Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 622 The Joy of One Franc

In his apartment on Boulevard Saint-Germain, bank clerk Ernest Laforet has just finished reading the last page of "Murder on the Orient Express".

He let out a long sigh, his fingers still resting on the spine of the book, as if reluctant to let the story truly end.

Like all Parisian readers, he was deeply impressed by Hercule Poirot.

That elegant mustache, that unhurried way of questioning, and that final choice filled with humanitarian brilliance—that's the true French detective!

But he soon discovered the inside back cover page, "The Murder on the Brest Express".

Last night, on a first-class express train from Montparnasse station to Brest, a port city in Brittany, a young naval lieutenant discovered the body of a noblewoman who had been stabbed to death under her seat in the compartment.

This morning, Le Figaro published the identity of the deceased: she was Madame Frosty Carrington, daughter of Parisian industrial magnate Étienne Arnoux.

Mr. Arnu didn't believe the authorities could catch the murderer quickly. He hired Detective Hercule Poirot, hoping to get justice for his daughter.

And you—those who are inextricably linked to this case—are gathered at this moment in the study of the Alnu residence.

Raindrops patter against the windowpane, the fireplace flickers—a long-buried secret awaits to be revealed.

Ernest Laforet immediately noticed something below the text—a few small, exquisitely printed cards.

The first card depicts a man with a mustache, dressed in a well-tailored suit—undoubtedly Poirot; the second card shows an officer in a naval uniform; the third is a richly dressed noblewoman…

There are a few more, depicting a woman in servant's attire, a gentleman in a top hat, and a short man who looks furtive...

Below the card image is a line of simple text:

Want to experience what it's like to be "Detective Poirot"?
"Murder on the Brest Express: Deduction and Solving Card Set" is available for purchase today, priced at 1 franc per set.

Please refer to the included instruction manual for detailed game rules.

Ernest Laforet's eyes widened, he sat up abruptly, held the book up to the lamp, and examined it closely.

This is not a preview of the next novel!

This is...this is a game! A puzzle game you can play on your own!
He remembered! It was mentioned in the report in Le Figaro—

On the Orient Express, Lionel had passengers draw cards, role-play, and work together to complete the murder story!
When Ernest read that report, he was incredibly envious.

He also wanted to sit in the salon carriage of a luxury train, among other gentlemen and ladies, draw a character card, and become a part of the story—

Even playing a small role would be fine!

But now... now it only costs 1 franc? Only 1 franc!

Ernest's heart pounded. He glanced at the clock on the fireplace—it was 7:30 p.m.

The bookstore is definitely closed. But tomorrow! He's going first thing tomorrow morning!
No, we can't wait until tomorrow morning. What if someone else discovers the secret too? What if they're sold out by tomorrow morning?
He stood up and paced around the room, trying to think of a solution... Just then, the doorbell rang.

Ernest opened the door to find his neighbor, Pierre Dupont, a lowly proofreader at a newspaper.

Pierre was also holding a copy of "Murder on the Orient Express," his face flushed with excitement.

"Ernest! Did you see that? Inside the back cover!"

"You noticed too?" Ernest pulled Pierre into the room. "I was just thinking about it! One franc! Just one franc to be 'Poirot'!"

Pierre lowered his voice, his eyes gleaming: "I know a clerk who's an apprentice in a bookstore in the opera district; he sleeps there at night!"

"Sleeping in the shop? That means he can open the door for us?"

"Maybe—but how will we know if we don't try?"

"Wait a moment, I'll go put on my coat! We'll be leaving right away."

The two young men looked at each other and saw the determination in each other's eyes.

That night, Paris had countless Ernests and Pierres.

They finished reading "Murder on the Orient Express," and, still wanting more, turned to the back cover, where they discovered the secret.

First came surprise, then ecstasy.

They already knew how the passengers on the Orient Express, guided by Lionel, had played a thrilling game of deduction using cards.

The reports vividly described the process—politicians arguing heatedly, ladies engrossed in their roles, and reporters frantically taking notes…

Now, you can enjoy this process for just 1 franc?
Almost every reader who discovered this secret felt a fire ignite in their heart.

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On the morning of December 1st, Paris was shrouded in a gray, chilly atmosphere.

At just seven o'clock, as dawn was breaking, a large crowd had once again gathered at the intersection where "Charpentier's Bookshelf" was located.

People rubbed their hands and stomped their feet, their breath drifting in the halo of the kerosene streetlights.

Even the "Lenoble Bookstore" on the street corner had a queue.

As dawn broke, the line grew longer and longer. By 6:30, they had already turned the corner and could no longer see the end of the line.

The people in line were a diverse bunch. There were office workers in thick woolen coats, maids wrapped in shawls, and students carrying books...

There were even a few uniformed mail carriers—they probably came straight from after get off work.

A buzzing sound of conversation arose.

"You read the back cover too?"

"Of course! I was reading until midnight last night, and only realized it after I closed the book!" "Me too! I almost missed it!"

"One franc! It's practically free!"

"You mean this game is really the same as the one played on the Orient Express?"

"The newspapers make it sound so amazing, it must be true."

"I wanted to play last night, I can't wait."

At eight o'clock, shops on the street began to open one after another. The aroma of bakeries wafted out, milkmen pushed their carts by, and horse-drawn carriages began to drive onto the street.

But none of the people in line left; their eyes were fixed on the bookstore's still-closed door.

At nine o'clock, the bookstore doors finally opened, and the crowd stirred and rushed inside.

Inside the bookstore, dozens of dark blue cardboard boxes were piled on the counter directly opposite the entrance, with gold lettering printed on the covers—

"The Murder on the Brest Express: Deduction and Decryption Deck".

There was also a small sign next to it: 1 franc per pair, limited to 2 pairs per person.

The customer at the front of the line eagerly pulled out his coins: "Give me two pairs! Thank you!"

The waiter deftly handed him two cardboard boxes. The boxes were slightly larger than the playing card box and felt quite heavy.

Customers who bought the product couldn't wait to open the cardboard box as soon as they stepped outside the store.

Inside was a thick stack of cards, about the size of a deck of cards, with a rulebook on top.

"Six people can play... One person needs to be the host, one person needs to play Poirot... The others draw role cards... The role cards contain public and private information... There are also clue cards that are distributed in stages... The game is divided into three acts..."

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On the street, more and more people are carrying the same cardboard box.

On this day, from Saint-Germain to Marais, from Montmartre to the Latin Quarter, queues formed in front of almost every bookstore and every bookstall.

Reporters from Le Figaro sprang into action. The midday extra edition featured a shocking headline on its front page: "All of Paris is searching for the murderer!"

The subtitle reads: "Lional Sorel's new invention, a 1-franc mystery game, sweeps the city."

The report detailed the long queues at bookstores in the early morning and also interviewed several citizens who managed to buy a deck of cards.

A baker said, "I don't usually read novels, but my wife insisted that I buy them, so I left home at six in the morning."

One of the female students said, "Our literary society is planning to play this at our gathering tonight. There are seven of us, which is just right."

An old man shook his head: "Young people these days, spending 1 franc to buy a few pieces of paper? When I was young..."

But he also had a deck of cards in his hand.

By 2 p.m., the first batch of 20,000 decks of cards distributed in Paris had all sold out.

A sign hung at the entrance of Charpentier's bookshelf: "The 'Brest Express' game set is sold out today. Restocking will be done tomorrow."

Those who couldn't buy it were filled with regret.

Those who bought the item were overjoyed and rushed home, or to a coffee shop or a friend's house—they were going to have a get-together.

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George Charpentier sat in his office, looking at a stack of telegrams in front of him, his brow furrowing and relaxing intermittently.

He hadn't expected Lionel's little trick to be so popular. One franc for a deck of cards? That's practically robbery!
Charpentier tossed the telegram onto the table and began issuing instructions to Bruton, the head of the printing department, in front of him:
"There's a shortage everywhere! Lyon needs 1,200 sets, Marseille needs 900 sets, Bordeaux needs 1,000 sets... Our stock ran out this morning."

"How many more should we print?"

"Print another 15,000 copies!"

"So many? One deck of cards can be played by several people, and can be played repeatedly..."

Charpentier glanced at him: "If you print too many, they'll just sit in your hands. If you can't sell them all, you can keep them for yourself."

Since the boss had said so, Brudon naturally had no further objections, nodded, and left.

George Charpentier stood up, walked to the window, and silently watched the crowd still queuing downstairs.

Some came to buy "Murder on the Orient Express," while others came to buy mystery and puzzle decks.

Regardless of which one they buy, they are all customers brought in by Lionel.

Charpentier knew that Lionel was not just a writer; his mind was full of fresh ideas, and yet they all seemed to succeed.

Then he remembered the grand "theme park" construction plan that Lionel had once told him, the plan that he had rejected...

Now, he no longer has the opportunity to invest – the Rothschild family has raised the entry threshold to a level that he cannot afford.

He has decided that whatever Lionel decides to do from now on, he will be there for him immediately...

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On the right bank of the Seine, in the wealthy district of Passy, ​​in the grand villa of the Rothschild family, a "deduction game" is in full swing.

The regal and elegant Madame Rothschild, seated at the head of the table, holding a host's card, addressed a noblewoman:

“I regret to inform you, Countess La Rochefoucauld, that your reasoning is flawed! As ‘Poirot,’ you have overlooked a crucial clue…”

(Two chapters complete! Thank you everyone!)
(End of this chapter)