The Caves of Etretat: Part One of Four

by Matt Chatelain

  Silence ensued. Finally, Briar spoke for the entire team, "I am convinced something is going on. Historically speaking, Etretat has drawn far more attention than a small fishing town deserves. Yet today all is forgotten, which, in itself, is odd. However, when Leblanc revives interest in this quaint little town, the Fort of Frefosse is coincidentally destroyed. I think the fort is the focal point of these events."

  "I concur," supported Coulter.

  "It's got my vote," O'Flanahan agreed.

  "Gentleman, this is a solemn moment," I exclaimed. "From the slightest of clues, we have found a path to follow. The Great Hunt has begun."

  "May we beat the Shadow-Killer to the goal," added Coulter sombrely.

  "The question is: what do we do about it?" O'Flanahan asked, getting directly to the heart of the matter again.

  "Some of us should go to France, to Etretat, and continue the investigation on site. The rest can stay behind and continue with the research. We can communicate by, uhm..."

  "Don't worry about communications. I've got that covered," stated Coulter. "I think it would be best if I stayed behind for a while to set that up."

  "As you know, I'm in the publishing business," said O'Flanahan. "Despite our time pressures, I cannot just stop that machinery. It will take me at least a week to reorganize. In the meantime, I am positive I can turn up some useful information."

  Briar was nodding and looking sad at the same time. "I would also love to go, but the finals are beginning and I have papers to grade. Once that is done, I will be completely available."

  This was not what I wanted. I wanted to work as a team. Phone calls would simply not be enough and I said as much. Coulter assured me the problem was easy to solve. He was convinced we could remain in communication via the Internet. With that problem addressed, it was agreed.

  I was going to Etretat!

  Chapter 4

  Travelling to France

  I peered out the plane window at the water below briefly, before placing the laptop on my knees. Selected specifically for this trip by Coulter, it had been the first purchase in his plan to keep us in contact. With my overstuffed bank account footing the bill, he had bought without restraint. For several days, delivery trucks had dropped off dozens of boxes filled with high-tech gadgets.

  The laptop came with a satellite uplink and it extended battery life using solar panels imbedded in its cover. Along with all this came a very special pair of glasses. Wirelessly connected to my laptop, the techno-glasses contained miniaturised cameras and viewing screens on the inside of the lenses. Microphones and headphones were built into the arms of the glasses. The cameras had a zoom function and I could view scenes in either infrared or ultraviolet.

  After Coulter cobbled some software together, my team could receive audio and video from my glasses while sitting in comfort at home. They could send information, displaying it on the miniature screens. While the projected screen image only a few centimetres across, the impression was of a translucent sixty-centimetre screen, floating about half a metre in front of my eyes.

  The only problem with this incredible technology was that I had to speak aloud for my three teammates to hear me. Unfortunately, no one else could hear them!

  "Would you like something from the bar, or would you prefer a complimentary orange juice?"

  "A glass of juice would be fine, thank you."

  While the stewardess served me, I heard O'Flanahan's voice in my ear. "Hey Paul, how's it going?"

  "Good."

  "Say, this techno gizmo Coulter put together is phenomenal. I can see everything as if I was there."

  I waited for the stewardess to finish before replying, "What do you want, Liam?"

  "I was wondering if you could do me a wee bit of a favour?" he begged in an unctuous tone.

  "Such as?"

  "Could you turn your head to the right seventy-five degrees? I wish to settle an argument with Coulter," he explained.

  I automatically turned my head, feeling like a remote control camera. My eyes now rested upon a pretty, raven-haired, bosomy woman, sitting across the aisle.

  "That's more like it. Much better than that boring window view," he affirmed with a laugh.

  Having noticed my momentary stare, the dark-haired woman smiled briefly then looked away. I felt embarrassed. "Are you interrupting me for anything more than this?"

  "Of course. What sort of person do you think I am? I was just letting you know your reservation at the Villa Leblanc has been confirmed."

  "Why don't you find some more info about the court case with Old Man Vallin? Why did it get dropped? Who was the prosecutor? Do some digging."

