December 19, 2023 • 27 mins
Nigel Clemmons’s disturbing dream causes Torsten Somersby to suspect an evil force is at play. They track down a suspect, Irma Krause, whose parents owned the home where Phillip Steeples died. They find her presenting to a crowded room at the Washington Lodge of Theosophy—where Phillip was an active member. https://linktr.ee/nocturnehall
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Episode Transcript
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(00:00):
Nocturne Hall presents an original audio drama intended only for an adult audience.
(00:08):
Devils walk among us. Some just a mile north of the White House.
Whether conjured or elected, they prey on the innocent all the same.
Most won't even listen, so folks knock on the one door in the District of Crime who will.
(00:34):
Dupont Investigations.
[Music (00:36):
I never thought my heart would mend]
You taught me how to love again]
It's you and me until the end]
Oh, we?ll paint this whole town red]
Just the devils, the devils of Dupont]
(00:56):
Just the devils, the devils of Dupont]
This is The Scourge from Carthage Part 3.
[PICKING UP TELEPHONE RECEIVER. DIAL TONE. SIX ROTARY DIALS. TWO RINGS.]
(01:20):
Nesbit Residence.
Hi, Angel. I know it's early, but I've got a favor to ask.
Torsten, is that you? I was just reading about you in yesterday's Evening Star.
Some story, wasn't it? Look, I'm in a bit of a rush this morning.
Do you have a copy of the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas in your Roman lit collection?
(01:40):
In English or Latin?
Oh, Rowena, Latin's a dead language. It killed off all the Romans, and it'd probably
kill me if you can't track down the translation.
Wait one minute.
Alright, you're in luck. I've got the latest translation of their martyrdom by W.H. Shewing.
(02:01):
Thank the gods. Would you be a peach and bring it to my office as soon as possible?
Torsten. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?
I don't just sit around all day waiting for you to call, you know.
But I suppose I could bring it by around half past eleven. But only if it's important--
Oh, terribly important. I'd say a life depends on it, but he's already dead.
(02:22):
My word.
I'll have to catch up with you another time, though. I'm headed out myself, but
remember, I always keep the outer door unlocked in case I ever get another prospect willing to wait.
I remember. And I have another translation I'll bring over as well.
Another ancient tome?
No, far more recent, but also set in Carthage. It's not a historical text,
(02:42):
but Gustave Flaubert's Salammbo.
Now, Rowe, why would I waste my time with some nineteenth-century novel?
Oh, Torsten. Sometimes you lack all imagination--
Angel, I really am in a rush--
Salammbo is set during the Mercenary Revolt on the heels of Carthage's First Punic War with Rome.
I recall that one didn't turn out so well for Carthage. But that's what--some four
(03:04):
hundred years before Perpetua's martyrdom?
To understand the ancient people of Carthage, you must appreciate their Gods.
Flaubert treats them with the reverence they commanded.
To a modern reader, it's all too simple to dismiss them outright,
but Torsten, to those people, they didn't just mean a great deal--they meant everything.
Enough to send early Christians to their slaughter. Of course, you're right.
(03:25):
I promise to give it a scan. But I'm afraid I do need to ring off now.
I'll leave the texts while you're out.
Swell, Angel. I'll owe ya one.
And Torsten. Be careful.
I'll do my best, Angel. Bye now.
[HANG UP THE RECEIVER.]
Torsten. Are you in there?
Yeah, Nige. Come on back.
[THE FRONT OFFICE DOOR SHUTS. FOOTSTEPS.]
I thought you were headed to the coroner's office first thing--
(03:48):
Get a load of this. Today's Herald reports Steeples Tobacco heir, Phillip
Steeples, went missing during his stay in Washington, possible kidnapping.
That's blood in the water. Did you warn Mrs. Barr?
The sharks will be circling the Mayflower at any moment.
I called on her before coming here. Although she didn't seem surprised.
What about the ME's report?
(04:09):
I wasn't sure they'd let me leave with a copy.
So, hoping next of kin might have better odds, we sent Lilah's husband to fetch it.
It'll be interesting if the ME's report shows any scrapes or contusions on his extremities.
And what would you expect would have caused them?
You better have a seat.
Ahh, is your hunch from reading Calder's journal?
Yeah.
After you called, I eventually fell asleep again and got caught in a vivid
(04:32):
dream of me just wandering around some old ruins.
Were they circular?
What?
The ruins.
Come to thank of it they were. I kept going around and around,
but I was drawn to a central spot near one end with a twisting column
crowned by a stone cross.
(04:54):
What do you think it means--if anything?
Hard to say at this point, but I'm looking into it.
How?
A friend is bringing by a text later, which might prove relevant.
But there's an entry in the journal which bears a fair similarity to your dreams.
I'd suggest you have a go at it, but the handwriting is tough--
Tell me then.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves and start from the beginning.
(05:17):
The first part is a familiar tale I've heard from other vets returning from the front.
They spend weeks training in the states without gaining any useful skills whatsoever.
Once they hit France, it's a big game of hurry up and wait.
Calder Evans' company purchases some horses, then they load and
unload fleets of train cars come day or night, rain or shine.
(05:41):
Excitement finally hits when they arrive at the front at the commencement of the Battle of Saint-Mihiel.
General Pershing's big push to overtake the German lines, right?
Sure, but dear Calder never heard a word of the plan until the sky overhead
explodes with fire, and the forest shakes from unabated shelling.
Hmm. Dreadful.
(06:03):
As they advance as part of the Meuse-Argonne offensive, they pitched their
pup tents within enemy firing range. The Huns shell them so
severely he should have been killed. But, as fate would have it, he barely got a scratch.
Still, an overzealous medic tends to his wound--and considering the cut deeper
than it was or just trying to give the guy a break--Calder gets his first taste of morphine.
(06:27):
Christ.
Oh, we'll get to him in a minute. Or at least his followers.
I don't like where this is going.
Too bad. You're already along for the ride.
So, Calder starts hoarding morphine tablets from every medical station he can manage.
And he's not alone. There's a whole underground racket.
According to him, most men in his company were keen to partake in
(06:50):
excessive dosages of anything they could pop down the hatch.
Then one night, Calder's so doped up that he's unable to move after they're ordered to clear the trench.
The enemy advances, and he plays dead.
At that point, he says he wants to die. And that's when it happens.
What happens?
Stop interrupting, and you'll hear about it. His eyes open to a luminous glow.
(07:12):
Before him, a ladder of gold appears from nowhere, bright as Saint Peter's gates,
stretching high above the trenches to the clouds.
Over the whistles, artillery, and small arms fire, he hears instruments.
Lyres and drums.
How's that possible?
It ain't.
He muscles the rungs and begins his ascent. It's a slow climb,
(07:35):
which is good as he soon notices it's lined with sharp hooks and daggers.
Then he hears the grumbling of a beast below. He feels hot breath on his shins,
and the thing snarls with a preternatural howl.
He hastens his ascent, snagging himself here or there on the odd sword and saber.
He must have been high as a kite.
(07:56):
Well, sure, but he journaled this all on his return voyage to the States. Sober as a judge.
I assume he made it to the top?
First, he saw a man above waving him up.
He took the encouragement and kept climbing.
Topside, he discovered a merry little band in age-old garb
playing instruments in a sprawling garden.
(08:18):
He couldn't understand their language, but they stopped playing and brought him
over to an old geezer milking a goat.
With just one pensive gaze from the old man, Calder awoke in a medic's tent
five miles from the trench.
They'd found him not far away, caught in barbed wire.
(08:39):
He had run there all on his own.
Even with all that dope in his system?
So he claims.
But what does one hophead's story have to do with Phillip?
Suppose it's a matter of belief.
Belief in what?
Coincidences.
Are you trying to say Phillip fell at the judge's house in some botched
attempt to climb to heaven?
(09:00):
That's total malarkey.
I can't say. He's not here to speak for himself, either.
Maybe we'd have a better clue if we could track down his manuscript.
Still, we've got two morphine addicts and one free fall.
But Calder didn't plummet, right?
I'm not even sure he ever left the ground. Maybe he just climbed out of that trench.
(09:20):
What about the woman from my dream?
Not quite sure yet. Neither is Calder, but we've got our suspicions.
Shoot, it's half past nine. I've gotta let some movers into Phillip's place at quarter till.
Isn't that what the manager's for?
We'd like to keep the number of utterances of Phillip Steeples to a minimum
now that the press is on the trail.
(09:41):
That's probably for the best.
After the Cairo, I'll swing by the hotel and review the ME's report.
Shall we meet somewhere for lunch?
I'd love to, but I'm not sure how long I'll last.
Plus, one bite in me, and I'll be dozing off.
I want to cover this last bit of lit before taking a siesta.
Why don't you have an automobile? We're always taking cabs everywhere?
(10:02):
You kiddin'. I drink too much to get behind the wheel.
Besides, cabbies are a great source of information.
You wouldn't believe the things they pick up from their passengers.
So, shall we split a cab thento the Theosophy meeting--
Heck, no. We shouldn't arrive together. Lest they make us from the jump.
True. We aim to get the jump on them.
(10:22):
Oh, they'll have you pegged as a skeptic from the start.
Without you by my side, I at least have a chance of blending in.
But you're the one that's so well-known.
Ah, but the papers never printed a picture of me, see.
I never let them take one.
So, those Theosophists won't know this mug from Methuselah's.
[UPBEAT MUSIC.
(10:48):
MODERATE AUDIENCE APPLAUSE.]
Thank you, Mr. Kendall, for your lovely overview of Theosophy.
If you're a newcomer tonight--and I see several new faces, which excites us--
please know that it can all be a bit overwhelming at first.
But, in time, you'll come to recognize and internalize the fundamentals.
(11:10):
One of my anchor points is a passage from the first volume of
Ms. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky's magazine Lucifer.
She regarded Theosophy not as a religion but rather since all religions
spring from universal wisdom, which unites us--
(11:31):
Theosophy represents the universal brotherhood of religion itself.
[COUGH FROM THE AUDIENCE.]
As Mr. Kendall kindly stated in his introduction, my name is Ms. Irma Krause.
She say Krause?
Shush now.
We reserve this time to receive updates on the latest scholarship from our members.
(11:53):
It is my distinct pleasure tonight to share with you my findings upon returning from Baltimore,
where I attended an illuminating lecture by Mr. Fritz Kunz.
[MEAGER AUDIENCE APPLAUSE.]
A few of us are undoubtedly familiar with Mr. Kunz's pamphlet entitled, Sex Concepts for the New Age.
(12:14):
However, I'm sure many of you are uninitiated.
At our lecture, Mr. Kunz first reminded the ladies and gentlemen of the audience
that despite our separate physical forms, our astral selves drive our physical bodies.
Even our present form, which we wear like clothing, is the product of Nature's evolution--
(12:36):
as old as the time when our planet cooled, and the very first creatures came into corporeal shape.
And just as the age of man derives from the giant Saurians, Nature's evolution continues.
For the past decade, Mr. Kunz observed the emergence of a queer, intermediate sex across our country's population.
(12:59):
In the New Age coming, he believes women will become more liberated in their clothing.
Men will change too, but he sees a more marked advancement among women.
He claims that this new race, humanity's Sixth Sub-race,
will not recognize their gendered differences but will only come to regard the burning aura of their souls.
(13:26):
Thank you.
[MODERATE AUDIENCE APPLAUSE. MOVEMENT.]
What color do you think they'd attribute to my soul's burning aura?
You? Same color as your fedora. Now forget these nuts and focus on
convincing this dame to have a little private chat with us elsewhere.
Alright. Do you have a spot in mind?
Sure do. And best let me do most of the talking.
(13:53):
Ms. Krause. You wouldn't by any chance happen to be any relation to Judge Krause from the Municipal Court?
Why yes. He's my father.
I hope you'r e not cross with him.
Not at all. I hold him in high regard.
Whew. He's always putting someone behind bars, so you can never tell.
Nature of his position, I suppose. My name's Torsten Somersby.
(14:15):
How do you do?
And I, too, am a lingering admirer of yours Ms. Krause. Name's Nigel Clemmons.
Somersby. Why does that name sounds familiar?
I dabble in occult literature. Perhaps you've read some of my work,
although I'm most fascinated by your comments tonight.
I found Mr. Kunz's lecture enthralling as well.
(14:36):
If you're free after the meeting, I must insist you allow me to buy you a drink
at the Show Boat Tap Room just around the corner.
You'll find there that the queer, intermediate sex is indeed upon us.
Do you suppose Mr. Kunz would be interested in her observations?
Undoubtedly, Mr. Clemmons. Why you, too, should tag along.
(14:56):
Well, I'm not sure, gentleman.
Please, ma'am. It would be our treat to be your escort.
Ms. Krause, is all you see before you two men not two burning auras,
eager to share your pursuit of truth?
Did you say it's close?
Just around the corner.
We'll wait for you outside.
Alright. I do love a good cocktail on a Friday night.
(15:20):
[TRANSITION MUSIC. VIGOUROUS AUDIENCE APPLUASE AND CHEERS.]
There you have it, folks, another terrific set from Chloe and Lover Boy.
These canaries will take a short break but stick around for more tunes in ten minutes' time.
(15:43):
You're right, Torsten. In this joint, I can hardly tell whose male or female.
Ah, there he is with another round.
Here you are.
So, Irma. How was the Belvedere? I've never stayed there before.
It was lovely, but how did you know that's where I lodged in Baltimore?
We read your telegram to Phillip Steeples.
Why ever would you--
(16:04):
We're two private dicks working his case.
I must protest. You've lured me here on false pretenses.
C'mon. We've not done anything objectionable but buy you drinks.
And we delivered on our promise that this place would interest you.
I'm afraid I must be going.
Not so fast, sister. Unless you want me to ring that pestering leech of a
reporter I know at the Star who would be very interested to learn how Judge
(16:26):
Krause's daughter corresponded with the corpse they found on the Judge's back patio early Wednesday morning.
Or I could let a certain detective from the Metropolitan Police Department in on this little development.
What corpse? I don't know what you're talking about.
Not very convincing. Look, we know your parents are in Portugal, and
there's no sign of any staff at the house. So, that leaves you with the key to the front door.
(16:51):
Good lord. It's not what you think. I was out late on Tuesday at some rathskeller off Connecticut.
I left around midnight only to find Phillip glassy-eyed, mumbling on a storefront stoop.
He's been good for such a long time, but lately, he's been worrisome.
Worrisome, how?
He's pretty modest in his consumption of alcohol. And often judgmental of
(17:15):
those who've imbibed in excess. Why I've seen him scold one stupid drunk so
aggressively, it would have warmed the heart of the old Hatchet Granny herself.
I didn't have Phillip pegged for the Carrie Nation type based on the
missing vial of morphine we found in his room.
Vial of morphine. Good lord.
So, that's what he was on that night?
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
(17:37):
You see, we weren't far from my parent's house. I live in Woodley Park,
so we'd have to take a cab in his condition, but few were operating. I got
him to his feet and lured him to my parent's house. The walk helped him come to.
He became talkative again. We had a glass of sherry as a nightcap,
but I left him alone for one minute and lost him. I ventured outside and found
(17:58):
him on the Spanish Steps rambling nonsense about hearing music, but
it was quiet as a church mouse at that hour.
What kind of music?
I couldn't say. It was thirty degrees outside.
All I cared about was getting him back inside and hitting the hay.
What do you suppose knocked Phillip off the wagon?
I hate to comment on a man's personal affairs.
I knew Phillip from growing up. I'm sure he'd want us to understand what led to
(18:22):
his demise. No matter how unpleasant the scenario.
It's a complicated tale. Do you know a Mr. Calder Evans?
We understand they were pretty close. Perhaps more than casual acquaintances.
For better or for worse.
They met at one of our Friday night classes almost a year ago. Mr. Evans
(18:43):
had a sincere interest in past lives, but he lost interest in the overall
teachings of Theosophy. Still, he was a welcome social presence.
He and Phillip became involved--I'm not sure the extent to which--
We get it, sister. No need to beat around the bush.
Alright, fine. They had a romance.
Had?
(19:03):
Correct. They seemed fine until a week ago when Calder discovered Phillip
hadn't quite kicked his dope habit. I swear, no one unaware would ever
suspect Phillip as a hophead. He was adept at hiding it.
I thought you said when you spotted Phillip at that store front off Connecticut
Avenue you didn't know he was doped?
I knew he was gone alright, but not what substance was responsible for his condition.
(19:27):
How did Calder find out?
I'm not sure, but his discovery precipitated a real row between them.
And the timing couldn't have been worse.
Why's that?
Phillip was already terribly behind on his manuscript. He went incommunicado
for a few days after their tete-a-tete, which wasn't out of the ordinary.
So, let's see. I came to take him to lunch on Tuesday since
(19:50):
we were barreling toward our deadline.
What deadline?
I was to take his manuscript to the Theosophist lecture series in Baltimore.
Some successful publishers with proficiency in selling similar works were attending.
I promised to share Phillip's work with them, but if any offered to review the complete manuscript,
he needed to complete the text.
Holding package.
(20:11):
Pardon?
It's what you wrote in your telegram to Phillip. I assume you held his manuscript.
Good graces, yes. And, much to my delight, more than one publisher was
interested in the piece, but I'd promised Phillip I would obtain his blessing before
sending it off with anyone. There was much to consider in such a decision,
but I never got ahold of him.
(20:32):
So, he never rang you back?
No.
What did you do with the manuscript?
I still have it. Not on me, of course, at my home in Woodley Park.
Sadly, now that Phillip's passed, its value is apt to rise significantly.
How so?
Works by posthumous artists tend to gain substantial value.
But, who will profit from its sale?
Phillip's estate, I suppose. I also have a valid contract as his agent. So, if I
(21:01):
can still manage to sell it, I should be entitled to my cut of the profits.
It seems Phillip's more valuable to you dead than alive.
That's very cold. I loved Phillip just like a brother.
He's already got a sister, sister. And she's in town trying to figure out why you shoved her brother off your parents' roof.
Good lord. I was fast asleep when whatever occurred to Phillip.
(21:22):
Wait, when did you discover there'd been an incident?
Until you sat me down, I hadn't heard anything--
Save it. If I hear one more false word drip from that pretty trap, so help me, Zoroaster,
you'll be having this conversation behind bars.
Look. I wasn't asleep long before I felt a strong draft coming from downstairs.
Phillip left the living room door open. I was aghast at the sight of his lifeless body.
(21:46):
I went over to check on him, but he hadn't any pulse. I wasn't supposed to
be there in the first place, and I presumed no one had seen me arrive with him earlier.
Given his placement on the back patio, I locked the doors and grabbed my mother's
mink coat. I couldn't find a taxi, so I walked the entire length of the Taft Bridge
in the wee morning hours back to my home. I must have appeared to
(22:08):
onlookers like a regular nymph of the pave.
You were so sure he was dead; you didn't even call for an ambulance?
I panicked. I admit it wasn't my best decision. I'd been out drinking late into
the night before encountering Phillip. Honestly, I just wanted to get some rest.
And I couldn't sleep somewhere knowing there was a corpse downstairs.
He could have been rotting out there for days without the intervention of a curious canine and his owner.
(22:30):
So, you would have waited 'till when to alert anyone of Phillip's condition?
It's a moot point.
Something tells me Irma here is used to other people cleaning up her messes.
It's a dreadful affair. I was afraid someone might gain the false impression
I had something to do with it.
You gave a morphine addict alcohol. Ever hear of laudanum, lady?
(22:51):
I didn't know. I'd never seen him in such a state. Honestly, I just thought he was very drunk.
And, unlike some men, I didn't envision such a delicate boy could transform into
something so garish as, say, a mean drunk. I couldn't imagine a drop more of
sherry would upset the apple cart. It makes me sick even considering it might have--
(23:13):
Contributed directly to his untimely death. Why a jury might even call that manslaughter?
Be reasonable, now. If you speak another word of criminal liability, I'll sue you for defamation of character.
Whoa. Easy counselor. He's just pointing out why you need to help us get to the bottom of this.
What bottom is there?
Would it surprise you that we found Mr. Calder Evans searching Phillip's room last night?
(23:35):
He was after his journal and Phillip's manuscript.
Good graces. What a little sneak. And after all the trouble he's caused poor Phillip.
Is there anything in the manuscript that Calder might consider unsuitable for publication?
I haven't read the entire thing. My word, no. It's an opus. But knowing what little I
understand of Calder's past, there would be specific personal stories he might
(23:58):
object to being made public. Its core thesis is on overcoming material
dependence. So, naturally, Calder's wraith spirit encounter featured prominently
Wraith spirit, do you mean a ghost?
I've got that angled covered. I'll fill you in later.
Bananas. Now there's a ghost to worry about too?
Lemme get this straight. An addict's guide to kicking an addiction. Who dies
(24:21):
from falling off the wagon. I think you'll need to work on your sales pitch.
How quickly can you deliver the manuscript?
I feel I owe it to Phillip to try my utmost to get it published.
Lady, we ain't interested in selling it. We just need to understand if all these strange connections add up to something.
But I don't understand. How would Phillip's manuscript have anything to do with his death?
(24:42):
We haven't ruled anyone out, including you.
Best you cooperate with our investigation.
I'm considering it, as well as procuring legal counsel.
Lady, you won't need a good lawyer if the press gets wind of this story.
They'll have sent you to the gallows before they even start jury selection.
Now, what's it going to be? Are you going to help us or not?
(25:03):
[GLASS IS SET DOWN ON THE TABLE.]
I never want to see either one of you again. I'll have a courier bring it over in the morning. Will that suffice?
You can leave it for me at the reception desk of the Mayflower Hotel.
Very well, gentleman. I bid you adieu.
[THE DRUMS ARE WARMING UP.]
(25:23):
It looks like the band is heating up. Time for us to bolt if you want to chat about our new friend.
Sure, but first, I need you to fill me in about this ghost story.
As soon as we get out of here and find a pint of bourbon. Then I'd be glad to regale
you all about it. Doubt you'll believe a word of it, though.
How can you be so sure?
'Cause to men like you, ghosts only exist in A Christmas Carol.
(25:44):
Hey, there's something you should know. I didn't think much of it before.
The spot where Phillip fell--
Or was pushed.
Sure. A circular sculpture is on the house's exterior, some twenty feet up.
Two Greek or Roman gals in togas are playing instruments with a child.
A Roman rondel frieze. Interesting.
And the babe's playing too?
Yup. Irma said Phillip heard music. I just wonder if--
(26:06):
[MUSIC INTRO FOR PERFORMERS. APPLAUSE.]
C'mon, let's make tracks. It's time you understood what we're up against.
[OUTRO MUSIC.]
Dupont Investigations is written by Marc Benjamin Langston and directed, edited, and sound-designed by Bryce Bowyn.
(26:29):
Keep your ears in the 1930s by becoming a DUPONT INVESTIGATOR.
Access our private discord server "The Inside Scoop"
or explore Torsten Somersby's recovered case file by visiting
nocturnehall.com/investigator
Dupont Investigations (26:45):
The Scourge from Carthage Part 3 features
Lindsay Gee as ROWENA NESBIT
Marc Benjamin Langston as TORSTEN SOMERSBY
Jacob Lowman as NIGEL CLEMMONS
Kara Turner as IRMA KRAUSE AND
Bryce Bowyn as M.C.
The Original theme song, "Devils of Dupont," written and performed by
(27:08):
Bryce Bowyn, is available wherever you stream music. For individuals and families
facing mental health or substance use disorders in the United States, listeners can
call the free, confidential National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP.
That's 1-800-662-H-E-L-P.
Nocturne Hall presents an original audio drama intended only for an adult audience.
(00:08):
Devils walk among us. Some just a mile north of the White House.
Whether conjured or elected, they prey on the innocent all the same.
Most won't even listen, so folks knock on the one door in the District of Crime who will.
(00:34):
Dupont Investigations.
[Music (00:36):
I never thought my heart would mend]
You taught me how to love again]
It's you and me until the end]
Oh, we?ll paint this whole town red]
Just the devils, the devils of Dupont]
(00:56):
Just the devils, the devils of Dupont]
This is The Scourge from Carthage Part 3.
[PICKING UP TELEPHONE RECEIVER. DIAL TONE. SIX ROTARY DIALS. TWO RINGS.]
(01:20):
Nesbit Residence.
Hi, Angel. I know it's early, but I've got a favor to ask.
Torsten, is that you? I was just reading about you in yesterday's Evening Star.
Some story, wasn't it? Look, I'm in a bit of a rush this morning.
Do you have a copy of the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas in your Roman lit collection?
(01:40):
In English or Latin?
Oh, Rowena, Latin's a dead language. It killed off all the Romans, and it'd probably
kill me if you can't track down the translation.
Wait one minute.
Alright, you're in luck. I've got the latest translation of their martyrdom by W.H. Shewing.
(02:01):
Thank the gods. Would you be a peach and bring it to my office as soon as possible?
Torsten. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?
I don't just sit around all day waiting for you to call, you know.
But I suppose I could bring it by around half past eleven. But only if it's important--
Oh, terribly important. I'd say a life depends on it, but he's already dead.
(02:22):
My word.
I'll have to catch up with you another time, though. I'm headed out myself, but
remember, I always keep the outer door unlocked in case I ever get another prospect willing to wait.
I remember. And I have another translation I'll bring over as well.
Another ancient tome?
No, far more recent, but also set in Carthage. It's not a historical text,
(02:42):
but Gustave Flaubert's Salammbo.
Now, Rowe, why would I waste my time with some nineteenth-century novel?
Oh, Torsten. Sometimes you lack all imagination--
Angel, I really am in a rush--
Salammbo is set during the Mercenary Revolt on the heels of Carthage's First Punic War with Rome.
I recall that one didn't turn out so well for Carthage. But that's what--some four
(03:04):
hundred years before Perpetua's martyrdom?
To understand the ancient people of Carthage, you must appreciate their Gods.
Flaubert treats them with the reverence they commanded.
To a modern reader, it's all too simple to dismiss them outright,
but Torsten, to those people, they didn't just mean a great deal--they meant everything.
Enough to send early Christians to their slaughter. Of course, you're right.
(03:25):
I promise to give it a scan. But I'm afraid I do need to ring off now.
I'll leave the texts while you're out.
Swell, Angel. I'll owe ya one.
And Torsten. Be careful.
I'll do my best, Angel. Bye now.
[HANG UP THE RECEIVER.]
Torsten. Are you in there?
Yeah, Nige. Come on back.
[THE FRONT OFFICE DOOR SHUTS. FOOTSTEPS.]
I thought you were headed to the coroner's office first thing--
(03:48):
Get a load of this. Today's Herald reports Steeples Tobacco heir, Phillip
Steeples, went missing during his stay in Washington, possible kidnapping.
That's blood in the water. Did you warn Mrs. Barr?
The sharks will be circling the Mayflower at any moment.
I called on her before coming here. Although she didn't seem surprised.
What about the ME's report?
(04:09):
I wasn't sure they'd let me leave with a copy.
So, hoping next of kin might have better odds, we sent Lilah's husband to fetch it.
It'll be interesting if the ME's report shows any scrapes or contusions on his extremities.
And what would you expect would have caused them?
You better have a seat.
Ahh, is your hunch from reading Calder's journal?
Yeah.
After you called, I eventually fell asleep again and got caught in a vivid
(04:32):
dream of me just wandering around some old ruins.
Were they circular?
What?
The ruins.
Come to thank of it they were. I kept going around and around,
but I was drawn to a central spot near one end with a twisting column
crowned by a stone cross.
(04:54):
What do you think it means--if anything?
Hard to say at this point, but I'm looking into it.
How?
A friend is bringing by a text later, which might prove relevant.
But there's an entry in the journal which bears a fair similarity to your dreams.
I'd suggest you have a go at it, but the handwriting is tough--
Tell me then.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves and start from the beginning.
(05:17):
The first part is a familiar tale I've heard from other vets returning from the front.
They spend weeks training in the states without gaining any useful skills whatsoever.
Once they hit France, it's a big game of hurry up and wait.
Calder Evans' company purchases some horses, then they load and
unload fleets of train cars come day or night, rain or shine.
(05:41):
Excitement finally hits when they arrive at the front at the commencement of the Battle of Saint-Mihiel.
General Pershing's big push to overtake the German lines, right?
Sure, but dear Calder never heard a word of the plan until the sky overhead
explodes with fire, and the forest shakes from unabated shelling.
Hmm. Dreadful.
(06:03):
As they advance as part of the Meuse-Argonne offensive, they pitched their
pup tents within enemy firing range. The Huns shell them so
severely he should have been killed. But, as fate would have it, he barely got a scratch.
Still, an overzealous medic tends to his wound--and considering the cut deeper
than it was or just trying to give the guy a break--Calder gets his first taste of morphine.
(06:27):
Christ.
Oh, we'll get to him in a minute. Or at least his followers.
I don't like where this is going.
Too bad. You're already along for the ride.
So, Calder starts hoarding morphine tablets from every medical station he can manage.
And he's not alone. There's a whole underground racket.
According to him, most men in his company were keen to partake in
(06:50):
excessive dosages of anything they could pop down the hatch.
Then one night, Calder's so doped up that he's unable to move after they're ordered to clear the trench.
The enemy advances, and he plays dead.
At that point, he says he wants to die. And that's when it happens.
What happens?
Stop interrupting, and you'll hear about it. His eyes open to a luminous glow.
(07:12):
Before him, a ladder of gold appears from nowhere, bright as Saint Peter's gates,
stretching high above the trenches to the clouds.
Over the whistles, artillery, and small arms fire, he hears instruments.
Lyres and drums.
How's that possible?
It ain't.
He muscles the rungs and begins his ascent. It's a slow climb,
(07:35):
which is good as he soon notices it's lined with sharp hooks and daggers.
Then he hears the grumbling of a beast below. He feels hot breath on his shins,
and the thing snarls with a preternatural howl.
He hastens his ascent, snagging himself here or there on the odd sword and saber.
He must have been high as a kite.
(07:56):
Well, sure, but he journaled this all on his return voyage to the States. Sober as a judge.
I assume he made it to the top?
First, he saw a man above waving him up.
He took the encouragement and kept climbing.
Topside, he discovered a merry little band in age-old garb
playing instruments in a sprawling garden.
(08:18):
He couldn't understand their language, but they stopped playing and brought him
over to an old geezer milking a goat.
With just one pensive gaze from the old man, Calder awoke in a medic's tent
five miles from the trench.
They'd found him not far away, caught in barbed wire.
(08:39):
He had run there all on his own.
Even with all that dope in his system?
So he claims.
But what does one hophead's story have to do with Phillip?
Suppose it's a matter of belief.
Belief in what?
Coincidences.
Are you trying to say Phillip fell at the judge's house in some botched
attempt to climb to heaven?
(09:00):
That's total malarkey.
I can't say. He's not here to speak for himself, either.
Maybe we'd have a better clue if we could track down his manuscript.
Still, we've got two morphine addicts and one free fall.
But Calder didn't plummet, right?
I'm not even sure he ever left the ground. Maybe he just climbed out of that trench.
(09:20):
What about the woman from my dream?
Not quite sure yet. Neither is Calder, but we've got our suspicions.
Shoot, it's half past nine. I've gotta let some movers into Phillip's place at quarter till.
Isn't that what the manager's for?
We'd like to keep the number of utterances of Phillip Steeples to a minimum
now that the press is on the trail.
(09:41):
That's probably for the best.
After the Cairo, I'll swing by the hotel and review the ME's report.
Shall we meet somewhere for lunch?
I'd love to, but I'm not sure how long I'll last.
Plus, one bite in me, and I'll be dozing off.
I want to cover this last bit of lit before taking a siesta.
Why don't you have an automobile? We're always taking cabs everywhere?
(10:02):
You kiddin'. I drink too much to get behind the wheel.
Besides, cabbies are a great source of information.
You wouldn't believe the things they pick up from their passengers.
So, shall we split a cab thento the Theosophy meeting--
Heck, no. We shouldn't arrive together. Lest they make us from the jump.
True. We aim to get the jump on them.
(10:22):
Oh, they'll have you pegged as a skeptic from the start.
Without you by my side, I at least have a chance of blending in.
But you're the one that's so well-known.
Ah, but the papers never printed a picture of me, see.
I never let them take one.
So, those Theosophists won't know this mug from Methuselah's.
[UPBEAT MUSIC.
(10:48):
MODERATE AUDIENCE APPLAUSE.]
Thank you, Mr. Kendall, for your lovely overview of Theosophy.
If you're a newcomer tonight--and I see several new faces, which excites us--
please know that it can all be a bit overwhelming at first.
But, in time, you'll come to recognize and internalize the fundamentals.
(11:10):
One of my anchor points is a passage from the first volume of
Ms. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky's magazine Lucifer.
She regarded Theosophy not as a religion but rather since all religions
spring from universal wisdom, which unites us--
(11:31):
Theosophy represents the universal brotherhood of religion itself.
[COUGH FROM THE AUDIENCE.]
As Mr. Kendall kindly stated in his introduction, my name is Ms. Irma Krause.
She say Krause?
Shush now.
We reserve this time to receive updates on the latest scholarship from our members.
(11:53):
It is my distinct pleasure tonight to share with you my findings upon returning from Baltimore,
where I attended an illuminating lecture by Mr. Fritz Kunz.
[MEAGER AUDIENCE APPLAUSE.]
A few of us are undoubtedly familiar with Mr. Kunz's pamphlet entitled, Sex Concepts for the New Age.
(12:14):
However, I'm sure many of you are uninitiated.
At our lecture, Mr. Kunz first reminded the ladies and gentlemen of the audience
that despite our separate physical forms, our astral selves drive our physical bodies.
Even our present form, which we wear like clothing, is the product of Nature's evolution--
(12:36):
as old as the time when our planet cooled, and the very first creatures came into corporeal shape.
And just as the age of man derives from the giant Saurians, Nature's evolution continues.
For the past decade, Mr. Kunz observed the emergence of a queer, intermediate sex across our country's population.
(12:59):
In the New Age coming, he believes women will become more liberated in their clothing.
Men will change too, but he sees a more marked advancement among women.
He claims that this new race, humanity's Sixth Sub-race,
will not recognize their gendered differences but will only come to regard the burning aura of their souls.
(13:26):
Thank you.
[MODERATE AUDIENCE APPLAUSE. MOVEMENT.]
What color do you think they'd attribute to my soul's burning aura?
You? Same color as your fedora. Now forget these nuts and focus on
convincing this dame to have a little private chat with us elsewhere.
Alright. Do you have a spot in mind?
Sure do. And best let me do most of the talking.
(13:53):
Ms. Krause. You wouldn't by any chance happen to be any relation to Judge Krause from the Municipal Court?
Why yes. He's my father.
I hope you'r e not cross with him.
Not at all. I hold him in high regard.
Whew. He's always putting someone behind bars, so you can never tell.
Nature of his position, I suppose. My name's Torsten Somersby.
(14:15):
How do you do?
And I, too, am a lingering admirer of yours Ms. Krause. Name's Nigel Clemmons.
Somersby. Why does that name sounds familiar?
I dabble in occult literature. Perhaps you've read some of my work,
although I'm most fascinated by your comments tonight.
I found Mr. Kunz's lecture enthralling as well.
(14:36):
If you're free after the meeting, I must insist you allow me to buy you a drink
at the Show Boat Tap Room just around the corner.
You'll find there that the queer, intermediate sex is indeed upon us.
Do you suppose Mr. Kunz would be interested in her observations?
Undoubtedly, Mr. Clemmons. Why you, too, should tag along.
(14:56):
Well, I'm not sure, gentleman.
Please, ma'am. It would be our treat to be your escort.
Ms. Krause, is all you see before you two men not two burning auras,
eager to share your pursuit of truth?
Did you say it's close?
Just around the corner.
We'll wait for you outside.
Alright. I do love a good cocktail on a Friday night.
(15:20):
[TRANSITION MUSIC. VIGOUROUS AUDIENCE APPLUASE AND CHEERS.]
There you have it, folks, another terrific set from Chloe and Lover Boy.
These canaries will take a short break but stick around for more tunes in ten minutes' time.
(15:43):
You're right, Torsten. In this joint, I can hardly tell whose male or female.
Ah, there he is with another round.
Here you are.
So, Irma. How was the Belvedere? I've never stayed there before.
It was lovely, but how did you know that's where I lodged in Baltimore?
We read your telegram to Phillip Steeples.
Why ever would you--
(16:04):
We're two private dicks working his case.
I must protest. You've lured me here on false pretenses.
C'mon. We've not done anything objectionable but buy you drinks.
And we delivered on our promise that this place would interest you.
I'm afraid I must be going.
Not so fast, sister. Unless you want me to ring that pestering leech of a
reporter I know at the Star who would be very interested to learn how Judge
(16:26):
Krause's daughter corresponded with the corpse they found on the Judge's back patio early Wednesday morning.
Or I could let a certain detective from the Metropolitan Police Department in on this little development.
What corpse? I don't know what you're talking about.
Not very convincing. Look, we know your parents are in Portugal, and
there's no sign of any staff at the house. So, that leaves you with the key to the front door.
(16:51):
Good lord. It's not what you think. I was out late on Tuesday at some rathskeller off Connecticut.
I left around midnight only to find Phillip glassy-eyed, mumbling on a storefront stoop.
He's been good for such a long time, but lately, he's been worrisome.
Worrisome, how?
He's pretty modest in his consumption of alcohol. And often judgmental of
(17:15):
those who've imbibed in excess. Why I've seen him scold one stupid drunk so
aggressively, it would have warmed the heart of the old Hatchet Granny herself.
I didn't have Phillip pegged for the Carrie Nation type based on the
missing vial of morphine we found in his room.
Vial of morphine. Good lord.
So, that's what he was on that night?
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
(17:37):
You see, we weren't far from my parent's house. I live in Woodley Park,
so we'd have to take a cab in his condition, but few were operating. I got
him to his feet and lured him to my parent's house. The walk helped him come to.
He became talkative again. We had a glass of sherry as a nightcap,
but I left him alone for one minute and lost him. I ventured outside and found
(17:58):
him on the Spanish Steps rambling nonsense about hearing music, but
it was quiet as a church mouse at that hour.
What kind of music?
I couldn't say. It was thirty degrees outside.
All I cared about was getting him back inside and hitting the hay.
What do you suppose knocked Phillip off the wagon?
I hate to comment on a man's personal affairs.
I knew Phillip from growing up. I'm sure he'd want us to understand what led to
(18:22):
his demise. No matter how unpleasant the scenario.
It's a complicated tale. Do you know a Mr. Calder Evans?
We understand they were pretty close. Perhaps more than casual acquaintances.
For better or for worse.
They met at one of our Friday night classes almost a year ago. Mr. Evans
(18:43):
had a sincere interest in past lives, but he lost interest in the overall
teachings of Theosophy. Still, he was a welcome social presence.
He and Phillip became involved--I'm not sure the extent to which--
We get it, sister. No need to beat around the bush.
Alright, fine. They had a romance.
Had?
(19:03):
Correct. They seemed fine until a week ago when Calder discovered Phillip
hadn't quite kicked his dope habit. I swear, no one unaware would ever
suspect Phillip as a hophead. He was adept at hiding it.
I thought you said when you spotted Phillip at that store front off Connecticut
Avenue you didn't know he was doped?
I knew he was gone alright, but not what substance was responsible for his condition.
(19:27):
How did Calder find out?
I'm not sure, but his discovery precipitated a real row between them.
And the timing couldn't have been worse.
Why's that?
Phillip was already terribly behind on his manuscript. He went incommunicado
for a few days after their tete-a-tete, which wasn't out of the ordinary.
So, let's see. I came to take him to lunch on Tuesday since
(19:50):
we were barreling toward our deadline.
What deadline?
I was to take his manuscript to the Theosophist lecture series in Baltimore.
Some successful publishers with proficiency in selling similar works were attending.
I promised to share Phillip's work with them, but if any offered to review the complete manuscript,
he needed to complete the text.
Holding package.
(20:11):
Pardon?
It's what you wrote in your telegram to Phillip. I assume you held his manuscript.
Good graces, yes. And, much to my delight, more than one publisher was
interested in the piece, but I'd promised Phillip I would obtain his blessing before
sending it off with anyone. There was much to consider in such a decision,
but I never got ahold of him.
(20:32):
So, he never rang you back?
No.
What did you do with the manuscript?
I still have it. Not on me, of course, at my home in Woodley Park.
Sadly, now that Phillip's passed, its value is apt to rise significantly.
How so?
Works by posthumous artists tend to gain substantial value.
But, who will profit from its sale?
Phillip's estate, I suppose. I also have a valid contract as his agent. So, if I
(21:01):
can still manage to sell it, I should be entitled to my cut of the profits.
It seems Phillip's more valuable to you dead than alive.
That's very cold. I loved Phillip just like a brother.
He's already got a sister, sister. And she's in town trying to figure out why you shoved her brother off your parents' roof.
Good lord. I was fast asleep when whatever occurred to Phillip.
(21:22):
Wait, when did you discover there'd been an incident?
Until you sat me down, I hadn't heard anything--
Save it. If I hear one more false word drip from that pretty trap, so help me, Zoroaster,
you'll be having this conversation behind bars.
Look. I wasn't asleep long before I felt a strong draft coming from downstairs.
Phillip left the living room door open. I was aghast at the sight of his lifeless body.
(21:46):
I went over to check on him, but he hadn't any pulse. I wasn't supposed to
be there in the first place, and I presumed no one had seen me arrive with him earlier.
Given his placement on the back patio, I locked the doors and grabbed my mother's
mink coat. I couldn't find a taxi, so I walked the entire length of the Taft Bridge
in the wee morning hours back to my home. I must have appeared to
(22:08):
onlookers like a regular nymph of the pave.
You were so sure he was dead; you didn't even call for an ambulance?
I panicked. I admit it wasn't my best decision. I'd been out drinking late into
the night before encountering Phillip. Honestly, I just wanted to get some rest.
And I couldn't sleep somewhere knowing there was a corpse downstairs.
He could have been rotting out there for days without the intervention of a curious canine and his owner.
(22:30):
So, you would have waited 'till when to alert anyone of Phillip's condition?
It's a moot point.
Something tells me Irma here is used to other people cleaning up her messes.
It's a dreadful affair. I was afraid someone might gain the false impression
I had something to do with it.
You gave a morphine addict alcohol. Ever hear of laudanum, lady?
(22:51):
I didn't know. I'd never seen him in such a state. Honestly, I just thought he was very drunk.
And, unlike some men, I didn't envision such a delicate boy could transform into
something so garish as, say, a mean drunk. I couldn't imagine a drop more of
sherry would upset the apple cart. It makes me sick even considering it might have--
(23:13):
Contributed directly to his untimely death. Why a jury might even call that manslaughter?
Be reasonable, now. If you speak another word of criminal liability, I'll sue you for defamation of character.
Whoa. Easy counselor. He's just pointing out why you need to help us get to the bottom of this.
What bottom is there?
Would it surprise you that we found Mr. Calder Evans searching Phillip's room last night?
(23:35):
He was after his journal and Phillip's manuscript.
Good graces. What a little sneak. And after all the trouble he's caused poor Phillip.
Is there anything in the manuscript that Calder might consider unsuitable for publication?
I haven't read the entire thing. My word, no. It's an opus. But knowing what little I
understand of Calder's past, there would be specific personal stories he might
(23:58):
object to being made public. Its core thesis is on overcoming material
dependence. So, naturally, Calder's wraith spirit encounter featured prominently
Wraith spirit, do you mean a ghost?
I've got that angled covered. I'll fill you in later.
Bananas. Now there's a ghost to worry about too?
Lemme get this straight. An addict's guide to kicking an addiction. Who dies
(24:21):
from falling off the wagon. I think you'll need to work on your sales pitch.
How quickly can you deliver the manuscript?
I feel I owe it to Phillip to try my utmost to get it published.
Lady, we ain't interested in selling it. We just need to understand if all these strange connections add up to something.
But I don't understand. How would Phillip's manuscript have anything to do with his death?
(24:42):
We haven't ruled anyone out, including you.
Best you cooperate with our investigation.
I'm considering it, as well as procuring legal counsel.
Lady, you won't need a good lawyer if the press gets wind of this story.
They'll have sent you to the gallows before they even start jury selection.
Now, what's it going to be? Are you going to help us or not?
(25:03):
[GLASS IS SET DOWN ON THE TABLE.]
I never want to see either one of you again. I'll have a courier bring it over in the morning. Will that suffice?
You can leave it for me at the reception desk of the Mayflower Hotel.
Very well, gentleman. I bid you adieu.
[THE DRUMS ARE WARMING UP.]
(25:23):
It looks like the band is heating up. Time for us to bolt if you want to chat about our new friend.
Sure, but first, I need you to fill me in about this ghost story.
As soon as we get out of here and find a pint of bourbon. Then I'd be glad to regale
you all about it. Doubt you'll believe a word of it, though.
How can you be so sure?
'Cause to men like you, ghosts only exist in A Christmas Carol.
(25:44):
Hey, there's something you should know. I didn't think much of it before.
The spot where Phillip fell--
Or was pushed.
Sure. A circular sculpture is on the house's exterior, some twenty feet up.
Two Greek or Roman gals in togas are playing instruments with a child.
A Roman rondel frieze. Interesting.
And the babe's playing too?
Yup. Irma said Phillip heard music. I just wonder if--
(26:06):
[MUSIC INTRO FOR PERFORMERS. APPLAUSE.]
C'mon, let's make tracks. It's time you understood what we're up against.
[OUTRO MUSIC.]
Dupont Investigations is written by Marc Benjamin Langston and directed, edited, and sound-designed by Bryce Bowyn.
(26:29):
Keep your ears in the 1930s by becoming a DUPONT INVESTIGATOR.
Access our private discord server "The Inside Scoop"
or explore Torsten Somersby's recovered case file by visiting
nocturnehall.com/investigator
Dupont Investigations (26:45):
The Scourge from Carthage Part 3 features
Lindsay Gee as ROWENA NESBIT
Marc Benjamin Langston as TORSTEN SOMERSBY
Jacob Lowman as NIGEL CLEMMONS
Kara Turner as IRMA KRAUSE AND
Bryce Bowyn as M.C.
The Original theme song, "Devils of Dupont," written and performed by
(27:08):
Bryce Bowyn, is available wherever you stream music. For individuals and families
facing mental health or substance use disorders in the United States, listeners can
call the free, confidential National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP.
That's 1-800-662-H-E-L-P.
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