Part 20: Strange Device

: ...



Berlioz Symphonie Funebre et Triomphale

: Ah Cocorico. You're already here.

: You have news about the Croque-Monsieur? Or is this about... the other matter?



: Very good. Let's take a look...

: Now, could you please tell me what this is about, Inspector? What exactly are you looking for?

: Hmm...

: Look at this list of graduates. Do you see any names you recognize?

: Well, I see my own. Class of 1837. And I see that moronic prosecutor, Rupert Rabbington, under the class of 1846. Oh, and there's Jayjay Falcon's name under the class of 1832.

: Very good. Now take a look at this register page from 1829. See anything amiss?

: ... Well, I don’t see Jayjay's name... but I'm not sure quite what that implies, Inspector.

: The explanation is simple. Jayjay Falcon changed his name some time between 1829 and 1832. Right around the time of the July Revolution.

: And why would he do that?

: Why indeed.



: But Falcon? He is a bird of prey. It is in his very nature to draw his talons and lash out at those around him.

: I have no doubt that, when the pressure rises, he will show his true colors.

: I’m not sure if I agree with your personality assessment, Inspector. I have always suspected that Jayjay was a buffoon, an imbecile, and a troglodyte, but never would I describe him as a person of malice

: Hmmph. Time will tell.

: Do you need me for anything else, Inspector? Or shall I continue my investigation into the Croque-Monsieur?

: There is one more thing.



: A pistol? No thank you, Inspector.

: These are dangerous times. If you face a violent threat, you cannot hope to defend yourself with that riding crop of yours.

: I’m well aware. I just find that these ghastly things tend to escalate situations, rather than mitigate them.

: Hmph. That's what everyone says during peacetime.

: Take it. Thank me when it saves your hide.

: Fine, fine. I'll keep hold of it.

: Well, Monsieur Cocorico, you have been most helpful.

: I’m just doing my duty. Good day, Inspector.







Renard Vulpes (Charles Tournemire - 3rd Symphony "Moscow")



: Monsieur Falcon. Monsieur Sparrowson. I believe this is our first time meeting without disguises or pretenses, as it were. Oh, but first things first...

: Mousey, would you kindly fetch our guests some tea?

: Oh, of course, Monsieur Vulpes, of course! Messieurs, what sort of tea would you like? Chamomile? Darjeeling, maybe?



: Actually, some Darjeeling would be divine. Thank you, Mousey.

: Sure, Darjeeling sounds good to me too.

: Okay! One pot of Darjeeling coming right up.



: Let's get down to business. What is it that you two came here for?

: We just have a couple of questions.



: Monsieur Vulpes, have you heard any rumors of an uprising?

: Of course. These days, a man can't walk into a tavern without hearing angry men whispering about violence and revolt. I dare say that Paris may find itself in the midst of yet another revolution before the end of Winter.

: But what can you tell us about the dissenters, specifically? Do you know where they are meeting?

: I’m afraid I only know what you can read in the papers, monsieur. I know anti-government protesters were meeting out in the open until the government clamped down on large, public banquets. With the banquets gone... who knows where the dissenters went? Perhaps I can assist you with something else.



: Have you ever heard of a person called the Croque-Monsieur?

: And no, we aren’t talking about the sandwich. Unfortunately.

: The Croque-Monsieur...



: Yes! That sounds exactly like the person were looking for! Do you know him?

: Me, personally? No, monsieur. I just know of his vile reputation.

: I see. Then, do you have any idea how we can find him?

: Hmm.

: Meeting the Croque-Monsieur face-to-face is not easy. The man doesn’t make himself known to just anybody, after all...

: I know. I shall do a little investigative work of my own. Come back in three days, and I will tell you where and when you can find the Croque-Monsieur.

: That’s an enormous help! Thank you so much, Monsieur Vulpes.

: Of course, there is a price.

: A price?

: It is just a small fee. A mere thirty francs.

: Hey! We saved your derriere over that Prince Juan business! Is this any way to show your gratitude?



: I'm sure your intentions are noble, Monsieur Falcon, but I am running a business here. A fox has to eat. Thirty francs, and I guarantee I will find you the Croque-Monsieur. That's my final offer. What do you say?



: Here you go, monsieur.

: 134 francs left.

: Very good. As I promised, return in three days or later, and I will tell you where the Croque-Monsieur can be found. Rest assured that I will undertake my end of the bargain with care and diligence.

: I expect nothing less. Thank you, Monsieur Vulpes.

: It is my pleasure. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?

: That’s all. Have a pleasant day, Monsieur Vulpes.

: As to you, messieurs.

: The tea’s ready, Monsieur Vulpes, it's ready!



: Oh bother.









: Well, well, well. If it isn’t the rude lawyers. You know, you owe me, big guy.

: I... owe you?



: So the way I see it, you owe me two francs for the fishing line, and one million francs for saving your life.

: I don't have one million and two francs.

: Really? But you look so bourgeois... Alright. I tell you what two francs for the line, and we'll call it even.



: Fine. Here's two francs. Consider it a gift of gratitude for saving my life.



: Much thanks, monsieur. Now, why are you here?

: Why are we here? Oh, right. We have some questions.



: Have you heard of a man called the Croque-Monsieur?

: A man called the Croque-Monsieur... Nope. Doesn’t ring any bells. That’s a strange name, though. Did the man name himself after the sandwich, or was the sandwich named after him?

: I have absolutely no idea.

: I can only aspire to have a sandwich named after me one day.



: Stop. You’ll give us all heart attacks.



: So... caught anything good?

: Today? Not a kipper. This new fishing line is really good, but I’ve run out of good bait, so it's practically useless by itself.

: That’s quite an issue.



: It... just might. Say, Monsieur Kingly. Since you aren’t catching anything, would it be possible for us to take that new fishing line off your hands?

: Sure. What's it worth?

: Didn’t we already go over this fishing line payment business?

: Yeah, but that was compensation for the old fishing line. If you want to buy this new line, that’s a whole separate matter. Also, I saved your life. Remember? And I was polite enough to not rub that fact in your face. Much.

: Fine, fine. So, how much did the new line cost?

: Ten francs.

: There is no way that that line cost ten francs.

: You’re right. It cost one. But I added a little mark-up.



: Hmm, I guess it is a bit. I tell you what, if you can provide me with some killer bait, I’ll give you the line for free.

: Killer bait? Like... worms?

: Sure. Worms. Sweets. Whatever. So What’ll it be? Do you have some bait, or do you just want to pay me the cash?



: We don't actually have any bait, but might as well give this a try.



: Could this work as bait, monsieur?

: No, not really. Do you have any real bait, or are you just going to pay me the cash?





: Excellent. And here's your line.

{[Fishing Line]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Wait. Hold on. Now I have no fishing line or bait! I did not think this deal through.

: Oh well. Can I help with something else?



: I think we're done here. Happy fishing, monsieur.

: Bye, Monsieur fisherman!









: A quick look at all the places that don't waste a day.







Not a creature was stirring. Not even a Mousey.

: Renard said he would have finished his investigation in three days, didn’t he?

: Oh. Yeah, I guess he did.

: ...Well, we’re too early, aren’t we?

: Yeah, I suppose we are.











: Uh, well...

: We need a little more time, Docteur.







: I see “Sacha Spider's Silverware Store”.

: Too pricey. Let's take it down a notch.

: Okay, how about that place over there? “Harry Hippopotamus’s Pottery and Haberdashery”...That name just rolls off the tongue.

: Still too pricey. We're buying for a mad scientist, not for the Queen of England.

: What about that little stand: “Rods Odds and Ends”. Looks cheap, and I even see a copper kettle in the back!

: Now we're talking. Excuse me, madame!



Saint Saens: Carnival of the Animals~Kangourous

: Wait... Those two look familiar...

: I recognize you. Weren't you two begging outside Chateau Criniére a couple of weeks ago?



: We put ya money to good use, see? We started a business! At Rods Odds and Ends, we sell everything!

: I suppose a congratulations are in order. It's no small feat to pull yourself out of the streets in today's economy.

: So... do we get a discount?

: A discount?

: Well, we did help kick-start your little enterprise. I suppose we are investors of sorts.

: Sorry, messieurs. No discounts. Ya gave us a donation out of the generosity of ya hearts.

: Because you are such nice people!

: But maybe we can help ya out. What is it that ya wanted?



: Do you have any string or fishing line?



: I think so. How much?

: Fifteen francs.

: Fifteen francs for string? Come now, that's ridiculous.

: It’s no ordinary string, messieurs. It's the string with a thousand uses! You could make a fishin’ rod. You could fix somethin’ that's broken.

: You could play cat's cradle.

: You could stitch some clothes with it.



: Okay, okay, you’ve both made your pitch.



: ...But it's still too much. Sorry, but there's no way I'm spending fifteen francs on a piece of string.

: We understand. Did ya want somethin’ else, monsieur?



: Thirty francs.



: Thirty francs for a kettle? That's far too much.

: But this kettle is super fancy, see. Look at all ‘em engravings! It's nice and stout. Look at the handle!

: Look at the spout!

: With somethin' like this, ya can sip ya tea while pretendin' to be a hoity-toity bourgeois!

: Yes, yes, it's very fancy, but that's still more than we can afford. How does twenty francs sound?

: I'm not barterin’, monsieur. It's thirty francs or nothin’.





: And here's ya kettle. Pleasure doin' business with ya, monsieur!

{[Copper kettle]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Was there anythin’ else?

: That's all, madame. Thanks for all your help.

: Be sure to come back if ya forgot anythin’, monsieur!













Renard Vulpes

: Monsieur Vulpes. You've managed to dig up some good information, I trust.

: ... There is good news and there is bad news.



: Hit me with the bad news first.

: The Croque-Monsieur refuses to speak with anyone who does not know a secret password. And I'm afraid I was unable to procure that particular password.

: I see. That is a problem. So what’s the good news?

: If you want to meet the Croque-Monsieur anyway, I’ve learned that he lurks around the Rue des Marmousets on Friday evenings.

: The Rue des Marmousets? Oh, the monkey road, by Notre-Dame. That’s easy enough to get to.

: I apologize that I could not be of more help.

: It's no problem at all, monsieur. You've given us a fantastic lead. Rue des Marmousets on Friday. I'll be there.



: I shan’t delay you two any longer. I’m sure you have a lot of investigative work to do.

: That we do. Thanks for all the help, Monsieur Vulpes.





: We're in 19th century Paris. Inventing a battery-powered device for a medical professional specializing in mental issues. I was quite certain I knew where the game was going with this.





Etude





: Yes, monsieur. The string and copper pot, exactly as described. Here you go.

: What... What is this? A fancy kettle? It’s made of copper, I suppose, but what an odd choice...

: It was a little tricky to procure the necessary items, but with a bit of asking around, we managed to find suitable substitutes.

: There's a general store down the street that sells string and discounted copper pots and the like. I assumed you would have gone shopping there.

: Mother. Fucker. YOU WERE RIGHT THERE. We discussed our shopping right in front of your fat walrus face. You participated in the fucking conversation.

: ...

: ...





: Ta da! May I proudly present to you...



: (Trademarked. Patent pending.)

: ...It looks like a pair of kitchen tongs hooked up to a stewing pot.

: Agreed. I wasn't expecting something so low-tech and, well, bad.

: Hmm... perhaps a demonstration is in order. One moment, if you please.

: (Psst. Falcon.) (That thing looks like junk! This whole fetch quest has been a waste of our time!)



: (There’s nothing to be done, though. Let's just humor Gustave until we get an opportunity to leave. Cut our losses.)

: (What about my medical debt?)

: Time for a demonstration! Get ready to have your stockings blown off, messieurs!



: O-okay. That meat is a soldier.

: An oddly-shaped and potentially tasty soldier.



: So, our soldier is wandering through a battlefield, not a care in the world, when all of a sudden... BAM! The person has been shot! The musket ball has been embedded in the man's flesh!

: (I'm scared, Falcon. He slammed that metal into the meat like a mad man!)

: Quick, messieurs. You're a battlefield medic. The soldier is wounded, and you have precious little time. What do we do?



: I think your patient is dead on the operating table, monsieur. He's just a slab of meat now.

: Use your imaginations, messieurs!

: I’m imagining it lightly fried in garlic butter...



: Most battlefield medics would have opted for careful surgery. They would use a scalpel to carefully cut out the bullet. Now, I hear you wondering, “Monsieur Trouvé, surely there must be a better way?”

: I wasn't-

: Well, wonder no more!



: And then, as I move the detector component over the meat...

: Is... is that thing humming?

: It is, monsieur. When the “electro-magnet” component of the explorer-extractor detects a piece of iron, the device vibrates and emits a soft hum.

: I must say, I'm actually impressed, monsieur. A device that can detect metal beneath flesh? That's innovative! I’ve never heard of such a thing before.

: Yeah! But why limit it to battlefield surgery? You could repurpose that thing to be some sort of treasure-hunting device! That would make you really rich.

: Hold your horses, messieurs, hold your horses. I'm not done yet. You have only seen half of the devices capabilities - the “exploration” part. Now, you can witness the second part... Extraction!

: Did... did that thing just...

: Yup. Sucked out that bullet like a pip from a grapefruit.



: So, what do you think? Pretty revolutionary, huh?

: ...I think that meat looks a lot less appetizing than before. It's practically exploded.

: I... I have no idea what to think. Monsieur Trouvé, you are a strange and mildly terrifying individual, but I cannot fault the innovation of your device.

[Explorer-extractor]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Ah, thank you, thank you. I'm sure the good doctor will approve.

: I'm hungry. Let's pick up some steaks on the way back to the office.





: Ok, let's go reap our just reward.





: Ah, you've returned. Were you successful?

: Well...

: Monsieur Trouvé didn't have any money. But he did give us something that he claimed to be extremely valuable.



: ...What is this?

: Monsieur Trouvé called it an Explorer-Extractor. He said that it would revolutionize the medical field.

: ...

: I don't quite understand how it works, but maybe I could demonstrate it, if you have a piece of meat and a lump of metal handy?

: ... Monsieur Falcon. Monsieur Sparrowson. I sent you to retrieve owed money. Instead, you return, several days late, with this... child's toy?

: Just forget it. Forget the whole task. It was foolish of me to rely on private attorneys, and it was foolish of me to assume that a crazed inventor would produce money when asked.





: Oh. He's gone.

: Sorry, Sparrowson. It doesn't look like you'll be getting your discount.

: Well, there go my year's wages. So... what do we do now?

: Get back to our investigation into the Croque-Monsieur and the rebels, I assume. We've wasted precious time on this fool’s errand.



: Quick update on our evidence: