MISTER MYSTERY RESPONDS

The long convalescence that the recovery of the serious wounds that I pretended to have suffered had implied, gave me time to reflect on what my life had been until then. A life of boredom, leisure and vain occupations in which I was the only object of my thoughts. A wasted life. Providence had now put within my reach a means of amending me. And I wasn't going to miss it. I was going to devote my super powers to helping people, especially those who couldn't help themselves. Of course, I should get used to leading a double life. My public figure as a member of the high society with a samurai ancestor should be left out of my benefactor task. For this I needed a disguise with which I could not be recognized. Like a penguin disguise. Or a crow disguise. Or a pelican...! I don't know why I always wanted to have a beak. It seemed to me more elegant than that simple slit we call a mouth. After all, flying beings usually have a beak, and I now had the ability to fly. In addition, ...

It is already incontrovertible evidence: I possess super powers. Now, it is absolutely essential that my peers in Parisian high society do not know about it. The incident during the gala dinner at Mme Cambremer's mansion did not contribute precisely to keeping the secret. The news of my sudden blast-off crossing the mansion’s roof has spread like a wildfire across the Tout-Paris accompanied by all kinds of speculation: an anarchist attack with bomb, a possible heartburn ... Naturally, I kept in mind that by now everyone would consider me dead (no normal human being could have survived such an impact). But how could I pretend to be dead without raising suspicion every time I would go to a salon or a high society dinner? No, I couldn’t have died. The only alternative was to pose as seriously injured. So, equipped with a roll of cotton bandages, I slipped away in a room at the Hôtel-Dieu hospital. Before the perplexity of the other patients, I wrapped myself like a mummy and then got ...

Back in Paris, I resumed the old customs. Apparently, my unexpected participation in the Tour de France under a false name completely confused the spies that were following my steps since I left Karlsbad. The last time I saw them, they followed each other in the hope that someone of them would have found my trail again. If the vision of two spies following each other is already unfortunate, the vision of eight spies following each other makes one think of how pathetic human beings can become. And this reminds me of an incident that is too recent and painful, but that I must record here because, thanks to my pathetic performance, I made a surprising discovery. It happened just a week ago during a gala dinner offered by Madame de Cambremer in honor of the new ambassador of the United States of America in France. We were more than forty people, the crème de la crème of the high society of Paris. Mme de Cambremer had hired Maxim's chef especially for the occasion. Well, at some point, ...