The Caves of Etretat: Part One of Four

by Matt Chatelain

  By now, he was speaking loudly. I had started feeling uneasy as soon as he mentioned Cartier, the name sparking a distant memory. O'Flanahan was up to something. He continued, increasing the volume of his voice even more, "On Monday, Sirenne referred to an internet page involving tunnels. Looking it up, I found an interesting mention of Etretat in 1534, on the ancient 'King's Maritime Map'. The king it refers to can only be Francis the First. A coincidence? I think not, if you note the map was dated the same year as Cartier's first expedition. I believe Cartier, on his first trip to Canada, did find treasure, contrary to recorded history."

  Incensed, I stood up, shoving my chair back with a screech. "Don't you dare, O'Flanahan."

  He ignored me completely, increasing the volume by several decibels, "Found in Canada, Cartier brought TREASURE back and hid it in the Fort of Frefosse. But, you ask, what treasure did he bring back? Isn't it obvious?"

  "Stop, don't say it," I shouted, getting angrier by the second.

  "He brought back the OAK ISLAND TREASURE, that's what!" he concluded, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  O'Flanahan had done it again. This time, he had linked my father's hunt to his time-wasting Oak Island Treasure. How dare he? Briar and Coulter were laughing at me, so I sat back down, still glaring at him. "All right, O'Flanahan, although I'm sure you did that just to bother me, go ahead and try to logically justify this nonsense!" I said through clenched teeth.

  "Come on, Sirenne, take it easy. We're just talking here. I know you think the Oak Island Treasure is fictitious but it makes sense this time. Listen to the facts, no nonsense here, just what we know about Oak Island. Something went on there, even you have to admit that. The 'money-pit', as they called it, was covered with large heavy flagstones. There were heavy oak platforms every three meters, to a depth of nearly thirty-six metres. On different levels, they found charcoal, putty, coconut fibre. They found an inscribed stone, complete with cryptic clue. Most importantly, let's not forget how the designers rebuilt two entire beaches. Using flat rocks, eel grass and coconut fibre, they successfully hid two flood tunnels, with five feeder drains, ensuring flooding."

  "But no treasure was ever found. You know that, O'Flanahan," I said.

  "In this case, I think that's a good point. Look, guys, no one knows who put it there or when but it was there at some point and somebody went through a whole lot of effort making sure it stayed hidden. Maybe it was used to store gold intended to pay Indians and soldiers garrisoned in Quebec and Montreal, although some people insist the Oak Island was connected to Templar treasure. Your guess is as good as mine. Officially, Cartier never found anything but what if he arrived at Oak Island and saw the gold being hidden? What if he sneaked in and stole the treasure? Would he admit to it? Who would he tell? One thing is for sure: Francis financed a second trip, so the news from the first can't have been all bad.

  Coulter nodded. "You make some sense but it's just theory. Little proof there, I'm afraid. We can't forget the basic rules of treasure hunting. Until we have enough solid facts, our conjectures will never amount to more than a Thursday night chat. I, on the other hand, unlike the two of you, came armed with real facts, pertinent to the changes in the Fort of Frefosse!"

  Our ears perked up. Coulter was never one to exaggerate. "As I said during our prior meeting, I have easy access to restricted documents. This allowed me to delve right into Etretat's records. I downloaded everything I could find from 1900 to 1920. After a sleepless night poring over old documents, I came up with this."

  He held up an official looking piece of paper. "This, gentlemen, is an accident report, dated November 13, 1911. It identifies a fellow named Old Man Vallin, if you can believe that. He had offered to carry out some minor road repairs to facilitate militia travel. There is reference to the poor character of Old Man Vallin and to his reputation for drunkenness. On October 26 1911, Vallin acquired several sticks of dynamite, purportedly to remove a boulder on one of these roads. He also purchased several bottles of wine for the trip. He took a wrong turn, ending on the trail to the Fort of Frefosse. By the time he arrived at the fort, he was hopelessly lost and drunk. Mistaking a dynamite stick for a candle, he nearly blew himself up. In a state of panic, he tossed all the sticks over the fort's walls. The resulting explosion destroyed the old fort. The town was in a furor. I found reference to a court summons for the unfortunate Vallin. Strangely, the case never went to trial. Vallin was declared innocent of wrongdoing and the incident labelled an accident. The land on which the fort stood was sold within days and a golf course opened on the site," Coulter put the sheet down, pulling another from his folder.

