Books: The Hollow Needle
M >>
Maurice Leblanc >> The Hollow Needle
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15
"En aval d'Etretat. La Chambre des Demoiselles."
The third line gave him more trouble; and it was not until some
groping that, remembering the position, near the Chambre des
Demoiselles, of the Fort de Frefosse, he ended by almost completely
reconstructing the document:
"En aval d'Etretat. La Chambre des Demoiselles. Sous le Fort de
Frefosse. L'Aiguille creuse."
These were the four great formulas, the essential and general
formulas which you had to know. By means of them, you turned en
aval, that is to say, below or west of Etretat, entered the Chambre
des Demoiselles, in all probability passed under Fort Frefosse and
thus arrived at the Needle.
How? By means of the indications and measurements that constituted
the fourth line:
[Illustration: drawing of an outline of paper with writing and
drawing on it--numbers, dots, some letters, signs and symbols...]
These were evidently the more special formulas to enable you to find
the outlet through which you made your way and the road that led to
the Needle.
Beautrelet at once presumed--and his surmise was no more than the
logical consequence of the document--that, if there really was a
direct communication between the land and the obelisk of the Needle,
the underground passage must start from the Chambre des Demoiselles,
pass under Fort Frefosse, descend perpendicularly the three hundred
feet of cliff and, by means of a tunnel contrived under the rocks of
the sea, end at the Hollow Needle.
Which was the entrance to the underground passage? Did not the two
letters D and F, so plainly cut, point to it and admit to it, with
the aid, perhaps, of some ingenious piece of mechanism?
The whole of the next morning, Isidore strolled about Etretat and
chatted with everybody he met, in order to try and pick up useful
information. At last, in the afternoon, he went up the cliff.
Disguised as a sailor, he had made himself still younger and, in a
pair of trousers too short for him and a fishing jersey, he looked a
mere scape-grace of twelve or thirteen.
As soon as he entered the cave, he knelt down before the letters.
Here a disappointment awaited him. It was no use his striking them,
pushing them, manipulating them in every way: they refused to move.
And it was not long, in fact, before he became aware that they were
really unable to move and that, therefore, they controlled no
mechanism.
And yet--and yet they must mean something! Inquiries which he had
made in the village went to show that no one had ever been able to
explain their existence and that the Abbe Cochet, in his valuable
little book on Etretat,[Footnote: Les Origines d'Etretat. The Abbe
Cochet seems to conclude, in the end, that the two letters are the
initials of a passer-by. The revelations now made prove the fallacy
of the theory.] had also tried in vain to solve this little puzzle.
But Isidore knew what the learned Norman archaeologist did not know,
namely, that the same two letters figured in the document, on the
line containing the indications. Was it a chance coincidence:
Impossible. Well, then--?
An idea suddenly occurred to him, an idea so reasonable, so simple
that he did not doubt its correctness for a second. Were not that D
and that F the initials of the two most important words in the
document, the words that represented--together with the Needle--the
essential stations on the road to be followed: the Chambre des
Demoiselles and Fort Frefosse: D for Demoiselles, F for Frefosse:
the connection was too remarkable to be a mere accidental fact.
In that case, the problem stood thus: the two letters D F represent
the relation that exists between the Chambre des Demoiselles and
Fort Frefosse, the single letter D, which begins the line,
represents the Demoiselles, that is to say, the cave in which you
have to begin by taking up your position, and the single letter F,
placed in the middle of the line, represents Frefosse, that is to
say, the probable entrance to the underground passage.
Between these various signs, are two more: first, a sort of
irregular rectangle, marked with a stripe in the left bottom corner,
and, next, the figure 19, signs which obviously indicate to those
inside the cave the means of penetrating beneath the fort.
The shape of this rectangle puzzled Isidore. Was there around him,
on the walls of the cave, or at any rate within reach of his eyes,
an inscription, anything whatever, affecting a rectangular shape?
He looked for a long time and was on the point of abandoning that
particular scent when his eyes fell upon the little opening, pierced
in the rock, that acted as a window to the chamber.
Now the edges of this opening just formed a rectangle: corrugated,
uneven, clumsy, but still a rectangle; and Beautrelet at once saw
that, by placing his two feet on the D and the F carved in the stone
floor--and this explained the stroke that surmounted the two letters
in the document--he found himself at the exact height of the window!
