Play@YSDC

Making a brief investigation and asking around about the count's house, no one remembers ever having seen a villa in a unique style. It has probably been long replaced with another building. However, more people suggest that the investigators go to Poissy's Town Hall and ask for information. The offices over there keep precise and accurate information on town planning and changes.

Poissy is seventeen and a half miles west of Paris and can be reached by train or hired car. In the winter months, the train from Gare Saint-Lazare will be favored, as the roads may be icy in patches. The train winds through small suburban towns and hamlets before entering the Forêt de Saint-Germain, a dense, brooding expanse of woods where animal tracks can be seen in the snow on either side of the rails. At last the forest opens. There are some fields, silent and desolate under the snow, and then the first small houses, and then on the right of the track passengers will see the Seine, just a few dozens of yards away. The banks where week-end strollers bathe and take the sun in Spring and Summer are bleak and desolate, as in paintings by Seurat near Asnières. The punts and other barks shrouded and covered or half-filled with icy water.

On the left side of the track, the wooden platform overlooks a town square, and waiting passengers press on the ramp from the nearby café-restaurant of the Hôtel de Rouen, where they have been keeping warm. The town is bustling despite the cold, with the atmosphere of an American frontier-town, hedged in by the forest. Three-story houses, some recent, some dating from medieval times, flank the paved roads which gendarmes on horses patrol. One, a grocery, is proudly marked Depuis 1420. There are carts, a few cars, and a tramline to nearby Saint-Germain en Laye. In the streets the urchins play under the supervision of vigilant mothers hanging washing to dry. The town hall is a two-story building with a few colonnades around the porch-entrance.

At the town hall, the group finds an old clerck eager to tell about the history of the small town of Poissy. The Comte’s villa was a well-documented architectural oddity. Accounts describe it as a potpourri of architectural styles, ranging from classical Greek and medieval buttresses to fresh-built broken towers imitating Gothic ruins, similar to the English fashion of decorative ruins on country estates. The three story building had a dozen bedrooms, a ballroom, and numerous sitting rooms. There´s a set of plans made by a Parisian builder and detail the layout of the house, down-leading stairs indicating the existence of an unmapped cellar area. A cameo etching of the mansion’s front view exists. The lines of the building are subtly crazed and seem not to be the product of a rational mind.

To get to the site, investigators must retrace their steps towards the station in the direction of the Church, passing near a large and grim building. The erstwhile Convent of the Ursulines is now a prison, the Maison d’Arrêt de Poissy. Wives and families of those imprisoned may be waiting outside in the cold for a chance to get a visit in the parlor.
The investigators pass the Church, the Collégiale Notre-Dame de Poissy, built 1130-1140 AD. It contains the worn font of Saint-Louis, worn from the belief that scrapings from the fontwhen drunk with water would cure fevers. The font is encircled by spikes of forged and twisted metal and is rather forbidding. Passing though a stone archway into what was once the enclosure of the Abbey of the Dominicaines, a priory, they find they are now walking up cobbled streets, insulated from the hustle and bustle of the modern town, surrounded by older houses and mansions, on the outskirts of a large park with age-old trees. The investigators feel as though they have stepped back in time.

Eventually, they get to the house of the Lorien family, as the clerck had informed them. The house is surrounded by a large crumbling brick wall, obviously of 18th century work. The walls are in-part supported by massive climbing rose bushes which cover them. The roses would be incredibly beautiful in the spring, their perfume filling the area. In winter they are grim and forbidding, having been pruned back and resembling twisted and knotted barbed wire. Through the gateway a small, two-storied brick house can be seen. Smoke rises from the chimney, and a warm, comforting light fi lls the downstairs rooms. The razed mansion of Comte Fenalik once stood where the small home now waits.

Looking at the humble dwelling, Andrew has a moment of doubt. 'Ought we really to be bothering these poor people. Could the cellar really still be here after all these years?'

"I don't see why it wouldn't be," says Felicity. "It's not like it could have gone anywhere. Shall we knock?"

'It is probably filled in,' mutters Andrew. 'But I suppose we're here now.'

“I wish we’d pressed on to Istanbul and started our search there. It would have been warmer.” Grumbled Clarence who was still cold from yesterday.
“Come on, let’s hope they’re hospitable.” He leads the way to the house and knocks on the door.

When the investigator knocka at the door, a man opens. He is a thin man in his thirties, with light hair. He greets the group with a mixture of caution and curiosity. He doesn't seem suspicious of anything, but he doesn't seem used to receive visits from strangers.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," says Felicity in French, all smiles and bubbly words. "We are researching Comte Fenalique, and we understand he had property in this area in the eighteenth century."

'Ah, the direct approach' whispers Andrew, just about making out the gist of what she has said.

The man raises his eyebrows in amazement.
"I´m sorry, madame. I have no idea who this count is."
Oh... my house has aroused enough interest in strangers, lately. Why are you interested, if I may ask?."
He smiles.
"Well... it is possible that another building existed here at that time, but it is not my house. My house was built ten years ago, a few years before I moved here. If you are looking for information about this count, I really don't know how to help you, sorry "

"It's mademoiselle," says Felicity, fluttering her eyelashes. "We've already found out some things about him, but we're interested in seeing what used to be his property. Perhaps the cellar is still intact beneath where his house once stood. We'd just like to look around."

Using Flattery.

Archie conferred briefly with the cab driver and then realized that the others had gone on without him. He tipped the gentleman and then hurried to catch up. He stood at the back of the group, murmuring a quick apology to his companions and then added, in French, "We won't be any trouble. I promise."

The man smiles and gladly invites the investigators in out of the cold. He takes them into the kitchen and puts on some coffee. His name is Christian. He introduces himself and his family. Christian is the town doctor. He moved here after completing his training in Paris. His wife Veronique married him while he was an intern and she studied history at the Sorbonne. Their child of three years is Quitterie. She is a bundle of energy, curious and beautiful. She stands by her father’s legs, watching the new comers intently. After a while, she sits on Felicity´s knee, demanding to be entertained.

Christian explains that his wife is resting in bed. The cold weather has bought on a severe attack of arthritis and he has given her a mild sedative to ease the pain. As Christian Lorien makes coffee, the visitors notice a particularly nasty scar on the back of his left hand which disappears up his sleeve.

As said before, Christian comments that his house has been of much interest lately, recalling a recent letter from Switzerland, which he shows to the visitors. Lorien explains that the letter is meaningless to them. He hopes that the investigator can help him to figure out what is all this about.

The letter is addressed to the occupants of the house, it is written in French, and was posted in Switzerland. It arrived six months ago, owing to one thing and another he has not yet replied to it. He is happy to let the investigators copy what they will from the document, it is not addressed to anyone in particular, after all.

50, Rue St. Etienne
Lausanne, Switzerland

To whom it may concern, I realize that I am a complete stranger and that this letter may well mean nothing to you. My name is Edgar Wellington, and I am researching the history of a statue known most commonly as the Sedefkar Simulacrum. I recently came into possession of an old scroll which presents an intriguing description of the item. This piqued my interest, and I am now endeavoring to trace the simulacrum. My search has lead me to your address. The name is probably meaningless to you but, through my researches, I have learnt that the last recorded resting place of the piece of art was in the house that occupied your land in the late 18th century. The statue was a unique Arabian artifact, lost during the events of 1789. Its last owner was a German nobleman who once lived where you live today. Please, I ask that if you have heard any local stories regarding this item, or maybe found any traces of the old house and its possessions on your land which might give a clue as to the eventual fate of the object, would you be so kind as to write to me with a summary of the information. I apologize for the rather strange nature of my request, but I feel that I should pursue whatever leads remaining to me. I hope that you will not go to any great length regarding this. Yours most sincerely,
Edgar Wellington

Christian asks the investigators how long they intend to stay. He offers to put them up for the night. He is flattered at the historical interest in his home, and believes that Veronique will enjoy the company.

"You remind me of myself when I was your age," Felicity says, smiling at Quitterie. "My parents could never keep up with me." She sings to her some English songs she probably hasn't heard before, starting with 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary."

The name does not sound familiar. However, you all recall that a couple of years ago, when Prof. Smith talked about an incoming journey across Europe, he mentioned he would also visit a friend, an English man, living in Switzerland.

Reading the letter and its references to the Sedefkar Simulacrum and the scroll, Andrew says to his companions, loud enough to be overheard, 'Ah, Monsieur Wellington, he is a friend of a friend, we were intending to visit him in Switzerland. We can convey all we discover and save Monsieur Lorien the trouble of writing.'

I think I saw Lausanne on the Orient Express itinerary before the Simplon tunnel

When Christian offers for them to stay, and this is translated for him, Andrew suggests they take him up on the offer and see if he will let them look around for any signs of a cellar. Andrew has some understanding of architecture and wants to get a look at the outside of the building to see if there are any signs suggesting another entrance to the remains of the old structure.

He looks the French doctor over. There's something not quite right about the man but Andrew can't quite put his finger on it. The scarred arm, the hidden wife, he wonders if there is something this man is not telling them.

While the adults are talking, Quitterie accidentally jolts Felicity´s arm. Hot coffee spills onto Quitterie’s left arm and Felicity’s lap. The coffee is not so hot that either is scalded, but the liquid is hot enough to cause discomfort. Quitterie screams like a demon, it is as if her arm has been cut off. Apologizing, Lorien fetches a cloth for Felicity, then hushes his daughter and takes her into the bathroom, where he cleans and soothes her, and puts sweet-smelling lotion on her arm. Remarkably, a long line of inflamed skin can be seen on her left arm.

"Merci," says Felicity, wiping the spill from her clothes. "Well, that's another excuse to go shopping. Of course, so is 'look, there's a shop.' I do hope Quitterie's all right. That burn really affected her skin. We'll have to ask her father about her condition when he returns. Perhaps she got it from her mother. It's a pity, I was going to sing 'Three Little Maids from School' next. That's my signature song. Of course, we'll probably stay here long enough that I'll get the chance."

In French, Archie responds "Well, Christian, I am a doctor myself back in London. It's a pleasure to meet you. I would love to talk shop sometime. My clientele is mostly older, and I see a lot of arthritis cases at my practice. I know how debilitating it can be."

Can I tell what kind of injury caused the scar?

Archie moves over to where Felicity. "You know, our club did a Gilbert & Sullivan revue, and I did Three Little Maids with a couple of my buddies dressed in kimonos. I can be Pitti Sing to your Yum Yum..." he grinned.

"That would be a delight, Archie," says Felicity with a smile. "I had no idea you were a thespian!"