We crossed the cavern and went up the curving stone stairway; again the steps were worn down in the center from the centuries of use. We came to a door which, this time, was not locked. Inside was a vast circular room, no doubt almost the width of the Needle, and a few limestone pillars stood spaced evenly apart, curving outward toward the floor and upward to the ceiling. They were clear evidence that indeed someone had, long ago, hollowed out the limestone to create this chamber, leaving the supporting pillars behind. It seemed to be a storage area, with packing crates, old pieces of furniture, oak settees, strong-boxes, and the like, what you might expect in the basement of a curiosity shop.
We wandered about in the direction of what must be another set of stairs, across from where we had come in.
“This looks like a rummage room,” Lupin said.
I nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
We started up the next set of stairs. Again the stairway curved around to the side, no doubt following the circular exterior of the conically shaped rock. Beyond a door was another round room with fewer limestone pillars, this one mostly empty, and again, the entrance to another stairway across from us.
“The plan seems obvious enough,” Holmes said. “Circular rooms growing ever smaller in diameter at each level as one proceeds upward toward the apex.”
Lupin nodded. “Yes, and they must be man-made.”
“Good Lord,” I murmured. “I wonder how many years of painstaking labor it must have taken.”
We continued our ascent. The third floor seemed to be another storeroom, but when we opened the fourth door, a dimly lit room appeared before us, a long irregular opening showing along one side. We crossed over to this rough window and gazed outside. Perhaps thirty feet below, the dark blue waters of the sea swirled and foamed about the rock. The cry of a gull was very near.
When we reached the fifth floor, which was, of course, the smallest yet, things changed abruptly. Again a seaward opening provided illumination. The ceiling and the walls were bare limestone, but the floor was formed of worn oak. There were no pillars at this level. Hanging here and there, were elaborate tapestries with scenes from the Middle Ages or the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Many more tapestries were rolled up and piled on the floor, labels showing on their ends.
Lupin gestured toward one of the piles. “The beginnings of the treasure! These alone must be worth a small fortune.”
We continued our ascent. The sixth level also had a wooden floor, as well as many shelves, all lined with clocks or timepieces of every size and shape imaginable. However, there was obviously no horologist here! The clocks were all sadly mute and still.
On the seventh floor were more shelves, row after row of ancient-looking books. Holmes pulled out one huge volume, opened it, and a cloud of dust was like an exhalation. “A botanical volume in Latin from the fifteenth century.” He carefully put it back. “Trying to create a library here—or storing clocks—was a foolish idea. The damp sea air is inimical to both.”
“We must be getting near the summit,” I said.
Holmes stroked his chin. “I think so. But I am surprised we have not met anyone yet.”
“Perhaps the place has been left deserted,” I said.
“You are forgetting the smoke we saw.”
Lupin’s mouth formed a wry smile. “One would think the great treasure of France would be guarded.”
Holmes nodded. “Yes.”
Again we trudged up some steps, and Holmes opened yet another door. We stepped inside, and I immediately felt a welcome warmth. This room was, of course, the smallest yet, and tapered inward above us to a conical ceiling. Beautiful tapestries of hunting scenes covered the limestone walls, and the floor was an elaborate parquet of different colored woods. A bed with an iron frame was on one side of the room, and again windows faced toward the water, these actually glazed and shut up, which kept out the cold and somewhat muted the ever-present sound of the sea. Near the windows stood a massive square cast-iron stove which radiated the heat we felt; its circular chimney had curved segments directing the smoke outside.
Close by the stove, in a massive brown leather armchair, sat a very old man, and one need not be a physician like myself to tell that he was quite ill. His face was pale, the skin almost grayish, and his dark brown eyes were infinitely weary. A scraggly white beard covered his gaunt cheeks, and a few wisps of white hair still crossed the top of his head. His ears were enormously long, a sign of great age, the lobes very pronounced. He wore a dark woolen suit, a black shirt, and a brown woolen blanket covered his legs. We approached him slowly.
His eyelids blinked. “You have come for the treasure, I suppose.”
Holmes, Lupin, and I exchanged a look. Lupin gave a brusque nod. “Yes,” he said. Holmes half-shook his head in disapproval.
“You are too late. It is gone, hidden away where you will never find it. Only members of the Society know its new hiding place. But I congratulate you. I have been Guardian for decades, and no outsiders have ever found their way here.”
“Gone?” Lupin sounded suspicious. “You would say that. How do we know you are telling the truth—how do we know there are not more secrets hidden here within the Needle?”
The old man’s laugh was akin to a cackle. “You are correct. There were more secrets. Look at the floor beneath your feet. The design has six large circles set in wood. Choose one, then go to the smallest circle in the center, and step on one side. It will pivot, revealing a sort of handle, and you can lift open the whole thing.”
I could see the pattern: six circles, formed by the parquet, each about five feet across. Lupin strode to one, put his foot on the center, then got his hand under the opening and awkwardly managed to pry up a circular panel some three feet across. Holmes and I stepped forward. Inside was a hollow space carved into the limestone rock, but it was quite empty.
Lupin quickly went to another circle, wrenched open its top, and then to a third. He was frowning, obviously growing more exasperated as each of the six empty spaces was revealed. He slammed the last cover back in place.
“What have you done with it!” he exclaimed.
The old man was smiling faintly. “Only three of those hiding places still had treasure. The last three kings of France were all spendthrifts who squandered the other half.” His contempt was obvious. “But the treasure is gone now. We feared it was no longer safe in France. Over twenty years ago, the Prussians invaded our sacred soil and made it all the way to Paris. So very near! And then the Emperor Louis Napoleon, the last monarch, fell, and the wretched Third Republic came into being. So we sent what remained of the treasure abroad where thieves could never find it. You yourselves are proof of the danger.”
I frowned. “But it belongs to the people of France.”
The old man shook his head brusquely. “It belongs to the divinely appointed king of France, to God’s representative on earth, and I am its guardian.”
Holmes folded his arms. “This society of yours: I suppose it is an ancient one devoted to the safekeeping of the treasure of France. And are you the last of the guardians?”
“No—of course not. At least, I hope not. When I die, which will be very soon, old Bernard will find my corpse. He comes every week with supplies and news. He will tell the others, and they will choose a new guardian to stay here in the Needle.”
“When did you have your attack?” I asked.
He stared at me, his white eyebrows coming together. “How did you know?”
“I am a physician. It’s obvious enough. You look quite ill.”
“It was three days ago, early in the morning. My chest…”
“Have you managed to eat and drink anything?”
He gestured toward a sort of cupboard near the big stove. Also close by was a metal coalscuttle half full. “I had a little bread and some water. I have no appetite. And I am cold, so cold.”
Lupin’s face was slightly flushed, and his hands had curled into fists. “But what is the point of having a guardian if there is nothing to guard?”
The old man gave him an incredulous look. “Is it not obvious? If the Republic were to end, if a true king were to return again and come here seeking his rightful treasure, then the guardian would reveal its hiding place.”
Lupin seemed to ponder this, taking his lower lip between his teeth. Abruptly he removed his cloth cap, threw it down, then put his spectacles in his jacket pocket and stood up very straight. “And I am that king of France, come again to claim what is mine!” His voice resonated with authority. “Do you think mere thieves could have ever found the way here to the heart of the Needle? No, we discovered the secret of the clock, then untangled the coded note, and at last we have come—I, the true king of France, and these my faithful subjects.”
I took half a step back, staring in disbelief at Lupin. He stood tall and ramrod straight, and his hands hanging loosely at his side, gestured expressively. I had to admit that he looked quite regal just then. The right side of Holmes’s mouth twitched briefly upward.
The old man’s dark eyes had opened very wide. “But who… who…? Explain yourself.”
Lupin seemed to reflect for a second or two. “I am the grandson of Henry the Fifth, the last true Bourbon king of France. Sadly, as you must know, my grandfather was king for less than a week in August of 1830, just before that Orléanist pretender Louis-Philippe took the throne. Everyone thought that Henry was the last of the Bourbons, but he was secretly married, and had a son, Louis-Pierre, my father. My bloodline goes all the way back to Henry the Fourth. With a portion of that treasure which is rightfully mine, my allies and I can raise an army, overthrow the wretched republic, and claim the throne.”
Lupin had crossed his arms, his expression quite stern, but now he lowered his hand and set it on the old man’s shoulder. “My good and faithful friend, you have served me and your country well for all these years, but now your king has returned. Tell me where the treasure is hidden.”
The old man raised both trembling hands. “Majesty… Majesty… I…” Suddenly he clenched his teeth. One hand dropped, the other clutched weakly at his chest. A low moan slipped free.
I seized Lupin’s arm. “Let him be. The shock…”
The old man shook his head. “No, no, it is no matter. My time has come, but I feel such… joy.” One feeble hand reached out, and Lupin knelt beside him and took it.
“The treasure is…” He was speaking French, but then he said in English, “White, white,” and then, “Les autres, les autres aiguilles… le phare… dessous.” The translation was simple enough: “The other ones, the other needles… the lighthouse… below.”
He winced again, moaned once, and his eyes opened very wide as he seemed to briefly freeze. Then his head sagged to one side, and consciousness slipped away from those dark eyes.
“What other ones!” Lupin exclaimed. “Explain yourself!”
I set my fingertips on the old man’s throat, a mere formality. “He is gone. Your revelation was too much for him.” I gently closed his eyes.
“Damnation!” Lupin exclaimed. “He was about to tell us everything.”
I sighed. “And now we have more riddles. Why on earth did he switch to English and say ‘white’? Whatever does that have to do with needles?”
Lupin shook his head angrily. “I must confess, I am completely at a loss. We are back where we started, with mysterious needles—we are going round and round in circles.”
“I never suspected there were so many blasted ‘needles’ in France!” I said.
Holmes had been listening silently, a slight smile curving his lips. He appeared not to have a care in the world. “Not necessarily in France. This is a time when being a native-born Englishman helps. Spell wight for me, Henry.”
I stared at him. “Spell it? What are you…? It’s obvious enough. W-H-I-T-E.”
“That is wrong. Think of an alternative.”
I frowned in concentration. “Isn’t there…? It is a very old word which means creature, I believe: W-I-G-H-T.”
“Very good! That is the correct spelling, but it has another meaning besides ‘creature.’”
“It does?”
“Try capitalizing the word.”
“Wight.” I was frowning fiercely, the answer just out of reach.
“Try prefixing it with ‘the Isle of.’”
I shook my head. “How stupid of me. The Isle of Wight. That would be just across the English Channel from here, but needles—are there needles at the Island?”
“There are indeed. Three jagged chalk formations stand just off the westernmost tip of the Isle of Wight. They are less than half as tall as this Needle and more like rough-shaped rocks. However, there were originally four of them, and the tallest one, which was more conical and needle-like, collapsed sometime during the eighteenth century. Once after a stop at Osborne House, I made a tour of the Isle of Wight, and I have visited the location. Also, perched on the very farthest point of the last Needle, there stands a lighthouse.”
“That’s it!” Lupin cried. “That must be it! Oh bravo, Holmes.”
“But why did he say dessous?” I asked. “Does ‘below’ or ‘underneath’ have anything to do with the lighthouse?”
“That we must determine when we get there.”
“And we must leave at once!” Lupin exclaimed. “Le Havre is the nearest port. Perhaps there is even a ferry that goes to the Isle of Wight.”
Holmes’s triumphant expression changed to one of caution. “If I had a client whom I trusted, I would consult with him before pursuing this lead.”
“But since you don’t have that sort of client,” Lupin said, “we can pack up and set off on our own at once!”
Holmes appeared amused, and gave his head a shake. “You are a most enthusiastic young man.”
“That he is,” I said, “and what an actor! I was almost ready to fall at his feet and become one of his partisans, joining in the struggle to return him to his rightful throne.”
Lupin laughed. “Thank you, Dr. Vernier. I did think it was one of my better performances.”
“You are very good at improvisation,” Holmes said. “Anyway, I do share your inclinations about heading straight for the Needles, but I must give the matter some thought.”
“Do so, and then let’s get going!”
Holmes withdrew his watch and turned slightly toward the window. The sky framed in the squares was bright blue, the sun having triumphed over the earlier mists. “It is well after three now, probably too late to try to set off today. Besides, there is no real hurry. The treasure has waited for years and years; another day or two will not matter. We can leave in the morning. Let us start back for the inn, but in a leisurely manner. I would like to have a closer look at some of the rooms.”
I gestured with my open hand at the old man in the chair. “And this poor fellow? What is to be done with him?”
“I don’t mean to be callous,” Holmes said, “but I think it would be best to just leave him here. When his weekly visitor stops by, he will discover the body and know what to do. That society of theirs will see that he is buried alongside the other guardians in the cemetery.”
“Poor old man,” I murmured. “To think of all the lonely years he has spent here inside this rock, guarding so many secrets.”
“He must have thought that what he was doing was worthwhile,” Holmes said, “and perhaps, in the end, that is all that really matters.”
Lupin raised his shoulders in a feigned shudder. “It is not the life for me! I could not do without some adventures—or without the ladies.”
Holmes headed back for the door to the stairs, and we followed. The floor below was the library one, and Holmes went over to one of the tall shelves. Earlier he had extinguished his dark lantern, but now he relit it, then shined it on a row of colossal leather-bound volumes. “There must be scores of real rarities here,” he said, even as he pulled one out.
I wandered across the room to the window-like opening which faced out toward the sea. This one was at an angle such that I could see off to the south on my left, the massive third arch of the Manneporte. Directly below, the dark blue waters were calm, waves visible as undulations in the surface, but with no whitecaps showing.
“Ah!” someone exclaimed. “Good day, gentlemen! Imagine meeting you here.”
Startled, I quickly turned. At the doorway stood the tall, bearded Massier, the sour-looking baron beside him. Accustomed as I was to seeing them formally dressed, it had taken me a second or two to realize who they were. The baron wore a navy-blue woolen jacket with two rows of four golden buttons down the front, as well as a peaked naval-style cap, an eagle insignia over the brim. For once, his bushy mustache was unwaxed. Massier had on a nondescript dark gray woolen suit, a black bowler hiding his bald crown. With them were two burly men in mariners’ blue-and-white-striped shirts, rifles slung across their backs, lanterns in hand.
Holmes appeared completely at ease and not in the least surprised. “Good afternoon, messieurs.”
“Are we almost to the top?” Massier asked. “All these steps are quite wearisome.”
Holmes nodded. “Indeed you are. Only one more set of stairs.”
“And is there finally someone here? Someone who can tell us something?”
“I fear you are trifle late. He was a very old man, and the shock of our visit did him in.”
The baron glared. “Did you kill him?”
“Certainly not!”
“But before he died—the secret—did he tell you the secret?”
“Regrettably, no.” Lupin had slipped his spectacles back on, and now his voice had the high-pitched whine of Beautrelet. He gave a melodramatic sigh. “We were too late.”
Holmes stared at him. His lips formed the familiar sardonic smile. “That is not exactly true.”
“He told you, then!” the baron exclaimed. “He told you? Where is the treasure?”
Holmes folded his arms, even as Lupin shook his head vigorously and said, “No, no!”
“They moved it because they no longer thought it was safe in France. It is at the lighthouse at the other Needles, rock formations off the west coast of the Isle of Wight. My companions and I shall depart tomorrow from Le Havre and sail for England to continue the search.”
There was nothing pleasant about the baron’s smile. “We shall see about that.”
“How on earth could you possibly find your way in here?” I asked. “You could not have made it through the labyrinth without the coded paper—it was difficult enough even with that. Somehow you must have followed us.”
“I doubt that,” Holmes said. “I was careful to make certain no one was nearby before we went into the entrance near the Demoiselles. Besides, they would have never been able to get past those two iron doors. No, I suspect there is another way into the cavern below, perhaps other than by land.”
Massier smiled. “Very good, Monsieur Holmes. I think we should have a quick look at the deceased on the floor above. Not that we don’t trust you.”
The baron assumed a stern assumption. “I shall give the orders—not you.”
Massier shrugged, his smile faintly ironic now. “As you wish, monsieur le baron.”
Chamerac gestured with his head toward the stairway. “Let’s go see.”
We went up the stairs and walked over to the chair where the dead guardian sat slumped to the side.
Massier glanced over at the windows. “A regular seabird’s aerie up here.” He gazed down at the man. “He does look very old. Do you have any idea how many years he has been up here?”
“A very long time,” Holmes said. “Over fifty years.”
Massier shook his head. “What a wretched way to spend one’s life.”
The baron reached out and touched the dead man’s cheek with his fingertips. “And he told you the secret? He told you about these other Needles?”
Holmes’s eyes shifted to Lupin, a flicker of a smile stirring his lips. “With a little gentle persuasion.”
“If you didn’t kill him, how did he die?”
“It was most likely his heart,” I said. “He appeared quite ill. His skin had a faintly grayish tint, and then he clutched at his chest in pain. He probably had one cardiac attack two or three days ago, and the second one finished him. Our arrival was something of a shock.”
“And are you certain he told you the truth? The treasure is not hidden, instead, somewhere in this maze of chambers?” The baron was clearly suspicious.
“I have no doubts,” Holmes said, “and you are welcome to see us off at the harbor of Le Havre tomorrow morning, should you wish to ascertain that we are headed for the Isle of Wight.”
The baron had a most unpleasant smile. “Henceforth, I am not letting you out of my sight! I do not trust you. I shall accompany you to these other Needles.”
“We shan’t allow it!” Lupin again used the whiny Beautrelet voice.
“Oh, you won’t, will you not? Well, you can certainly remain behind, Monsieur Beautrelet, while Massier and I go in your stead.”
Holmes raised both hands. “If you are to accompany us, I insist we remain together. Beautrelet has been most helpful.”
The baron still looked angry. “Very well—but I don’t trust him—I don’t trust any of you. You will not act on your own any longer. I will be watching your every move.”
Holmes shrugged. “As you wish. Again, we can go to Le Havre tomorrow and set out for—”
“That will not be necessary,” the baron said. “I can provide faster and more secure transportation directly to the Isle of Wight.”
Holmes gave him a curious look. “Such as?”
“Do you have any further work to do here?”
“No.”
“Then come along, and you will see, soon enough.”
We started down the great conical formation of the Needle, each stairway curving around and inward, an occasional small window providing light for the steps cut in the rock, and we crossed the hollowed circular chambers which gradually increased in size. Holmes and the two mariners had their lanterns lit, and the beams of yellow-white light jumped about on the floors. The air grew colder and damper as we descended, and the last three floors had no carven openings, so we were in utter darkness save for the lantern light.
At last we came to the great natural cavern at the bottom. The baron and his men started toward the expanse of water off to one side. The circles of light revealed the rough, uneven limestone, but then came to the fluid black waters, which moved ever so slightly, a faint swish audible. Suddenly a smooth metallic surface showed with square patterns formed by the round heads of rivets; and as we came closer, I could make out a curving oval shape floating in the pool. It had narrow windows at the front, and a smokestack rising in back. The vessel must have been thirty feet long, and most of it was underwater.
“What in the world?” I murmured.
“That looks like a modified torpedo boat,” Holmes said, then turned to the baron. “Doubtlessly one of your own manufacture?”
“Very good, Monsieur Holmes.”
“But how did it get inside here?” I asked.
“It must be submersible,” Holmes said. “Quite an interesting design. It resembles more the early ironclad torpedo boats of the American Confederacy rather than the modern ones used by European navies. The newer ones resemble more regular ships, but then they are generally larger nowadays, and of course, they cannot go underwater.” Holmes turned again to the baron. “Does it actually have a torpedo?”
“No, it does not. It is not necessary.”
Holmes appeared puzzled. “Not necessary in what sense?”
“You will find out soon enough.”
“Well, anyway, now we know how they got inside here,” Lupin said. “There must be an underwater opening here in the Needle connected with this cave.”
Holmes gave his head a shake. “I suspect it must be a tight fit.”
The baron laughed. “So it is—as you will see. Prepare to come aboard, messieurs.”
A gangplank stretched from the rocky shore alongside the boat to a hatch situated midway between the two ends. Massier and the baron went first, and we followed, the two armed men behind us. I glanced at the metal stairway leading down inside and repressed a shudder, hesitating. Again, I do not like enclosed spaces—nor did I like the idea of being completely submerged underwater.
Holmes must have read my thought. “Do not be alarmed, Henry. The design and construction appear first-rate.”
The baron gazed up at me from below and gave an emphatic nod. “So they are! This boat is unique—and more technically advanced than that of any navy in the world.”
It was a tight fit inside and smelled somewhat rank, a mixture of tobacco smoke, sweat, and something acrid. We went down a narrow hallway lined on either side with a giant rectangular metallic box, on top of which were small cubes, each capped with copper tubing and wires. Holmes raised a hand and touched the bank on the right lightly. “These must be batteries with multiple cells. I suppose that is to power the boat when you are underwater?”
“Exactly,” said the baron.
“And when you are above water, the craft must be steam-powered. From coal?”
“I see again that you are quite knowledgeable about naval vessels, Monsieur Holmes.”
“But if you go underwater,” I said, “doesn’t the smoke stack flood?”
The baron gave me an incredulous look. “We are not so stupid as that, Dr. Vernier. We can close off or open the smokestack.”
We had reached the front, and the baron pulled a lever. Through the glass windows we saw a sudden illumination, no doubt from some type of electrical lighting. The water came about halfway up the glass. The vessel was swaying ever so slightly. One of the men had come with us up front, while the other had joined another at the back where the coal furnace and the engines must be. It was crowded with five of us there; the cabin had metal seats only for three.
The baron stood before a wooden wheel and a bank of instruments and gauges. He glanced over his shoulder and spoke to his men. “Seal the hatch and prepare for departure.” He pulled yet another lever, a bigger one, and turned the wheel with his other hand. We could see the rocky bank of limestone recede slightly as we backed away, turning as we went. I could feel the dull thrum of the motor in the metal floor under my feet.
One of the men had stepped away and returned. “She’s all closed up.”
“Prepare for descent.” The baron turned a knob, and the water level at the windows slowly rose as we sank. A large gauge in the center of the panel was marked with numbers and the letter M, and its needle slowly swung round clockwise. It was clearly a depth gauge, and we continued to sink, even as the boat swung around again, its lights raking the limestone wall. I tried to assure myself that the vessel was watertight, but my hands felt sweaty. The water was an eerie green, almost transparent, but wavery all the same.
To our right a jagged black patch showed, but as we came around, the light illuminated the opening, showing a sort of tunnel. “Now comes the difficult part,” the baron said. He turned the knob again, and there was a whooshing sound which made me start.
Holmes set his hand on my arm. “Probably some ballast being let out. We must have overshot our mark.” And indeed, we had sunk below the opening, but now we were rising again.
“Very good, Monsieur Holmes.” The baron was turning a knob. “That should do it.”
We started slowly forward into the rocky aperture. The light showed the curving sides which were covered with some sort of brownish-green lichen or other growth. A big fish appeared, then darted quickly to the side.
“I suppose this would be quite difficult during low tide,” Holmes said.
The baron nodded. “Impossible, actually. That was why our arrival was delayed until this afternoon.”
Happily, from my viewpoint, we were only within the rocky tunnel very briefly, and then we came out into the open ocean. The sunlight illuminated the waters all around us, lighting up everything a vivid blue-green, and I could see from the gauge that we were only submerged about three meters or so. A school of small fish swam by. I gave a relieved sigh, and another one, when we began to rise again. Soon the bobbing water at sea level appeared at the top of the windows, slowly descending as we rose up.
The baron turned to Massier. “Take the wheel, Louis. Ahead full speed. You know the coordinates.”
“Oui, mon capitaine.” Massier’s voice was ever so faintly sarcastic.
The baron took out his cigarette case, withdrew one, and put it in his mouth. He nodded toward a sailor. “Open the hatch, and let’s get some air in here.” He struck a match and drew in on the cigarette. “Would you care for a smoke, Monsieur Holmes?”
“No, thank you. It seems a trifle too enclosed in here for that. I don’t suppose… You are not thinking of traveling all the way to the Isle of Wight in this vessel, are you?”
I felt a sudden sensation of dread at the idea of being cooped up in this tiny boat with seven other men for the hours such a trip would take.
“Of course not! I am a better host than that.”
“Thank God,” I murmured.
The baron glanced at me, then the corners of his lips rose, his expression faintly contemptuous. “Why don’t we go above? It is rather cramped down here.”
He led us back down the hallway between the battery banks. Ahead was an open door, and we could see a sailor shoveling coal. The thrumming noise was much louder now. The baron went up the narrow metal stairway, and we followed.
I did feel greatly relieved to step out into the fresh sea air and the bright sunlight; above us was blue, slightly yellowish sky with dark blue-green sea, all around us. Evening was fast approaching, and the sun was nearing the horizon. A metal railing curved across the front deck, and there was space enough for Holmes, the baron, Lupin, and myself to all grab ahold of the cold damp rail.
Holmes turned his head back toward the stern, then touched my shoulder. “Have a look. It’s quite a view.”
Behind us towered the jagged striated rock of the Needle bathed in yellowish light, and further back to its left was the elephant trunk of the Porte d’Aval. Then came the curving bay of Étretat, and at the end the smaller arch of the Porte d’Amont. To our right, we had a superb view of the massive bulk of the curving Manneporte. Clearly we were headed out into the open sea of the English Channel in a northwest direction toward the Isle of Wight. The waters were calm, and we were obviously moving very quickly, much more so than on the usual ferries I took. I could feel the vibration of the boat with my hands on the rail, and also on the deck under my feet.
Between the rumble of the engines and the rush of the wind, it was too noisy to try to converse, so we all stood silently staring out at the open sea. The waters grew a little rougher, swaying slightly, but thankfully, there were still no whitecaps. Finally, after several minutes, the boat slowed, and then the engine suddenly cut out entirely. Now the swaying sound and the motion of the water was very noticeable, and there was only a slight breeze. Streaks of cloud were off to the west, coloring slightly orangish-red as the sun descended.
Holmes turned to the baron. “What now?”
The baron had taken out another cigarette, lit it, and exhaled smoke. “You shall know soon enough.”
We were still rocking slightly, and I glanced about. We had not completely left the coastline of France, and I could see rocky cliffs topped with greenery in the distance, but no human habitations. Nor were there any other boats nearby.
“This is the perfect spot.” The baron seemed to be talking to himself.
Lupin smiled. “A pleasant enough evening.”
I was staring at the coastline, but I heard Holmes draw in his breath. His hand grasped my shoulder. “Ah—look!”
I turned back toward the Channel. Ahead of us in the vast swaying expanse of water, a long silver-gray ellipsoid formed, slowly growing even as it rose up, clearly revealing its torpedo shape. Most of the thing was underwater, but whatever it was, it was enormous, well over two hundred feet long. I muttered the first thing that popped into my head. “A whale?” I shook my head, then more softly, “Obviously not.” Its surface looked to be metal, not the skin of a fish or mammal, and a slight hump rose up near the far end. For a second, I thought I saw an eye, then I recognized round glass. “What on earth?”
Holmes’s face beneath the brim of his hat, was faintly flushed, his gray-blue eyes gleaming in the fading light, even as a smile pulled at his mouth. “Incredible. So this is where all the money has gone. What is the name of your submarine, monsieur le baron?”
Chamerac looked pleased with Holmes’s enthusiasm. “That should be obvious.”
“Ah. The Nautilus, I suppose.”
The baron nodded. “Exactement.”