  "I might have been satisfied with that, if it weren't for this document. It shows various outstanding taxes in Etretat in mid-1911. Here, you will note Old Man Vallin's large tax debt. So large in fact, it was likely Vallin's home and land would be repossessed by the town. Not a rich man, our Vallin. Yet, on Nov 20 1911, just a few days after the explosion, Vallin paid his taxes in full, with cash, according to the notes in the ledger. Where did all this money come from? Who gave it to him and for what? Too many questions and too many coincidences," Coulter concluded, tossing the second sheet on the table.

  We broke into chaotic conversation. Even if we tried to ascribe innocent explanations to these facts, their number was growing beyond what coincidence could easily allow. Eventually my friends quieted down. It was now my turn to talk. Retrieving the two copies of The Hollow Needle from a nearby shelf, I placed them in the centre of the table.

  "I thought I would go at this from a different direction. While the mystery about Etretat and its fort was utterly fascinating, I found myself more captivated by these two identical books. Perhaps a natural inclination, being in the book business. Another factor influenced me: the books were here, in my hands, while Etretat was not. The first oddity I noted was this..."

  I opened both books to the page opposite the list of chapters, containing the printing history. "These books, printed in 1955, are from a limited edition and are individually numbered. The original copy, the one my father gave me when I was nine, is stamped number one in a limited printing of four and one, whatever that means."

  "Could it mean five?" asked O'Flanahan. "After all four and one makes five, doesn't it?"

  Briar jumped in. "Why say it that way then? Surely it means something less obvious than that."

  O'Flanahan barked a reply. "Tell me what it means then?"

  "Come on, guys, let Paul finish what he was saying," interjected Coulter in a low voice. O'Flanahan looked sheepish for a moment, then smiled and sat back in his chair. I took this as my cue.

  "If you examine the copy my father sent before his murder, you will note it is also number one in a limited printing of four and one. By logical conclusion, one of these books must be a counterfeit copy. Even stranger, they are both signed by Maurice Leblanc, apparently genuine signatures, yet Leblanc died in 1939, well before these books were printed."

  I paused for a second, my audience spellbound. "I examined both for the slightest material difference. The paper, the ink, the typeset, the font, absolutely everything was identical and all in perfect condition. If one was a counterfeit copy, it had to be the best work I had ever seen. I kept returning to the note from my father at the back of the original book. The note and, more specifically, the dried-out tape keeping it in place. Once applied, tape will almost invariably damage a book. Over time, the glue can stain the book, or stick to the pages, as you can see here. My father simply would not do this. Not ever. So why did he do it here?"

  Coulter was the first to suggest a possibility, "To call attention to it! He wanted you to wonder about it."

  "Did you find out anything else?" O'Flanahan jumped in.

  "Actually, I waited for the three of you, so we could discover together what my father was trying to tell me. The trail is right here. What should we do?"

  "Take the note and the tape off and look at everything carefully. That's my suggestion," O'Flanahan an
swered.

  Nods from the others carried the motion. Using a pair of fine tweezers, I tightly pinched the note and tape together then lifted. It came off easily, with a slight zipping noise, the dried glue flaking off the page, its adherence long gone. Pulling out a magnifying glass, I bent over the book and scrutinized the cover.

  I saw stitches in the leather but some looked odd. I realised what looked like stitches, across an area of about eight centimetres, were in fact white ink drawn to look like stitches. "There is a hidden pocket here."

  "What? Are you sure?" asked Briar, looking stunned.

  "Yes. Watch." Lifting the revealed flap with the tweezers, I peered inside, seeing a folded piece of paper. Reaching in, I pulled it out, unfolding it carefully.

  Paul:

  If you have found this note, you have discovered the Great Hunt. My father taught me the way of the hunt, and gave me specific instructions to teach you. You in turn will teach your son, preparing him. He is the one who must solve the Great Hunt mystery. It will be his duty to regain our lost heritage. I know part of the trail to our past is in this book. There's something about the Fort of Frefosse, I am sure of it.

  Good Luck, Paul. Prepare your Son. He must regain what our family has lost.

  PS:

  A real story ends near Etretat,

  Lost until Paul infers new ideas subtly.

  You ought understand responsibility,

  Necessarily after moiling Etretat.

  Paul Sirenne

  "There's a problem with that note. It's not my father's writing." I said.

  "Do you think it's a fake?" O'Flanahan asked.

  "No, that's not what I meant. It's my grandfather's writing."

  "Are you telling me your grandfather was also named Paul Sirenne, like your father and you after him? Isn't that odd?" observed O'Flanahan.

  I nodded in agreement. It was very odd. My father had never explained it satisfactorily, even though I had asked him on several occasions.

  "If this note was written by your grandfather to your father, then the note is referring to you. The Great Hunt was intended to be your task," noted Briar.

  "Wouldn't that date the Great Hunt back to the time of the story in The Hollow Needle?" Coulter asked excitedly.

  "Yes, it would," I answered. "I am getting overwhelmed. Let's have a coffee break."

  "Excellent idea," Coulter said without hesitation. "Perfect timing!"

  Coulter followed me into the kitchen, while Briar and O'Flanahan stayed in the dining room, looking over the files. Within moments, they were arguing about something. What was it with those two? Meanwhile, I was having problems dealing with the note.

  Nothing was accidental about any of this!

  My father had always known I was meant to begin this hunt. This was a decades-long plan, inherited from father to son, waiting for me to undertake the Great Hunt. By luck or design, he had sent me the book and the Shadow-Killer's attempt to rob my heritage had failed.

  Briar ran into the kitchen, holding a sheaf of papers. "Coulter, where did you get these?"

  "Those? Didn't I tell you? I guess I forgot. When I was searching for financial details, I did a random search and got some Francis the First financial records dated from 1525 onward. There were several folders there, along with the financial stuff, so I downloaded all of them. I printed some random sections to bring here."

  "You know how much I love these old documents. I found a sheet dated 1530. It's a letter from the College de France's administrator, Guillaume Bude, addressed to Francis the First. It summarizes a search for documents about the Fort of Frefosse and refers to plans or drawings of some sort, but they are not with the page. Do you have more of this file? We might be able to get an architectural drawing of the fort from back then," Briar asked, his breathing shallow and rapid.

  "Yes, there is more to the folder. I brought my laptop, so we could check it out," assured Coulter.

  Excited, we headed to the dining table only to realize Coulter still peered at us from the kitchen, a determined look on his face. "After the coffee is done, of course!"

  We finally found ourselves standing around his laptop, while he punched a few keys and called up the folder. After a moment or two, a frustrated Coulter muttered.

  "It's not there. I can't find it but I think it was there at some point."

  The file Coulter had printed was numbered 'F1-3-1530-73' and the following file was 'F1-3-1530-75'.

  There was a file missing!

  Coulter called up the folder index. "It says here 'F1-3-1530-74' was not in the folder when the files were scanned into computer. It was assumed lost."

  "Can you search for it in other folders? Maybe it was misfiled," suggested O'Flanahan.

  Coulter's fingers flew over the keyboard. A page of results popped up. With four of us looking, few details were likely to be missed. Just after Coulter's second cup of coffee, we found it, filed in a folder containing castle drawings and engineering plans.

  "If you wanted to hide this document, there could not be a better place than this. It actually looks as if it belongs here. Someone placed this here intentionally," O'Flanahan said.

  "Why didn't they simply steal it?" Briar asked.

