expect from Michel, the author of two forthcoming new Madame Atomos novels...
“My name is Jane Greystoke,” said the woman in a confident voice. “I’m sorry to show up without having first made an appointment, Mr. Dickson, but would you be kind enough to grant me a few minutes of your time? I have a delicate and urgent matter that requires your attention...”
The detective immediately realized who he was dealing with: Jane Greystoke, the wife of Lord Greystoke, better known as Tarzan, the Lord of the Jungle.
“Please enter, madam. I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
After refreshments had been served by the kindly Mrs. Crown, the conversation turned to Lord Greystoke. Dickson knew the legends surrounding the ape-man—legends, because his history was full of shadows. Did he not have the reputation of being invincible? And what about those amazing lost cities he claimed to have found in the depths of the African jungle? Dickson intended to make up his own mind regarding the authenticity of the facts surrounding this Tarzan. He knew, like everyone else, that Lord Greystoke was married; he had a son and often traveled between England and his plantation in Kenya. But what seemed to him the most incredible, was that his wife had come to ask for his help.
“It was supposed to be only a short trip,” Jane said. “My husband had to go to London to settle a few important business matters before returning to Kenya. Then, his stay became longer and longer. Friends warned me that something strange was going on. There were rumors about a traveling circus stationed in the suburbs of London, and the almost daily visits that my husband made there...”
“Could he have been upset at seeing wild animals mistreated?” asked Dickson.
“They have no animals. It is a shabby circus with a few outmoded attractions. It employs only a half-dozen people, including Professor Lampini.”
“Professor Lampini?”
“A small man with a rather vulgar attraction: he exhibits what he claims is a panther-woman—undoubtedly his own wife garishly made up to make her look like a panther.”
“I see,” said Dickson, “but why would Lord Greystoke be interested in such a travesty?”
“I don’t know, but I want to find out. The only thing I do know is that, according to mutual friends, John began to regularly attend this circus. So I’ve traveled from Kenya to ask you for your help—in the most absolute secrecy. John must not know that I am in London, and I certainly don’t want him to learn that I hired someone to spy on him. That would be very bad.”
“What exactly do you expect me to do?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Dickson, I don’t believe for a moment that this is an ordinary, sordid case of adultery between my husband and a circus performer. From what I was told, my husband is not well—I mean mentally. We’ve undergone many trials in our lives, and I can assure you that no mere trapeze artist disguised as a circus animal, or whatever else she might be, could have changed Tarzan in that fashion. I don’t know what’s happened to him at that circus, but I’m certain it’s not a trivial thing. That is why I’ve come to you, Mr. Dickson, so you can help me learn the truth...
“I’ll certainly give it a try,” replied the detective. “Give me a few days to get prr=epared. Then I’ll make a visit to Professor Lampini.”
The tram had left and already vanished in the early morning fog. Tom Wills exaggeratedly mimed a blind man looking for his way around.
“There’s nothing here, Guv,” he said. “Are we still in London? I suppose so, because the tram driver was kind enough to drop us at the place you indicated, but I can’t see anything in this pea soup.”
“True, the area doesn’t seem very lively at this hour,” said Dickson smiling. “London is an ever-changing series of often striking contrasts. But this misty landscape doesn’t displease me. It’s almost as if a piece of the English countryside had been transplanted into our capital.”
“Are we really investigating Tarzan?” exclaimed Tom Wills. “The King of the Jungle! He’s always been my favorite hero. I mean, after you, Guv, of course.”
“No, you’re correct, my boy. Tarzan is a hundred times better than I am. Your reaction is quite logical.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Lord Greystoke is, to the best of my knowledge, the only man in the world who has gone from being a mere mortal to a living legend in his own time. There are so many extraordinary stories about him... This reinforces my belief, shared with his wife, that such a man couldn’t find much pleasure in such a dismal place, especially if it were merely to court a circus performer, even if she is made up to look like a panther!”
The two men eventually reached the vacant lot where the small traveling circus had set up its tent. They saw a few dilapidated trailers parked on a small patch of green. It looked as if the circus was packing up and about to depart. Dickson was pleased that he and his pupil had arrived in time.
On the side of one of the trailers, the detective noticed letters forming the name “Lampini.” As they approached, he saw that the full marquee read: “Professor Lampini, specialist in spectacles of horror and terror.” This caused the two men to smile. But the trailer was closed. Dickson wondered if they weren’t too late to get a look at this mysterious panther woman. In any case, it seemed that Lord Greystoke had no further reasons to visit and their case could well have already turned moot.
“There’s nothing to see here,” said a voice from behind them, echoing their own thoughts.
The two detectives turned to face to a small man dressed in a gypsy costume far too caricatural to be truly authentic.
“I gather you were about to depart, Professor,” said Dickson, “and I certainly would not want to delay that. I’m Harry Dickson and this is Tom Wills, my pupil. I would like, however, to ask you a few questions, if I may?”
“I see. I bet’s it is about Lord Greystoke and Lota, isn’t it? I thought someone would come to ask me about those two, but it won’t change anything. Nobody can do anything about it. It’s a love story—a love story between a man and a woman, or rather an ape-man and a panther-woman.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Dickson.
“I can see that you don’t believe me,” sneered Lampini. “I know what you’re about to say: panther-women don’t exist. God made men one way, and animals another. Anything in between is just carnival trickery to attract the punters. But consider this, Mr. Detective, did God create the ape-men?”
“Properly speaking, Lord Greystoke is not an ape-man. He was just raised by gorillas. There is a marked difference, don’t you think?”
“Pah! If it walks in the jungle like an ape, talks to apes, and fraternizes with apes, it is an ape,” interrupted the little man. “So, Mr. Dickson, answer me honestly: do you think such a story is possible?”
The detective paused for a half-second.
“I can’t very well question the truth of Lord Greystoke’s unusual story, of which we are all aware...”
“But what if the man was an imposter?”
Harry Dickson and Tom Wills remained speechless for a moment.
“So,” continued Professor Lampini, “if you agree that it’s possible for a man to swing from tree to tree in the jungle while eating bananas, you will not see any problems in my telling you about my beautiful panther-woman.”
“You may well look at it that way, Professor,” said Dickson, “but it is irrelevant to the purpose of our visit. We’ve come here to obtain some clarification on the subject of a purported relationship between Lord Greystoke and this so-called panther-woman of yours. What can you tell us about it?”
“The woman is an animal, and I bought her fair and square. I can give you the name of her previous owner, if you want?”
“What do you mean, you bought her?” exclaimed Tom, shocked.
“I bought her because she is an animal. Lota may be ravishing, as only a female panther can be, but in the end, she is a beast. Now, I have no more business to conduct here, so I must leave. As I said, you’re welcome to carry on your inquiry with Lota’s previous owner—she was quite a lady, a real lady, I mean. She doesn’t live very far away from here; I’ll you her address.”
“But... is it possible to see Lota?”
“I’m afraid you’re too late, Mr. Dickson. I told you, it was a love story. More than that even. Your Lord Greystoke, every time he saw her, fell deeper and deeper under her spell. And that’s putting it mildly. I feel sorry for Lady Greystoke... Anyway, to answer your question, Mr. Dickson, Lord Greystoke was so spellbound by Lota, so much in love with her, that, er, well, with all his money, he bought her from me. And then they disappeared somewhere back to nature. A rather appropriate conclusion, if you ask me! Now, I plan to go to Transylvania. I have information that might enable me to purchase the skeleton of the real Count Dracula. I bet it’ll be an attraction that will prove even more successful than my panther-woman!”
This time, Dickson made the trip alone. Everything happened very quickly. The detective had managed to contact Lota’s previous owner and make an appointment for the following night.
His thoughts had been racing the entire day. In his experience, even the strangest cases always had a rational explanation. Dickson fought superstition and ignorance with as much ardor as crime, because in his eyes, they only brought darkness and evil, allowing criminals to weave their webs by abusing the credulity of gullible mankind. Finding a rational explanation was the only proper line of inquiry for a detective.
The prospect of going to talk with the owner of a panther-woman was another challenge against common sense. That would have been laughable if his encounter with Professor Lampini the previous day had not already sown unease in the detective’s mind.
Her lodgings were in a neighborhood which, if it did not evoke the depths of depravity of Whitechapel, was nevertheless disreputable. Her name was Anna Moreau and she lived at 11A Beech Street.
Mrs. Moreau had nothing in common with Lampini and his faux-verve of peasant promoted to carnival barker. She was an old maid of indeterminate age, rather austere and sad. The kind of women, obviously, that life had conspicuously shoved aside.
Dickson was received in an immaculate parlor, containing beautiful antique furniture and many valuables. The woman certainly had taste. Her tea, however, was not as refined as her belongings, but the detective was a gentleman and said nothing about it.
“Does my name mean anything to you, Mr. Dickson?” asked the woman.
“Moreau? Er... vaguely. Very vaguely, I admit.”
“My father was kind enough to leave me a fairly common surname. His legacy was heavy enough a burden as it is.”
“Ah! I see. You are related to the famous Dr. Moreau?”
“Yes. An adventurer and a scoundrel, according to some; A scientific genius, according to others. In any event, I would have preferred not to be his daughter.”
“I came to talk to you about Lota, the alleged panther-woman,” said Dickson.
“I understand. You want to know the truth about her. Well, Lota is half-human, half-panther. Or rather, she was a panther who gradually evolved into a human and continues her metamorphosis. Everything depends on the external environment.”
“You must be joking!”
“Not at all, Mr. Dickson. Lota is one of my father’s creations. He once lived on an island, several islands in fact, because, like all misunderstood geniuses, he was forced to conduct his experiments in the greatest secrecy and to move often from one place to another...”
“You’re telling me that the rumors of his turning animals into humans are true?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Dickson. Lota is a survivor of those experiments. I took her under my protection when we fled the island. One of my father’s experiments had just ended very badly. His, er, manimals, as he called them, became uncontrollable; it ended in disaster, so we fled, Lota and I.”
“What happened to your father?”
“It would take too long to tell you. His career was so... strange and unpredictable. Anyway, you did not come here to talk about my father, but Lota--and her Jungle Lord, from what I gather.”
“Indeed. I am searching for an explanation of what really happened between them. Yesterday, I spoke with Professor Lampini, a rather jovial fellow who experienced no difficulty whatsoever in answering my questions. But I’m inclined to believe he is somewhat mistaken when he talks about a mad love between Lord Greystoke and this panther-woman that you sold him...”
“No, it was not love, Mr. Dickson. Simply, when he came in contact with my Lota, Lord Greystoke was confronted with a terrible truth. He discovered his true origins.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a long story. I was very young at the time, but I still have the documents that explain it. I will show them to you, as I showed them to Lord Greystoke when he visited me. After my father was forced to leave one of his islands, where the fruits of his experiments had created a rather unhealthy environment for us, he decided to return to Europe. He continued his research aboard the ship that took us to England. One night, off the coast of French Equatorial Africa, the ship was damaged by a storm and we had to stop in a cove for a few weeks to effect repairs. My father and some members of the crew seized this opportunity to go ashore. Their exploration took them near an abandoned cabin. It was not difficult to understand what kind of tragedy had taken place there. There were huge gorillas prowling around, and several human corpses lay on the ground. My father took advantage of the few days’ halt and this makeshift laboratory to continue his experiments. You must understand that his research was an obsession for him. So he used his serum on a baby gorilla he had managed to capture, not without risk, however, for its mother became aggressive as soon as they approached her cub.
“When the time came for our ship to set sail, my father had to forego taking the animal with him. At the time, he had other plans. It was just an incident, an interlude in the life of the otherwise infamous Dr. Moreau. Thereafter, my father turned many more animals into humans. Lota is living proof of this. Whatever else you believe, Mr. Dickson, that day, on the shores of Equatorial Africa, the first miracle took place: a baby gorilla was transformed into a human. There was not one chance in a thousand that this child, this manimal, would be accepted in the family of apes. Not a chance for him to survive on that wild continent. And yet, today, Lord Greystoke is alive and he is one of the richest men in the country, as well as a remarkable gentleman—and the greatest success in all of my father’s career.”
“You don’t mean to imply that Lord Greystoke was...?”
“Yes, I do. He was not just raised by apes, Mr. Dickson, he was an ape! This is what he discovered. He is a manimal, just like Lota. They are, in fact, the only two manimals remaining in the world.”
Dickson remained speechless. He studied Anna Moreau intensely. A heavy silence filled the room. Then the detective said:
“You mentioned, Madame, that there was not one chance in a thousand of Lord Greystoke surviving in the jungle. I ask you, in turn, how likely it was for him to become aware of that miserable little circus and to meet Lota. Unless, of course, someone had informed him of the presence of a panther-woman...”
There was another silence.
“I believe,” Dickson continued, “That you informed Lord Greystoke of Lota’s presence—and nature. You were trying to blackmail him.”
“Please continue, Mr. Dickson,” said Anna Moreau, smiling. “If you accuse me of blackmail, you admit to the truth of my story. How, otherwise, could I blackmail a man such as Lord Greystoke with a woman disguised as a panther.”
“True,” admitted the detective. “But you do admit to having tried to extort money from him in exchange for your silence regarding this, er, crucial information?”
“My father left me nothing, other than debts and his burdensome surname. I needed money, Mr. Dickson. Besides, everyone has the right to know their origins.”
“What was Lord Greystoke’s reaction? How did he take such a revelation?”
“He asked me to give him some time to think about it. I think I made a huge mistake by agreeing to his request. Lord Greystoke received a terrible shock when he heard my story, and now I think he wants to return to the jungle—permanently.”
“Do you know where he is”?
“He retired with Lota to a property located a few miles from here. I’ll give you the address, because I think he needs your help, Mr. Dickson.”
“Do you regret what you did?”
“I will admit that I was wrong,” said Anna Moreau. “Frankly, I had no idea that it would cause him such a shock, and I badly needed the money. But sometimes truth can be the most hurtful of gifts...”
Harry Dickson did not return to his Baker Street apartments for several weeks. He did make a few visits, but far too short to satisfy Tom Wills, who felt disappointed that he was being left out of the case.
“Don’t worry, my boy. The case is almost over,” repeated Dickson. “I only have one or two more things to take care of, and it’ll be finished. But you will be sorely disappointed; it is all very sad.”
“Did you see him? I mean, Tarzan? What did he say?”
“Don’t get carried away. I have made several visits to Lord Greystoke, and I can assure you that, despite all the trials besetting him, he still shows an admirable dignity. Believe me, Tom, it’s just a simple matter of some paperwork to be completed now. By the way, please tell Lady Greystoke that we’ll need her soon. You have been in touch with her, I presume?”
“Yes. She calls every day. I have told her the little I know.”
“Good. Tell her to be patient, that her husband does not know she is in London, and that she should trust me.”
“Is Tarzan going to definitely leave the civilized world?”
“I’m afraid so. I saw this panther-woman. She is absolutely amazing. And then I searched and searched again. Today, I have to accept the evidence. There is nothing that contradicts Anna Moreau’s words. Lord Greystoke, Tarzan, plans to renounce all his titles, get rid of his fortune and relocate permanently to Africa.”
The next day, Harry Dickson called Tom at sunrise.
“Tom, I have to go and collect a French friend of mine at the station. Please call Lady Greystoke and tell her to come to Baker Street at 4 p.m. I will reveal all the details of this sad affair.”
“But Tarzan does not know she is in London!”
“He has already left to return to the jungle and now I have to tell her. I also contacted the ninth Duke of Greystoke. Tarzan’s fortune and estate is rightfully his now, since our friend has renounced his title.”
Tom Wills had a thousand questions, but the detective had already hung up. Tom had never heard of this “French friend” and was curious to learn his identity.
Nestor Burma arrived at Baker Street just before noon. Harry Dickson introduced him to Tom Wills and the two young men discovered almost immediately that they shared many similarities.
“You will be able to improve your French, my dear Tom,” said Dickson. “Nestor does not speak a word of English, and I’m counting on you to make our guest feel at home.”
Tom Wills felt a deep sympathy for this young, jovial Frenchman.
“Nestor plans to open his own detective agency in Paris,” Dickson explained. “I can tell you he is absolutely delighted to be with us. I asked him to come because he had something special to offer us. Something that will surely interest Jane Greystoke.”
Jane arrived at the agreed upon hour. A sweet smile illuminated her face. Harry Dickson told her about her husband’s return to Africa and his reasons. Tom Wills admired the courage of this woman who showed such exemplary dignity and perfect control of her emotions.
“When I first saw Lota,” Dickson added, “I had to accept the evidence: she was indeed the result of Doctor Moreau’s experiments. I looked everywhere for some kind of deception, but I have found none.”
“You thought you might discover something else?”
“That’s why you called on my services, Madame,” said the detective. “Having satisfied myself that Lota was what she claimed to be, I then decided to research Anna Moreau. My investigations have convinced me that this woman is indeed the notorious doctor’s daughter. Yet, from the start, I couldn’t help feeling that the whole story had been faked.”
Tom saw a slight shudder ripple over Jane’s beautiful face.
“You did mention blackmail earlier,” said Jane.
“But that was precisely the part that didn’t ring true! How could anyone believe that Lord Greystoke would be willing to put a price on this secret? Nobody could believe he would submit to such blatant blackmail. The revelation that he, too, could be one of Moreau’s experiments was only meant to stir up trouble in his mind, and ultimately to make him renounce his title and his fortune...”
“So you think that the doctor’s daughter...?”
“Yes,” said Dickson. “Someone paid her to carry out this miserable task. I discovered that Anna Moreau had recently bought many objects of great value, which was evidence of a sudden influx of money...”
This time, Tom noticed that Jane’s face looked even more distraught.
“You asked for my help, Madame, not to solve this case, but to bring credibility to your lie. Steering me towards Lord Greystoke in order to confirm that Lota was indeed a panther transformed into a woman by Doctor Moreau. Thus, I would have brought independent confirmation to your scheme and consolidated the element of doubt planted in Tarzan’s mind by Anna Moreau. If he came to believe that he, too, was the result of Moreau’s experiments, then you gambled that he would renounce his wealth in favor of the ninth Duke of Greystoke. This was a particularly diabolical plan—Georgette!”
Tom Wills did a double-take. As for Nestor Burma, who had not understood the conversation, he saw the changes in the woman’s face and body language and stopped looking at the paintings on the wall in order to concentrate on the scene unfolding before his eyes.
“It shouldn’t take you long to get rid of your makeup,” said Dickson. “The progress in this field is more and more astonishing every day!”
“You are as clever as always, Harry!” snapped Georgette Cuvelier, removing a latex appliance from her face.
“So are you. Still, despite all your efforts to destabilize Lord Greystoke, there were a few holes in your plot. I must congratulate you, however, on finding Lota. She was the perfect tool to sow doubt in his mind.”
The detective then starting speaking in French.
“But as I said, you neglected one important detail. This is Monsieur Nestor Burma. He is French, like yourself—and also a great detective. I invited him to join us here to thank him for having obtained for me a copy of a valuable official document produced in Paris in 1909 by the French Police. This is the only known recording of the fingerprints of the man known as Tarzan. They formally prove that he is the heir to the Greystoke fortune, and, even more importantly, that he belongs to the human race. I could find other evidence, but I think this will suffice. You are on the best of terms with the ninth Duke of Greystoke, who had never accepted Tarzan’s return, and being deprived of an estate which seemed his by rights. The two of you planned this whole affair to rob Tarzan of his fortune and send him back to the jungle.”
Georgette began to scratch her cheek nervously, as if the makeup had irritated her skin.
“I spent much time with Tarzan recently,” continued Dickson, “and and we gave the case a great deal of thought. The question was not whether he was an animal or a human, but who was hiding behind this conspiracy. We knew that both Lota and Anna Moreau were genuine, and that the ninth Duke was most likely involved, since he was the one who clearly profited from the scheme, but we still had to find the true mastermind who operated from behind the scenes. Cherchez la femme, as your own Monsieur Jackal used to say!”
“What will become of Lota?” asked Tom. “Is she really a woman or an animal?”
“She is more human than some I could mention,” quipped the detective, looking at Georgette Cuvelier. “She has made great progress through being in contact with Lord Greystoke, who has had a very positive influence on her.”
Dickson then headed for the door.
“Come, Georgette,” he said, gesturing to her. “There are two Scotland Yard inspectors waiting for you. Next time, you should pick your victims more carefully. It is always tricky to tackle a living legend.”
The small plane flew over Nairobi. Tom Wills looked avidly at the magnificent landscape that stretched before his eyes.
“I promised you this trip, my boy,” said Dickson, “because during this entire investigation, I mostly sidelined you and left you in the care of our good Mrs. Crow.”
“I’m not complaining, Guv. But what you’re giving me today—the opportunity to meet the Lord of the Jungle in the flesh—is beyond all my expectations.”
“You will also find answers to some of your questions, Tom.”
“Regarding the panther-woman, you mean? Has she completed her transformation? Is she, er, out of the woods yet?”
“I think the operation is a success, as they say. But you will be able to judge for yourself!”
Harry Dickson and his student spent a week with Jane and Tarzan. It was an unforgettable holiday for Tom Wills.
There was, of course, the breathtaking beauty of Africa, magnificent, with its vast expanses of untamed land and wild life. But above all, in Tom’s eyes, there was Tarzan!
He now understood what Dickson had meant when he spoke of him as “a different man.” Tom Wills had expected to meet an athlete built like those of ancient Greece, but instead found a man who radiated an intense animal magnetism which, with his imposing stature, made him unique and fascinating. Tom would retain this image of him until the end of his days.
At the end of the week, Tom asked Dickson:
“We still have not seen Lota, Guv. Yet, you discussed her several times with our host.”
The hour was late and the night ahead long. The detective was out with his pupil, enjoying the relatively cool breeze of the tropical evening. He stuffed his briar pipe, looking at the trees.
“It will not be long, Tom. She promised to Tarzan to visit us before our departure.”
Tom understood when he saw the eyes of the detective fixated on the treetops.
“I see that you’ve guessed my meaning, Tom. Yes, Lola’s transformation is almost complete.”
There was a silence during which the detective puffed on his pipe.
“Men, in their wisdom, believe that the human being is the culmination of nature. Georgette, too, thought that Tarzan would be horrified at the idea of being an animal. But it was a big mistake, which showed how badly she understood him. Yes, Lota has made great progress by being in contact with Lord Greystoke. And it is thanks to him that she has returned to the state in which she is today...”
Tom was about to reply when they saw a movement in the foliage.
An imposing feline shadow came slowly toward them. She stood poised on a long branch, less than a meter above the ground. Despite the darkness, they could distinguish her sleek black and emerald eyes.
The animal stared at the two detectives, then faded into the night.
(English adaptation by Jean-Marc & Randy Lofficier)