The Fall of France Follies

By Adam Dumphy

Little known to this day is the fact that the fate of France in the Phony War of 1939-40 was fought out as much in the salons of the ‘Faubourg’ as in the Chamber of Deputies or on the battlefields where there were no battles.

Two women who could be called the mistresses of the most powerful men in the French government waged a savage war, jousting for power and position to the degree that the German menace was at times secondary. A pout might remove a minister from office; a smile determine his replacement; a tear determine national policy.

These things are fact. In a from here on fictionalized account an elderly American experimenter in advanced wireless telegraphy is asked by British Intelligence to determine who is giving the Head of the French Government a great deal of bad information. With the aide of a renowned beauty of the haut monde, now however a convicted felon, he determines that the grandson of one of the mistresses is held captive by the Abwehr to force her to influence her man as they wish.

In the attempt to rescue the child and get him out of the country the old man proves that even in this chaos of corruption, graft and outright treason there can also be follies in both senses of the word.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 28, 2005
• ISBN: 9781463458676

Adam Dumphy

Inflamed by a novel of and during the Spanish Civil War of 1936, titled, “The Kansas City Milkman”, Adam Dumphy searched out and contacted a clandestine enlistment center for the British Ambulance Corps operating there. Clandestine as it was at the time an illegal act to aid either side in the conflict. To Adam that fit the novel and made it all the more interesting to him and more Hemingwayesque. He ever after felt the British people generally to be biased and intolerant as he was rejected and simply for being only twelve years old. Still he found himself fascinated by that most peculiar of wars even as some men are towards our American Civil War. All the books and information he collected then he still has. His loyalty he has tried to maintain unbiased to either side although it has varied in degree from one side to another from year to year. Now from the vantage point of eighty years of age the only thing he can decide with certainty about the affair is that both sides got a very “bad press”. But then he believes that is true of most major events.

Book preview

THE FALL OF FRANCE FOLLIES

BY

ADAM DUMPHY

Title_Page_Logo.ai

© 2005 ADAM DUMPHY. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 03/22/05

ISBN: 1-4184-9157-8 (sc)

ISBN: 9781463458676 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

CONTENTS

The Hall Of Justice, Paris, France, May 1940.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

About The Author

For

Irene

And

Mair,

so like her.

The Hall Of Justice, Paris, France, May 1940.

Chapter 1

She was a tall for a French woman, bone thin, and in any surroundings would have been noticed as striking, elegant. In these surroundings she sparkled like the Kohinoor diamond set on a background of grey and brown burlap. The grey walls and flooring, brown disfigured rails and desks, the somber atmosphere was oppressive. The only answering sparkle in the room was off the badges of the several marshals about the periphery holding back the spectators.

Even in a simple sheath of black with black hose and heels, practically no make up and a single strand of pearls, a huge bouffant hair style her only chic affectation, she still glittered.

Not handsome exactly, her features in repose were regular and pleasing. Her oft remarked beauty was in a spontaneity, a gayety that was not noticeable today.

Her attention was totally on the black robed figure behind the high bench at the head of the room.

Madame Ariadne de Evre, a jury of your peers have found you guilty on two counts of conspiring to the sale or disposal of stolen goods. Inspector Renaurd here, has implied that these two are only a trifling few of many such. But still he requests leniency.

At the name the woman might have stiffened slightly but her glance did not waver.

The high judge continued. I see no cause for leniency since you refuse still to reveal the name of the man with whom you conspired. I then hereby sentence you to not less than two years and not more than five years on each charge to the Woman’s Prison at Entierre.

At that the woman who had been silent throughout most of the last three day’s proceedings gasped slightly. It was the first time the multitude of observers had noted any emotion.

The judge continued. The sentence to be begin immediately only if the Rehabilitation Petition which was presented to me in Chambers this morning is followed to fruition. I doubt that it will. Case dismissed.

The sentencing had been at 11:15 AM but the woman was not taken back to the holding cell but in the company of a woman Marshal allowed a luncheon that she could not eat and sat apparently unaware of the passing time until 4:00 PM. Then she found herself in a cubby-hole office facing an obese, untidy woman who was, she vaguely understood, her Probation Officer.

Obese woman did not like her generally and this one was no exception. The woman glanced at her over heavy rimmed glasses, read interminably from papers on her desk and then began.

I have no faith in this. I did my utmost to abort it. I was overruled. You are released on your own cognizance overnight. Tomorrow at 9:00 AM sharp you will report to 131 Rue Avierne, Apartment 42. If you do not appear or are even late you will be picked up by the local police and remitted to the woman’s prison.

Stunned, unable to comprehend any of this, the tall woman was led out of the grey building to a cab. A few watchers on the street recognized her and while some cheered others shouted boos and cat calls.

Then at last she was home in the flat which her father and grandfather and his grandfather had occupied before her. Berthold was undoing her frock and running a hot bath, Philomen coming with her tisane and the neck rub to attempt to prevent the inevitable headache which was already starting.

Chapter 2

131 Rue Avierne was in an old, old part of the city which had been rebuilt in the last fifteen years into modest apartment complexes. 131 had over one hundred apartments alone in one ugly, square, cement-block building with half a dozen entrances not including the garage.

Arriving at #42 she realized it was four minutes before 9:00 AM and so she waited before she rang.

There was no immediate response and her heart began again its pounding in apprehension before the door was finally opened.

It was an older man who opened it. How old she could not tell as his hair was still naturally dark but there were grey sideburns. His features were hawk like, his cheeks so closely shaven as to appear epilated, and he was wearing a curious outfit of shirt, pants and coat of corduroy.

Madame de Evre. He spoke without question but did not step back, just stood before her appearing to be waiting for a reaction.

What ever… she wondered and then it dawned on her. Why… why I have seen you before. You are the kindly, old man who loaned me an umbrella and disentangled a maple leaf from my hair at the Ashee Mall.

Yes. He still waited.

What now. she wondered. She was too nervous just now to play games and then a thought came, I see. You were not kindly old man at all and perhaps there was not even a maple leaf.

There was not. Come in.

She entered a tiny apartment only two and a half rooms, one extending each way from a very dowdy sitting room.

He gestured her to a chair and spoke, Mme. Bernard who comes in by the day is supposed to be here by 8:30 AM but she is addicted to a radio program at 11:00 PM so usually sleeps late. I cannot offer you anything hot, but I do have some freshly ground carrot, lettuce, celery, chive juice which I believe is all you allow yourself at this time of day.

But how could you know that?

I have spent some time with you, with you and your friends in the last six weeks. Very distressful times I might add.

He gestured her in and departed for the juice.

The juice was cold and blended as she liked it half and a quarter and an eighth, with just a touch of chive. It was the only thing she allowed herself in unlimited quantities to maintain her figure and keep up her strength.

The old man started to sit. Oh of course you smoke. I don’t believe there is an ash tray in the place. Would a plate do?

Somehow she did not feel like smoking this morning.

He sat down now to cross one bony knee over the other and continued.

Very, very distressful. he repeated.

When she did not answer he continued unasked. You see in just six weeks I have come to know and like Inspector Renaurd a great deal. A good man, a simple man, a kindly man, you must admit. Rare in these days, and in someone of the police quite unknown. I hated to hear of his hurt approaching.

The lady looked away. This was a very unwelcome subject just now. Well aware of this the old man continued. And I grew to like the girl who privately called herself Kiki. As day after day I heard her fighting her fight with every weapon in her disposal, even long after she must have given up any hope of winning.

I do not understand.

You are well rid of that arrogant little bull Marcel, Madame. He was not worthy of you. You could never have loved him. And you must not grieve over his desertion and the revelations.

Revelations?

The wife at Amier, the mistress at Montemar came as revelations, I believe.

Yes. Who are you?

As you must have already decided I am not of the French police nor any other police organization at all. I am simply and old, tired, disillusioned, ah.. moralist. But I do have some influence on the French judicial system otherwise you would not be here.

Yes that is quite obvious. Are you then my Rehabilitation Person?

Hardly that. Perhaps I can best explain what I am by telling you what I am not. I am neither a fool nor a gambler, terms I consider synonymous. I have, it is true, done many foolish things in my life and more often than not taken the long chance rather than the easy one. Usually I have three good reasons for everything I do. In this instance I am about to break my pattern for in this case I have only one reason and that a very weak one.

Mouthy old kink. she thought What’s his racket?

But she did sit back and start to relax enough to wonder.

The door opened behind her. Oh there you are Mme. Bernard. Our guest is here. Is there coffee and apricot croissants? turning to the girl You usually allow yourself that as breakfast about now do you not?

Why yes. Thank you.

He continued. Enough about me, who are you? Let me see if I am right. Born of a noble family and given far more wealth than you possibly could spend. Altogether too handsome for your own good with a quick and incisive mind, you found nothing stimulating enough for your tastes in the University milieu like your Papa, or in politics like your Grandpapa. So you took to the social crowd and still bored allowed a bully with the facade of a naughty little boy use you. By your own considerable merits you became the most successful courier/negotiator the underground had ever produced. And you played the game simply for the excitement did you not? For the thrills, the satisfaction of outwitting, and outmaneuvering everyone, even the poor police, the poor fools of the world and most especially the unfortunate Inspector Renaurd, your fiancée.

I… I tried to love him.

I am offering you a chance to use that undoubted talent in your proven field on the side of the angels. If you do run the race and survive the course, you will be able to look back on a truly great accomplishment. With a sure knowledge that this time no one will be hurt, cheated, bankrupt. And although it will never be acknowledged, a great people, your own people, will owe you a real debt as they may be greatly aided by your endeavors.

Are you recruiting me?

Good Lord, Child, no. Use your brains. I am totally unofficial. How could I recruit anyone? I am simply offering you a chance to start fresh. And there is no need to look at me like that. I have arranged that your sentence will be suspended. You will not go to prison whichever you choose.

She drew a deep breath, Is that true?

I am, and always have been, unable to tell a believable lie. And besides you would be of no use to me under coercion.

I am then expected to be very grateful, is that it?

You must be upset this morning you are not looking behind the curtain to the fact. You are simply being offered a job. And nothing more. I must add that it will be a difficult job, an unusual job, exasperating, exhausting, confusing. You will be asked to do many things that you cannot understand, that seem ridiculous. All I can guarantee is that some of the things that you do will be worthwhile, not all I fear, some that you are asked to do will be illegal. None will be immoral.

I don’t even know you name.

Yes. He said with finality. If with this information and this information only, you should decide to take the job, put an ad in the personal column of the evening edition of the Paris Tribune, ‘All is forgiven Dixie. Return home to Doxie.’ I will then contact you.

He got to his feet and at the door. Never come to this room again. This room will be vacant twenty minutes after you leave. And in the future if you should run across me you will not acknowledge ever having seen me… Good Morning Madame. I must be about my packing.

He was across the room when she reacted. Wait… What… Why do you do this… this… She gestured about her. How do you know these things that you have said. What do you want?

Madame de Evre. Are you going to disappoint me when I went to such trouble to get you out? Go home, Child and think. And he was gone.

Chapter 3

The following night the ad appeared in the personals but the lady waited in some irritation and apprehension for two days before his call came.

Dixie? You have considered this thoroughly?

Yes.

Very well. Would you care to pack a bag for out of door living and meet me at the Cafe Tivoli on Rue Madelaine at 7:40 PM. He had hung up.

At 7:20 the lady descended to the garage beneath her flat and backed out the Lancia. As she drove up the ramp to the street level, a tall, thin form stepped into the headlights, stopping her and then calmly stepped to the side of the car and got into the passenger seat. He said nothing but sat erect with an eye on the rear mirror, then the foreground, before he seemed to relax. Turning he gave her an appraising glance.

When the look continued she nervously responded. Well? and when he said nothing she continued. Oh dear I am expected to think out the questions and give the answers too again.

Yes.

Well who you are I cannot decide or if you are entirely rational I am not certain.

The old man chuckled.

You said ‘hear’ twice so you must know of me by one of those new listening devices that I have only heard about. One in my hair which must have eavesdropped on my call to Marcel after leaving Inspector Renaurd’s office that last time. But how could that be? I brush my hair almost constantly. Somewhere else I must assume. Ah the umbrella. And another in his apartment apparently. That is why you could foresee Inspector Renaurd’s approaching hurt. One in my rooms possibly that you could know of my comings and goings and preferences.

Two right out of three. I do not listen in bedrooms. Go on.

And tonight we are not to eat at the Tivoli restaurant, I suppose. And since I have packed for the country we shall probably be staying in town.

Hmm. He considered.

She continued repeating her thoughts of the past three days. I expect there will be traveling involved. I think the assignment has to do with the strained relationship with the Boche and my France, now that Poland has been attacked, and occupied. And I doubt that you are not of Allied Intelligence.

Hmm. He considered again. You are politically more immature than I would have expected from the daughter of your father and granddaughter of your grandfather. I wonder…

If you have made a mistake in me, M?

Yes. Well it is too late for regrets. Let me out at the next corner and please listen carefully…Would you want to drive south… notice I ask you only if you ‘should want to’. If you should want to drive south on the National Highway toward Neves to the village of Chabroi. Turn right there, west for 2.5 kilometers on a dirt road to a cottage called Le Roque. Put your car in the garage make yourself at home obviously. Go to bed dutifully at 11:00 PM. At 1:30 AM climb out the bedroom window walk one half mile further west along the road to the railroad tracks, turn right, north, to the station at Mont Les Jebe. Take the 3:10 AM produce train to the city. When you are certain you are not followed come to 131 Rue Avierne, Apt 44. I shall expect you by 9:00 AM.

But back to the same place?

No not the same place but almost. Who would expect that? Goodnight.

Chapter 4

The trip was pleasant, the walk in the starlight lovely, the train ride incredibly dull and uncomfortable, as it stopped at every station for farm people to get on taking their produce or cottage industry to the city market. Arriving at the apartment at 8:50 AM she should have been sleepy eyed and put out, but found herself cheerful and excited, pleased with her accomplishments so far this night.

Knocking discreetly brought no response so she rang again and again. And her exuberance again plummeted when no one answered. It was all a crazy hoax and craziest of all was that old man. As she started to walk away the door suddenly opened. He must have been waiting just inside.

You do not know how to open a locked door, Madame?

Of course not.

He sighed and gestured her in. Have you had breakfast, Child?

Yes.

Good. Time then for all wage slaves to get to their lessons.

He led her down the hall. Looking about her she saw first a long room cluttered from floor to ceiling with what appeared to be complex electrical equipment. Two teletypes chattered to themselves from opposite desks and various gadgets with wires and poles and coils were visible above the clutter of numerous boxes, instruments and tools. But mostly it was papers stacked in untidy piles on the tables and desks, sticking out of filling cabinets, dribbling onto the floor.

All the curtains were drawn with the only light coming from the overhead lamps while dirty dishes by the window gave their suggestion of an all night session.

Drawing her into a bedroom down the hall he began, This is a meter that records the presence of electrical current. It can be used to detect a listening device. It had a buzzer but I disconnected that. It indicates current flow by needle, here, the presence of alternating current on the top, direct current below. There is a hidden voice detector in this room, Madame. Find it.

He turned and then added from the door, There is no reward for speed as this is your first time, but think carefully first. It will save a great deal of bending and squatting. And he was gone.

Ari was left looking at a little black box resembling a camera light meter, and looking at it and remembering the old man’s instructions she could not resist a giggle.

Think, Madame! She mimicked. Then, Now where would one hide a detector?

Thirty two minutes later she hunted out the old man. She found him in the big room so intent over typewritten sheets that he was not aware of her presence. To her further astonishment he suddenly jumped to his feet and began to sing: