The Cathedral of Fear

by Irene Adler

  “Don’t be foolish!” the head of the guards shouted. “We’re seven armed men against two! Put your revolvers on the ground.”

  After an irritable nod of their leader’s head, the Master’s men did as they were ordered.

  “May I at least know who is viciously attacking me?” the man in the red robe roared.

  “My name is Jean-Jacques François d’Aurevilly and I, too, would very much like to know to whom I am speaking,” the ancient nobleman said, taking a step forward.

  “Here is the answer for your satisfaction: I am Ermete Crusius, Grand Master of the Sacred Order of St. Michael and Knight —”

  “Why not cut it short and state that you’re really Mr. Albert Vaneighem?” Sherlock interrupted.

  The Master’s eyes darted to my friend’s face, showing a brief flash of surprise. But the man seemed skilled at hiding any mood. And his mouth immediately stretched into a scornful smile.

  “You again … But you’re not entirely wrong underneath. There’s no reason to continue this farce,” he said. He turned toward the duke. “And if you’re really the Duke d’Aurevilly that I’ve heard so much about, I know you’re certainly a shrewd, reasonable man. Someone I won’t need to play the role of a mysterious sorcerer for. So, yes, I am Albert Vaneighem, and I’m sure I can make you a very advantageous offer.”

  “What offer are you blabbering about?” d’Aurevilly retorted furiously.

  “If we join forces, we may soon be able to put our hands on an extremely valuable object, one able to guarantee us both immense richness. Isn’t that a generous offer?”

  Right then, the woman in the bonnet stepped forward, emerging from the darkness where she had stayed hidden until then. She tore the scarf away from her face, and I finally realized she was Madame de Valminier.

  “How … What … What are you saying, Master? I … I don’t understand …” she stammered, her face white as a sheet.

  Vaneighem gave her a crueler look than I had ever seen, full of hate.

  “YOU!” he screamed. “I should have guessed your stupidity would ruin everything!” An unrepeatable word followed.

  The woman’s tear-filled eyes seemed to freeze, so great was her dismay.

  However, d’Aurevilly looked at the woman with great pity. Whispering a few words in her ear, he invited her to move away again.

  Then he turned back to Vaneighem, his eyes shining with disdain.

  “My dear sir, you know nothing about me, while I have the debatable fortune to know about your evil deeds from the newspapers! Ever since the first time I heard about this mysterious Grand Master, I suspected it was some sort of fraud, but now that I know what a miserable scoundrel is involved, it will be an even greater pleasure for me to help you get the end you deserve!”

  Vaneighem did not appear to react and merely gave the duke a scornful smile.

  “Well, then I guess that —” he started to say in an incredibly calm voice.

  At exactly that instant, springing like a lightning bolt, the con man jumped backward into the dark passage we had seen him come from. Holding the edge of an old barrel that had been hidden in a dark corner, he hurled it at d’Aurevilly’s guards. Terrible confusion ensued. The duke’s men, caught by surprise, fired random shots. I remember the cries, the clouds of dust, and the splinters of stone whistling through the air. And then Lupin, moving quickly, jumped over the little barrel and a guard on the ground, giving chase to the con man.

  “Arsène!” I screamed. I wanted to lunge down the passage, too, but Sherlock stopped me, grabbing me by the arm.

  It’s hard for me to find the words to describe how I felt when I saw the Master’s red robe reappear. Vaneighem’s face was twisted into a horrible sneer. Lupin was at his back, holding his arm in a grip that must have been quite painful and that kept the man at his mercy.

  “Thank you, young man!”

  “Well done!”

  Mr. Nelson and the head of the guards congratulated him, taking charge of the imposter.

  His henchmen, however, were able to make a run for it, taking advantage of the confusion. No one cared too much about that insignificant detail.

  D’Aurevilly’s guards tied up Vaneighem’s hands and surrounded him.

  “You’re just a pretentious old man, and your days are numbered! The rebels will make mincemeat out of you!” the Emperor of Con yelled. But no one listened any longer, not even the recipient of these insults, the Duke d’Aurevilly. Instead, the Duke gently grasped the sobbing Madame de Valminier.

  Despite having run into serious danger due to this woman, I could only feel great pity for her.

  As the guards escorted Vaneighem, Sherlock and Lupin enjoyed his insults as if they were the most delightful entertainment. I walked along beside them and could not help smiling, despite all the thoughts spinning through my mind.

  Finally we reached a small stone staircase, which brought us into the open air. We emerged into a garden, next to a brick building that looked like a stable to me. The afternoon clouds had cleared, and a nearly full moon shone in the sky. The guards took custody of Vaneighem, leading him to a small annex with sturdy iron grating on the windows.

  For a little while, Mr. Nelson stayed beside the woman who had burst into tears upon seeing me, down in the underground. The woman kept looking at me, even then, with eyes that seemed to shine with great emotion. I looked at her carefully as well, and in a flash, I realized I knew her.

  Of course! She was the mysterious lady who had chanced to meet me several times in her carriage in Saint-Malo during the previous months, at the opera house and along the streets of London. I thought about how much her face beneath the moonlight resembled the delicate feminine profile on the cameo she had given me this past Christmas.

  I took two steps toward her, intending to speak to her and finally discover who she was. But for a reason I cannot explain, I suddenly stopped in the middle of the street. Right then, we met each other’s eyes. Like me, she too had fallen prey to hesitation. So we looked at each other, smiling, without even saying a word.

  Chapter 21

  AN EXTRAORDINARY DAY

  We discovered that the garden was part of the mansion belonging to the Duke d’Aurevilly, who gave instructions for bedrooms to be made ready for every one of us. We were all very tired and grateful to the duke for his hospitality.

  When it came time to say goodnight, the lady from the cameo came over to me in the mansion’s large front hall. She offered me a silk nightgown in a bright azure color.

  “Perhaps it’s a little big for you, but I think it’s better than nothing,” she said, smiling at me. Bidding me good night, she moved away and went down the grand marble staircase that led to the bedrooms.

  When I was finally alone in the room I had been given, however, I tried to collect my thoughts, which were now more tangled than ever. My great exhaustion kept me from doing so, however, and I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber almost immediately.

  The next day, I arose in the late morning, well rested and feeling a bit calmer.

  What had happened that was so serious, after all? I asked myself now, comforted by the light of a new day. Of course, I had disobeyed my parents and made them worry. I was now old enough to know that every action had its consequences, and I knew it would be true for me in this case. There were rules to the game, and I was prepared to accept them. Yet on the other hand, had I not always been right to say that my life had been shrouded in mystery? My parents could not deny that, and I hoped that this would make my behavior a little more understandable in their eyes.

  I found an old silver hairbrush on a table and used it to deal with my hair, which had great need of it after the last few days. Then I got dressed and went downstairs, intending to go look for Mr. Nelson.

  There was no trace of him to be found. But I heard voices coming from a room to the right of the ma
rble staircase. The door was ajar. I knocked and heard the voice of the Duke d’Aurevilly inviting me to enter.

  I found myself in a large dining room. The duke was seated at the table with Sherlock and Lupin. The duke politely asked me to join them for lunch. Feeling attacked by hunger pangs, I accepted with pleasure.

  After a maid poured me a cup of café au lait and I served myself a slice of buttered bread and apricot preserves, the duke gave me a kindly look.

  “Your friends have been telling me about your adventures of the past few days!” he said. “You three young people are remarkably brave!”

  “Perhaps the three of us are just reckless,” I suggested.

  The duke laughed heartily. “After all, that’s natural! You are young, and you threw yourselves headlong into this matter, which was so distant from your lives, at heart. Whereas I, a poor worn-out old man, kept hiding my head in the sand, even though not a day passed without someone coming to speak to me about this Grand Master.” He shook his head. “Oh, you should not believe that my old nose hadn’t smelled a rat in this story! I certainly had. But at my age, you get like this, closed into your own shell, wanting the world just to leave you in peace.”

  “Nonetheless, you didn’t swallow Vaneighem’s bait,” Lupin said. “And that’s undoubtedly to your credit.”

  “Perhaps,” d’Aurevilly said. “But I have much to blame myself for. Particularly if I think of poor Charlotte … Madame de Valminier, I mean.”

  “Why, if it’s not indiscreet of me?” I asked.

  “You see, Charlotte is a distant cousin of my poor wife. The daughter of a genuine fiend. He squandered all he had and left her without a penny. So my wife took her under her protection, and Charlotte has lived with us for many years. When my wife passed away, she left her a small income. Charlotte has always been a naïve young woman, wanting to take revenge on the life that treated her so poorly. When she started to talk only about the Grand Master and his noble plan to save Paris and all of France, I should have been worried. Instead I did nothing more than grumble a few insults,” d’Aurevilly said, lowering his gaze.

  We heard him sigh deeply, but when he raised his head again, his smile had returned.

  “Luckily, three young adventurers came to settle this ugly affair! Isn’t that so?” he joked.

  “We were just in the right place,” Sherlock said. “The truth tumbled between our feet like a stone. Although there are still a few things that aren’t completely clear to me.”

  “Indeed? And yet I thought you were the one who first figured out who the devil this Grand Master really was — or am I mistaken?”

  “No, you’re not mistaken, sir,” Sherlock admitted, with all his immodesty. “What I don’t understand is the reference Vaneighem made to an extremely valuable object when he was talking to you. As far as I know, there should have been a relic down there. An object that surely is worth something!”

  “The Heart of St. Michael. No, my young friend, but the chest that holds it … Ah! That certainly is worth something!”

  “A chest?” Lupin asked, intrigued.

  “Of course! That was one of my grandfather Duke Joseph’s favorite stories! He loved to tell me about when King Charles VII was returning from a lucky military campaign and a priest gave him the relic of St. Michael, believed to have been lost before then,” d’Aurevilly explained. “And so the sovereign decided to hide it in a secret place in the Paris underground, so that it would protect his beloved capital. He had it set into a chest, and he had the Stars of Africa mounted on it. At that time, the Stars of Africa were the largest rubies known to exist … and their value today is nearly incalculable!”

  Sherlock, Lupin, and I looked at each other. Now the series of events made some sense. But it still was not all clear to me.

  “And the story about the map being divided into eight fragments?” I asked.

  D’Aurevilly smiled. “Charles VII was a clever man, believe me! When it came time to put the relic underground, he decided to keep the place he had chosen a secret. A secret from everyone, except eight representatives of the oldest and most prominent noble families in France. He made them knights of the newly reborn Order of St. Michael, as well as guardians of the Map of the Order. These included the Dukes of Prunes and Alençon, the Viscount of Rochechouart and, obviously, one of my ancestors.” At that point, the duke paused and considered us again. “Do you have any idea why he did such a thing, my young friends?” he asked slyly.

  “Because by telling those gentlemen about such a solemn secret, he intended to create strong bonds of loyalty and obedience, I presume,” Sherlock responded, without the slightest hesitation.

  “Exactly, young man!” d’Aurevilly nodded, admiring my friend’s promptness. “That way, he strengthened his relationships with those families, and, consequently, his own power.”

  Unlike what usually was the case, I appreciated that little history lesson. Lupin took on a dubious air, however.

  “What you just told us is perfectly reasonable, Sir Duke,” he admitted. “But then, how did Vaneighem take in so many people with his sham about the Grand Master?”

  “Oh! That is easy, my boy. He had a very powerful ally — a popular, centuries-old legend. When you understand men’s souls better, you’ll see that all it takes is a large number of people inclined to believe, and a legend suddenly becomes truth. And unfortunately, this time many noble Parisians — their hearts filled with fear — wanted nothing more than to believe in the fable of the Grand Master.”

  “And now? What do you plan to do with the relic?” Sherlock asked him.

  “Absolutely nothing at all!” the duke replied. “Other than leave it resting in its place in the heart of Paris.”

  “I’m afraid, though, that King Charles’s secret is no longer so secret,” I broke in. “We also know that the Heart of St. Michael is located under the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. And all of Vaneighem’s accomplices know it now, too!”

  The duke looked me in the eyes. I realized he was about to tell me something he had never confided to anyone. “I do not think you need to worry too much about that, my dear,” he said. “The crypt where the relic is kept cannot be reached from inside the cathedral, and many of the underground passages below there have collapsed over the centuries.”f

  “Actually, I believe Vaneighem himself met this problem,” Sherlock added. “During our final eventful encounter, I’m sure I heard him talk about explosives. That’s the only way to open a path through the collapsed passages, I imagine.”

  “Just so. Not to mention that the Map of the Order is now back in good hands,” the duke said, patting the breast pocket of his dark tailcoat.

  And his words rang out like the conclusion of that tumultuous Parisian adventure.

  My friends and I were leaving the room when the duke turned back to us. “So tell me, with regards to Notre-Dame, have you ever seen Paris from the top of the North Tower?” he asked. “It’s a fantastic sight. Quite different from moldy passages! It’s something your young eyes ought to see.”

  The duke’s words pressed me to imagine the city he was offering us — immense before my eyes, extending to the horizon as far as the eye could see.

  “It would truly be wonderful to be able to go up there,” I said.

  “Why not go then?” the duke suggested. “I can make my carriage available to you, and you will be there in ten minutes!”

  I knew that the time for explanations would come very soon, and almost certainly alongside punishment for my recent poor conduct. So the idea of having one last moment of freedom filled me with enthusiasm. Sherlock and Lupin must have sensed this, because after hesitating for an instant, they accepted the duke’s offer with gratitude.

  D’Aurevilly clapped his hands in satisfaction and stood up, inviting us to follow him out to the courtyard. When we were outside the mansion, Mr. Nelson approached us.r />
  “I just received a message from your father. He will be here this afternoon. So it would be appropriate if you were back here in no more than a couple of hours,” Mr. Nelson said to me, casting an eye at the carriage waiting for us.

  “Of course, Mr. Nelson. I promise. We’ll be back in time,” I said. And I climbed into the carriage with my friends.

  Duke d’Aurevilly gave his coachman instructions and then said goodbye to us, smiling. And when we finally got going, we found ourselves alone again, just the three of us.

  “Hey, but … doesn’t it bother you not to have seen the relic or especially that chest?” Lupin asked. “I mean, with those blasted rubies, it should be an extraordinary object!”

  “I suppose so,” I replied. “But I’d prefer a bit of fresh air at the top of the tower of Notre-Dame now. I hope I’m done with tunnels and underground passages for a little while!”

  Sherlock yawned loudly. “As far as I’m concerned, now that we’ve gotten to the bottom of this business, those rubies are just like any other minerals. But I’m looking forward to my return trip to London! I think I’m going to have one of the most interesting conversations of my life, do you know?”

  “Ah, really?”

  “Absolutely. The Duke d’Aurevilly is not sure what will happen in Paris in the coming days. So after having sent a telegram to Scotland Yard, he decided to escort Vaneighem to London, where he’s sought after for at least a half dozen crimes,” Sherlock crowed.

  “You don’t mean to tell me that you —”

  “You bet! I will take advantage of the passage and will be traveling in the midst of that mixed company,” he replied.

  “A trip side by side with that gallows bird? I wouldn’t do it for all the gold in the world!” I said.

  “He’s a perfect rogue, we’re in agreement there. But for someone interested in crime, Vaneighem is truly a fountain of information.”