He took up his position in this place and gazed out. The window
looking landward, as we know, he saw, first, the path that connected
the cave with the land, a path hung between two precipices; and,
next, he caught sight of the foot of the hillock on which the fort
stood. To try and see the fort, Beautrelet leaned over to the left
and it was then that he understood the meaning of the curved stripe,
the comma that marked the left bottom corner in the document: at the
bottom on the left-hand side of the window, a piece of flint
projected and the end of it was curved like a claw. It suggested a
regular shooter's mark. And, when a man applied his eye to this
mark, he saw cut out, on the slope of the mound facing him, a
restricted surface of land occupied almost entirely by an old brick
wall, a remnant of the original Fort Frefosse or of the old Roman
oppidum built on this spot.
Beautrelet ran to this piece of wall, which was, perhaps, ten yards
long. It was covered with grass and plants. There was no indication
of any kind visible. And yet that figure 19?
He returned to the cave, took from his pocket a ball of string and a
tape-measure, tied the string to the flint corner, fastened a pebble
at the nineteenth metre and flung it toward the land side. The
pebble at most reached the end of the path.
"Idiot that I am!" thought Beautrelet. "Who reckoned by metres in
those days? The figure 19 means 19 fathoms [Footnote: The toise, or
fathom, measured 1.949 metres.--Translator's Note.] or nothing!"
Having made the calculation, he ran out the twine, made a knot and
felt about on the piece of wall for the exact and necessarily one
point at which the knot, formed at 37 metres from the window of the
Demoiselles, should touch the Frefosse wall. In a few moments, the
point of contact was established. With his free hand, he moved aside
the leaves of mullein that had grown in the interstices. A cry
escaped him. The knot, which he held pressed down with his fore-
finger, was in the centre of a little cross carved in relief on a
brick. And the sign that followed on the figure 19 in the document
was a cross!
It needed all his will-power to control the excitement with which he
was overcome. Hurriedly, with convulsive fingers, he clutched the
cross and, pressing upon it, turned it as he would have turned the
spokes of a wheel. The brick heaved. He redoubled his effort; it
moved no further. Then, without turning, he pressed harder. He at
once felt the brick give way. And, suddenly, there was the click of
a bolt that is released, the sound of a lock opening and, on the
right of the brick, to the width of about a yard, the wall swung
round on a pivot and revealed the orifice of an underground passage.
Like a madman, Beautrelet seized the iron door in which the bricks
were sealed, pulled it back, violently and closed it. Astonishment,
delight, the fear of being surprised convulsed his face so as to
render it unrecognizable. He beheld the awful vision of all that had
happened there, in front of that door, during twenty centuries; of
all those people, initiated into the great secret, who had
penetrated through that issue: Celts, Gauls, Romans, Normans,
Englishmen, Frenchmen, barons, dukes, kings--and, after all of them,
Arsene Lupin--and, after Lupin, himself, Beautrelet. He felt that
his brain was slipping away from him. His eyelids fluttered. He fell
fainting and rolled to the bottom of the slope, to the very edge of
the precipice.
His task was done, at least the task which he was able to accomplish
alone, with his unaided resources.
That evening, he wrote a long letter to the chief of the detective
service, giving a faithful account of the results of his
investigations and revealing the secret of the Hollow Needle. He
asked for assistance to complete his work and gave his address.
While waiting for the reply, he spent two consecutive nights in the
Chambre des Demoiselles. He spent them overcome with fear, his
nerves shaken with a terror which was increased by the sounds of the
night. At every moment, he thought he saw shadows approach in his
direction. People knew of his presence in the cave--they were
coming--they were murdering him!
His eyes, however, staring madly before them, sustained by all the
power of his will, clung to the piece of wall.
On the first night, nothing stirred; but, on the second, by the
light of the stars and a slender crescent-moon, he saw the door open
and figures emerge from the darkness: he counted two, three, four,
five of them.
It seemed to him that those five men were carrying fairly large
loads. He followed them for a little way. They cut straight across
the fields to the Havre road; and he heard the sound of a motor car
driving away.
He retraced his steps, skirting a big farm. But, at the turn of the
road that ran beside it, he had only just time to scramble up a
slope and hide behind some trees. More men passed--four, five men--
all carrying packages. And, two minutes later, another motor
snorted.
This time, he had not the strength to return to his post; and he
went back to bed.
When he woke and had finished dressing, the hotel waiter brought him
a letter. He opened it. It contained Ganimard's card.
"At last!" cried Beautrelet, who, after so hard a campaign, was
really feeling the need of a comrade-in-arms.
He ran downstairs with outstretched hands. Ganimard took them,
looked at him for a moment and said:
"You're a fine fellow, my lad!"
"Pooh!" he said. "Luck has served me."
"There's no such thing as luck with 'him,'" declared the inspector,
who always spoke of Lupin in a solemn tone and without mentioning
his name.
He sat down:
"So we've got him!"
"Just as we've had him twenty times over," said Beautrelet,
laughing.
"Yes, but to-day--"
"To-day, of course, the case is different. We know his retreat, his
stronghold, which means, when all is said, that Lupin is Lupin. He
can escape. The Etretat Needle cannot."
"Why do you suppose that he will escape?" asked Ganimard, anxiously.
"Why do you suppose that he requires to escape?" replied Beautrelet.
"There is nothing to prove that he is in the Needle at present. Last
night, eleven of his men left it. He may be one of the eleven."
Ganimard reflected:
"You are right. The great thing is the Hollow Needle. For the rest,
let us hope that chance will favor us. And now, let us talk."
He resumed his serious voice, his self-important air and said:
"My dear Beautrelet, I have orders to recommend you to observe the
most absolute discretion in regard to this matter."
"Orders from whom?" asked Beautrelet, jestingly. "The prefect of
police?"
"Higher than that."
"The prime minister?"
"Higher."
"Whew!"
Ganimard lowered his voice:
"Beautrelet, I was at the Elysee last night. They look upon this
matter as a state secret of the utmost gravity. There are serious
reasons for concealing the existence of this citadel--reasons of
military strategy, in particular. It might become a revictualling
centre, a magazine for new explosives, for lately-invented
projectiles, for anything of that sort: the secret arsenal of
France, in fact."
"But how can they hope to keep a secret like this? In the old days,
one man alone held it: the king. To-day, already, there are a good
few of us who know it, without counting Lupin's gang."
"Still, if we gained only ten years', only five years' silence!
Those five years may be--the saving of us."
"But, in order to capture this citadel, this future arsenal, it will
have to be attacked, Lupin must be dislodged. And all this cannot be
done without noise."
"Of course, people will guess something, but they won't know.
Besides, we can but try."
"All right. What's your plan?"
"Here it is, in two words. To begin with, you are not Isidore
Beautrelet and there's no question of Arsene Lupin either. You are
and you remain a small boy of Etretat, who, while strolling about
the place, caught some fellows coming out of an underground passage.
This makes you suspect the existence of a flight of steps which cuts
through the cliff from top to bottom."
"Yes, there are several of those flights of steps along the coast.
For instance, to the right of Etretat, opposite Benouville, they
showed me the Devil's Staircase, which every bather knows. And I say
nothing of the three or four tunnels used by the fishermen."
"So you will guide me and one-half of my men. I shall enter alone,
or accompanied, that remains to be seen. This much is certain, that
the attack must be delivered that way. If Lupin is not in the
Needle, we shall fix up a trap in which he will be caught sooner or
later. If he is there--"
"If he is there, he will escape from the Needle by the other side,
the side overlooking the sea."
"In that case, he will at once be arrested by the other half of my
men."
"Yes, but if, as I presume, you choose a moment when the sea is at
low ebb, leaving the base of the Needle uncovered, the chase will be
public, because it will take place before all the men and women
fishing for mussels, shrimps and shell-fish who swarm on the rocks
round about."
"That is why I just mean to select the time when the sea is full."
"In that case, he will make off in a boat."
"Ah, but I shall have a dozen fishing-smacks, each of which will be
commanded by one of my men, and we shall collar him--"
"If he doesn't slip through your dozen smacks, like a fish through
the meshes."
"All right, then I'll sink him."
"The devil you will! Shall you have guns?"
"Why, of course! There's a torpedo-boat at the Havre at this moment.
A telegram from me will bring her to the Needle at the appointed
hour."
"How proud Lupin will be! A torpedo-boat! Well, M. Ganimard, I see
that you have provided for everything. We have only to go ahead.
When do we deliver the assault?"
"To-morrow."
"At night?"
"No, by daylight, at the flood-tide, as the clock strikes ten in the
morning."
"Capital."
Under his show of gaiety, Beautrelet concealed a real anguish of
mind. He did not sleep until the morning, but lay pondering over the
most impracticable schemes, one after the other.
Ganimard had left him in order to go to Yport, six or seven miles
from Etretat, where, for prudence's sake, he had told his men to
meet him, and where he chartered twelve fishing smacks, with the
ostensible object of taking soundings along the coast.
At a quarter to ten, escorted by a body of twelve stalwart men, he
met Isidore at the foot of the road that goes up the cliff.
At ten o'clock exactly, they reached the skirt of wall. It was the
decisive moment.
At ten o'clock exactly.
"Why, what's the matter with you, Beautrelet?" jeered Ganimard.
"You're quite green in the face!"
"It's as well you can't see yourself, Ganimard," the boy retorted.
"One would think your last hour had come!"
They both had to sit down and Ganimard swallowed a few mouthfuls of
rum.
"It's not funk," he said, "but, by Jove, this is an exciting
business! Each time that I'm on the point of catching him, it takes
me like that in the pit of the stomach. A dram of rum?"
"No."
"And if you drop behind?"
"That will mean that I'm dead."
"B-r-r-r-r! However, we'll see. And now, open, sesame! No danger of
our being observed, I suppose?"
"No. The Needle is not so high as the cliff, and, besides, there's a
bend in the ground where we are."
Beautrelet went to the wall and pressed upon the brick. The bolt was
released and the underground passage came in sight.
By the gleam of the lanterns which they lit, they saw that it was
cut in the shape of a vault and that both the vaulting and the floor
itself were entirely covered with bricks.
They walked for a few seconds and, suddenly, a staircase appeared.
Beautrelet counted forty-five brick steps, which the slow action of
many footsteps had worn away in the middle.
"Blow!" said Ganimard, holding his head and stopping suddenly, as
though he had knocked against something.
"What is it?"
"A door."
"Bother!" muttered Beautrelet, looking at it. "And not an easy one
to break down either. It's just a solid block of iron."
"We are done," said Ganimard. "There's not even a lock to it."
"Exactly. That's what gives me hope."
"Why?"
"A door is made to open; and, as this one has no lock, that means
that there is a secret way of opening it."
"And, as we don't know the secret--"
"I shall know it in a minute."
"How?"
"By means of the document. The fourth line has no other object but
to solve each difficulty as and when it crops up. And the solution
is comparatively easy, because it's not written with a view to
throwing searchers off the scent, but to assisting them."
"Comparatively easy! I don't agree with you," cried Ganimard, who
had unfolded the document. "The number 44 and a triangle with a dot
in it: that doesn't tell us much!"
"Yes, yes, it does! Look at the door. You see it's strengthened, at
each corner, with a triangular slab of iron; and the slabs are fixed
with big nails. Take the left-hand bottom slab and work the nail in
the corner: I'll lay ten to one we've hit the mark."
"You've lost your bet," said Ganimard, after trying.
"Then the figure 44 must mean--"
In a low voice, reflecting as he spoke, Beautrelet continued:
"Let me see--Ganimard and I are both standing on the bottom step of
the staircase--there are 45. Why 45, when the figure in the document
is 44? A coincidence? No. In all this business, there is no such
thing as a coincidence, at least not an involuntary one. Ganimard,
be so good as to move one step higher up. That's it, don't leave
this forty-fourth step. And now I will work the iron nail. And the
trick's done, or I'll eat my boots!"
The heavy door turned on its hinges. A fairly spacious cavern
appeared before their eyes.
"We must be exactly under Fort Frefosse," said Beautrelet. "We have
passed through the different earthy layers by now. There will be no
more brick. We are in the heart of the solid limestone."
The room was dimly lit by a shaft of daylight that came from the
other end. Going up to it, they saw that it was a fissure in the
cliff, contrived in a projecting wall and forming a sort of
observatory. In front of them, at a distance of fifty yards, the
impressive mass of the Needle loomed from the waves. On the right,
quite close, was the arched buttress of the Porte d'Aval and, on the
left, very far away, closing the graceful curve of a large inlet,
another rocky gateway, more imposing still, was cut out of the
cliff; the Manneporte, [Footnote: Magna porta.] which was so wide
and tall that a three-master could have passed through it with all
sail set. Behind and everywhere, the sea.
"I don't see our little fleet," said Beautrelet.
"I know," said Ganimard. "The Porte d'Aval hides the whole of the
coast of Etretat and Yport. But look, over there, in the offing,
that black line, level with the water--"
"Well?"
"That's our fleet of war, Torpedo-boat No. 25. With her there, Lupin
is welcome to break loose--if he wants to study the landscape at the
bottom of the sea."
A baluster marked the entrance to the staircase, near the fissure.
They started on their way down. From time to time, a little window
pierced the wall of the cliff; and, each time, they caught sight of
the Needle, whose mass seemed to them to grow more and more
colossal.
A little before reaching high-water level, the windows ceased and
all was dark.
Isidore counted the steps aloud. At the three hundred and fifty-
eight, they emerged into a wider passage, which was barred by
another iron door strengthened with slabs and nails.
"We know all about this," said Beautrelet. "The document gives us
357 and a triangle dotted on the right. We have only to repeat the
performance."
The second door obeyed like the first. A long, a very long tunnel
appeared, lit up at intervals by the gleam of a lantern swung from
the vault. The walls oozed moisture and drops of water fell to the
ground, so that, to make walking easier a regular pavement of planks
had been laid from end to end.
"We are passing under the sea," said Beautrelet. "Are you coming,
Ganimard?"
Without replying, the inspector ventured into the tunnel, followed
the wooden foot-plank and stopped before a lantern, which he took
down.
"The utensils may date back to the Middle Ages, but the lighting is
modern," he said. "Our friends use incandescent mantles."
He continued his way. The tunnel ended in another and a larger cave,
with, on the opposite side, the first steps of a staircase that led
upward.
"It's the ascent of the Needle beginning," said Ganimard. "This is
more serious."
But one of his men called him:
"There's another flight here, sir, on the left."
And, immediately afterward, they discovered a third, on the right.
"The deuce!" muttered the inspector. "This complicates matters. If
we go by this way, they'll make tracks by that."
"Shall we separate?" asked Beautrelet.
"No, no--that would mean weakening ourselves. It would be better for
one of us to go ahead and scout."
"I will, if you like--"
"Very well, Beautrelet, you go. I will remain with my men--then
there will be no fear of anything. There may be other roads through
the cliff than that by which we came and several roads also through
the Needle. But it is certain that, between the cliff and the
Needle, there is no communication except the tunnel. Therefore they
must pass through this cave. And so I shall stay here till you come
back. Go ahead, Beautrelet, and be prudent: at the least alarm,
scoot back again."
Isidore disappeared briskly up the middle staircase. At the
thirtieth step, a door, an ordinary wooden door, stopped him. He
seized the handle turned it. The door was not locked.
He entered a room that seemed to him very low owing to its immense
size. Lit by powerful lamps and supported by squat pillars, with
long vistas showing between them, it had nearly the same dimensions
as the Needle itself. It was crammed with packing cases and
miscellaneous objects--pieces of furniture, oak settees, chests,
credence-tables, strong-boxes--a whole confused heap of the kind
which one sees in the basement of an old curiosity shop.
On his right and left, Beautrelet perceived the wells of two
staircases, the same, no doubt, that started from the cave below. He
could easily have gone down, therefore, and told Ganimard. But a new
flight of stairs led upward in front of him and he had the curiosity
to pursue his investigations alone.
Thirty more steps. A door and then a room, not quite so large as the
last, Beautrelet thought. And again, opposite him, an ascending
flight of stairs.
Thirty steps more. A door. A smaller room.
Beautrelet grasped the plan of the works executed inside the Needle.
It was a series or rooms placed one above the other and, therefore,
gradually decreasing in size. They all served as store-rooms.
In the fourth, there was no lamp. A little light filtered in through
clefts in the walls and Beautrelet saw the sea some thirty feet
below him.
At that moment, he felt himself so far from Ganimard that a certain
anguish began to take hold of him and he had to master his nerves
lest he should take to his heels. No danger threatened him, however,
and the silence around him was even so great that he asked himself
whether the whole Needle had not been abandoned by Lupin and his
confederates.
"I shall not go beyond the next floor," he said to himself.
Thirty stairs again and a door. This door was lighter in
construction and modern in appearance. He pushed it open gently,
quite prepared for flight. There was no one there. But the room
differed from the others in its purpose. There were hangings on the
walls, rugs on the floor. Two magnificent sideboards, laden with
gold and silver plate, stood facing each other. The little windows
contrived in the deep, narrow cleft were furnished with glass panes.
In the middle of the room was a richly-decked table, with a lace-
edged cloth, dishes of fruits and cakes, champagne in decanters and
flowers, heaps of flowers.
Three places were laid around the table.
Beautrelet walked up. On the napkins were cards with the names of
the party. He read first:
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15