  "Right you are, Paul. I'll get on it. See ya."

  O'Flanahan disconnected, causing a loud popping noise in my ear. I got up to stretch my legs, making my way to the forward cabin and returning to my seat. All the while, I reflected about the Fort of Frefosse. It had originally been built fifteen hundred years ago, when the cliff extended four hundred metres further into the channel. The fort would have been distant from the cliff edge, making it useless as a defence against naval attack. So why was that location chosen? There had to be some other factor involved. I suspected it might be a feature Briar had mentioned in his geology class.

  Tunnels. Tunnels and caves.

  He had said chalk cliffs were prone to form vertical pipes and large cavern systems. What if such an opening had been found? Would that have been motive enough to build the fort in such a disadvantageous location? My thoughts were interrupted by the captain. We were about to begin our descent. I heard a crackle in my ear. It was Coulter.

  "I came up with something really interesting! You won't believe it."

  "What did you find?"

  "I downloaded a whole pile of French newspapers, scanning for stories relating to our search. Finding nothing, I did a random search for Old Man Vallin, the guy who blew up the fort."

  "What about him?"

  "He was killed a few months after the explosion. Guess where he died?" he taunted.

  "Just tell me."

  "He died at the fort. Nobody knows what happened. His body was found by a couple of local boys. He might have been beaten, but it was hard to say. He fell from a good height into the jagged rocks."

  Coulter signed off as the plane landed. I made ready to leave, collecting my carry-on luggage. The woman from across the aisle stood up, glancing at me briefly and smiling. I smiled back, taken in by her natural beauty. There was something about her. However, I was stuck on Coulter's revelation about Old Man Vallin. Someone hadn't been happy about the fort being blown up. That someone had a conversation, a final conversation, with Old Man Vallin.

  Had we uncovered a murder in Etretat?

  ***

  I got off the plane, carrying my overfull satchel. I had brought no other luggage, sure that I could buy whatever I needed on the way. I rented a Porsche, which was conveniently equipped with a GPS. It suggested various routes from Paris to Etretat. I selected the first one and, following its prompts, navigated through the streets of Paris until I reached the A13 towards Rouen-Caen, continuing on towards Le Havre-Pont de Tancarville.

  After the bridge, I headed towards Bolbec, on the D910. I heard a beep from the glasses and the monitor came on. Briar's head appeared a metre in front of my face. It was very distracting, so I had him turn off his laptop camera. "It is quite clever to be conversing this way, my boy. The scenery is passing by and I hear the vehicle sounds in stereo. I could almost swear I am in the car. A capital idea, these techno-glasses," Briar stated.

  "Thanks but they have disadvantages."

  "I have heard about some of them. O'Flanahan is often unstoppable, as are you, my friend but I did not call to discuss him. I have been researching, which is why I have not been in contact. I must even admit to ignoring some grading of papers," Briar confessed.

  "Sounds like you have the bug pretty bad."

  "You are correct. This Etretat thing is very odd indeed. At first
, with O'Flanahan's Oak Island nonsense, the Great Hunt seemed like poppycock, but every time I turn around, something else pops up, yet another bizarre fact."

  "What have you found now?"

  "I came across a biography of Leblanc. Apparently, he was a sickly man. He supported his sometime-actress sister for much of her life. However, he was not an adventurer, being neither into politics, nor public affairs, and shunning most publicity, except when promoting his novels. I felt quite confident of this version of his life, until I came across a curious book, entitled Filatures, published in 1980 by the University Press in Grenoble, dealing with the 'sum of Leblanc's writings'."

  "The sum of his writing?"

  "I kid you not. The book, subtitled 'A Walk through the Cycles of Lupin and Rouletabille' claimed a very strange thing. Leblanc's books revealed two distinct writing 'styles'. Certain storylines, words and names, were thought to have been chosen for reasons beyond the needs of the story. The purpose of this work is extremely nebulous and I found it quite bizarre someone would have thought of doing such an analysis in the first place. By the way, another place where you can find a similar type of dual writing is in coded letters," Briar pointed out.

  "Coded letters? Was Leblanc hiding codes in his books?"

  "It is quite possible, if you believe the conclusions of this author."

  "Codes about what?"

  "Indeed! I thought back to his biography, which held no place for a man hiding codes in his books. What was he trying to say and to whom was he saying it? Either 'Filatures' was contrived statistical nonsense, or Leblanc's biography was falsified."

  "Codes or not, Leblanc is right in the middle of it again."

  Briar signed off only to be replaced within moments by an overly-excited O'Flanahan. "Listen, do you remember Raymond Lindon?"

  "Yes. The author who wrote about the tunnels in Etretat."

  "You got it, boyo. I've been doing some research about him. First thing was, I learnt he was the Avocat-General of France, their version of Attorney-General. Then I figured out the pseudonym he used, 'Valere Catogan' is an anagram of Avocat-General. He was also elected Mayor of Etretat at some point. So Lindon, assisted by Leblanc, wrote a book linking Etretat to treasure and historical mystery, while presenting Lupin as a real person, not a fictional character. Finally, an absolute clincher this one, provided by Coulter just a few minutes ago, a young Raymond Lindon was the assistant to the attorney who dropped the charges instead of prosecuting Old Man Vallin. More wood for the fire, wouldn't you say?"

  "Almost too much."

  "There are a lot of people involved. Leblanc, Lindon, Lupin, and we can't forget the Shadow-killer, or the book your dad sent you. I can smell a conspiracy all over this mess but that's okay, I love that smell, he-he-he. You're not still upset for that stunt I pulled on the plane, are you?"

  "No I'm not, O'Flanahan. God knows, I needed a laugh. Everything has been so serious lately. At least, I managed to evade Norton at the airport."

  "I don't think he knows about the three of us yet. That gives us an edge and I intend to keep it. We can do a heck of a lot behind the scenes."

  "Thanks, I appreciate that, I really do. Listen, I'm getting into a bit of heavy traffic here. How about we touch base again once I'm settled in?"

  "Right-o. See you then."

  I arrived in Etretat near nightfall. The drive had gone well but I was exhausted and suffering from jet lag. I found the Rue Guy de Maupassant #15 and, moments later, drove into the parking lot of the Villa Leblanc. It was as impressive as I had imagined. Its gabled roof, the imposing garden, complete with Roman statues, and its inviting entrance were more than I had expected.

  The front door opened and an older woman, white-haired and matriarchal, walked out, a gentle smile on her face. "Welcome to the Villa Leblanc. My name is Victoire Leblanc," she stated in a strong, clear voice.

  "Thank you. I am so glad to meet you. My name is Paul Sirenne. I have a reservation."

  "Ah, Monsieur Sirenne. I remember taking your reservation. Please come in. You must be exhausted. You drove directly from Paris after your plane trip, yes?"

  "I did. I am a bit tired, I must admit. Also somewhat hungry,"

  "Well then, let us not waste any more time. We will get you signed in and I believe our cook may be able to put something together for you. While you settle in, I will arrange to have some food sent to your room, perhaps with some white wine?" she suggested.

  "That sounds wonderful."

  The villa's interior had been restored with careful attention to detail. One section was closed off and signs informed me this was the famous Hollow Needle Museum.

  I knew what I was doing tomorrow.

  Signing in was mercifully quick and I was directed to my room. I lay down on the sumptuous bed only to be roused by a knock at the door. It was a maid, bringing a seafood platter and a half litre of white wine. I ate the shrimp first, my personal weakness, then quickly took care of the rest. I dropped back onto the bed and, without further objection from my stomach, fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Needle of Etretat

  The aroma of coffee awakened me. Next to my bed was a small table, upon which a single cup coffee machine, connected to an antique timer, was busy percolating. I jumped in the shower, then had the coffee in lieu of breakfast, my stomach unsettled from the long trip and the late night meal. Feeling better, I headed downstairs and went out to the garden at the back of the Villa. I wanted to go see the Needle but had decided to delay that until later in the afternoon, after the Arsene Lupin/Hollow Needle museum tour.

  I wandered the path, enjoying the garden. Leblanc's villa was far bigger than I had anticipated. I came across a stone bench and sat, the morning sun warming my face. A cool breeze was blowing. A car door slamming made me open my eyes and I saw a taxi driving away. A raven-haired woman was walking up the entrance stairs of the villa, meeting up with Mrs Leblanc.

  I heard voices talking excitedly but they faded away in the wind. I returned to my reflections, closing my eyes for a few moments.

  ***

  After the museum tour, I was ready to go see the Needle. I put on my techno-glasses and started a recording of the walk for my friends, knowing they were still deep in slumber. I headed down Rue de Maupassant, enjoying the clear blue sky and refreshing sea air. I took a left on Brindejont, which turned into Rue Prosper. Eventually I arrived at Etretat's renowned black pebble beach. To my right was the magnificent Amont cliff with its 'elephant trunk' arch. Angling my head, I peered through the Aval arch.

  There it was: the famous Needle!

  I headed left, arriving quickly at the Terrasse Guy de Maupassant, and clambered up a tourist trail, heading up the Aval cliff. I noted the mysterious 'door in the cliff' and wondered what was behind it. About halfway up, I stopped for a brief rest, after which I finished the marathon climb. It would have been more inspiring had I been in better shape.

  Arriving at the top was a letdown. The view of Etretat was excellent but I could see nothing of the Needle. Following the posted signs, I approached the edge of the cliff and was finally able to see it in its entirety. I'd examined pictures of it but nothing compared to the reality of being here, of seeing the Needle surrounded by the swelling and crashing of the channel water.

  Moving away from the edge, I followed another trail, skirting the golf course. In the distance, I noticed a worn structure, an old bunker. It was exactly like the one in my dream. I wanted to go see it but my attention was drawn by the trail leading to the 'Chambre des Demoiselles', a small chamber carved into the edge of the cliff. In Leblanc's story, it had been the key which led Lupin to the hidden entrance below the Fort of Frefosse.

  There was a small bridge leading to the chamber's rectangular entrance. Inside, the carved letters 'D' and 'F' projected from the floor below the small rectangular window, just as described in the Hollow Needle. Stepping onto them, I was elevated roughly to the window's height. There, on the left bottom cor
ner, a quartz crystal stuck out, shaped roughly like an eagle's talon. Looking through the crystal was supposed to reveal the special brick that opened the secret tunnel. Closing one eye, I could indeed see a moss covered brick wall at the base of the fort's foundation. To my surprise, I saw a small white cross through the eagle's talon, as mentioned in Leblanc's novel.

  My excitement could hardly be contained. I rushed out and ran back across the bridge, scrambling down a narrow path, nearly slipping off the precipitous edge in the process. I found the fort's old brick foundation but, to my disappointment, could not move any of the bricks, no matter how hard I tried.

  After a while, I calmed down. I already knew the secret tunnel into the hollow needle was fiction, made up by Leblanc's fertile mind. Yet here I was, pushing and prodding every brick within reach, like a treasure-chasing amateur.

  Still, it had been exciting, if only for a few moments!

  It was mid-afternoon and I was tired. Spying a large building a few hundred yards away, I decided to head there to sit down and get a drink. As I walked through the parking lot, a car horn sounded twice, attracting my attention.

  It was Inspector Norton.

  He motioned for me to get in. Despite a degree of apprehension, curiosity gained the upper hand. If he'd wanted to arrest me, he would have done it already. I had barely seated myself in the passenger's seat when he took off briskly. "Well, well, well. What a surprise. Running into each other on a completely different continent. I can barely explain it. Can you?"

  He was toying with me. I stayed on my guard. "There is nothing to explain, Inspector. The police said I wasn't a suspect."

  "Do you take me for a fool, Sirenne? Did you seriously believe you could evade me so easily?" His face was getting animated. "I don't know what you think is going on here, Mr Sirenne, but let me assure you this is not a game."