  "Perhaps they were unable to. The physical documents were housed in the Royal Library. Not an easy place to steal documents. It would have been much simpler to misfile them deliberately," O'Flanahan answered.

  We connected the laptop to my network and soon had a page printing. I placed it on the table, sweeping the rest of the papers out of the way. O'Flanahan seized the paper, pulling it close to his face. A strange tremor ran through his body, the hand holding the paper flopped to his side, and he collapsed backwards into his chair.

  "I-I've seen those before," he stuttered, gasping for breath. Suddenly, he jumped up, full of energy and screamed at the top of his lungs:

  "I'VE SEEN THOSE BEFORE HA-HA!" He did a weird little jig, looking utterly ridiculous, and then ran frenetically to his coat, pulling out an old tattered paperback from a side pocket.

  The Oak Island Mystery!

  "No-no-no," I shouted despite myself. O'Flanahan hurried back, slipped on a loose area rug and almost fell, but caught himself and kept going, limping a little while swearing under his breath. He slammed the book on the table, opening it to the page showing the inscription found on the tablet from the money pit.

  "There!" he said. "Tell me those aren't the same symbols," he challenged.

  The symbols from the dungeon layout were similar to those on the tablet from Oak Island. For a moment, it seemed as if O'Flanahan had found a real link. Luckily, I had spent a fair bit of time on that 'mystery' as well, "Hold your horses, O'Flanahan. The stone with the original inscription was lost in the early 1900's. You know that. The tablet inscription as we know it today, was the work of a company trying to sell shares in their newly registered Oak Island Mining Company. Using a very simple transposition of symbols with English letters, the cipher was easily translated to the phrase: 'Forty feet below two million pounds are buried'. That inscription is a fake!"

  O'Flanahan looked discomfited, which, admittedly, made me feel better, but his discomfort only lasted for a few moments. "You're right, of course. I forgot that part in my excitement. But, if it's a fake, how come the symbols are on those Frefosse plans?" he rallied back.

  Briar, ever the professor, pounced on that one. "When you think about it, the symbols in that inscription are not particularly rare. Circles, rectangles and triangles are common. The Romans certainly used them, as did the French. Perhaps it is just coincidence?"

  We were in danger of veering off-track. "I think it's time to summarize what we have and decide our next move. This evening has been very productive, much more than we had any right to expect. So, where should we start?"

  Briar jumped in immediately. "We start with the geological information. Leblanc's book implies the Needle of Etretat is hollow, a statement we know to be false. However, the premise is gener
ally accurate. A crumbly material at best, chalk is easily eroded by the elements, waves and tidal currents. It is prone to cave formation, in particular, vertical pipes, following along cracks or weaknesses. These cracks often widen into large caves, such as the Beachy Head system, which is more than four hundred metres in length. Therefore, Leblanc's theory in The Hollow Needle is essentially plausible, if not factual. Those cliffs are like Swiss cheese. If you ask me, I would stake my reputation on the probability of secret tunnels and caves being involved, despite that the needle is solid. The port of Etretat was both a boon and a danger. Enemy ships could approach as easily as local ships. The Romans built a road to Etretat to simplify access to the shipyard. They erected a fort to protect themselves from pirates. Later, because of the fall of the Roman Empire, activity ended and all of this was somehow lost to history. Fishermen took over the area and life went on. The next step is up to you, O'Flanahan."

  "Although I did get a wee bit carried away with the Oak Island connection, there are still some powerful facts to consider. The fort fell into ruin over the centuries. It attracted the attention of Francis the First in 1530, or perhaps even earlier. Possibly, it has something to do with the mysterious tunnels mentioned in Lindon's book. At some point before 1530, Francis commissioned a rebuild of the fort. Perhaps it was to protect the coast but it could have been the presence of those tunnels that motivated Francis to rebuild. He sent Jacques Cartier to Canada, in search of gold and treasure. Possibly, he returned with more than history says he did."

  Fabian Coulter continued the review, "The fact is Francis rebuilt the fort and used it often. That's it. The fort dropped from sight until the early 1900's when it caught Leblanc's attention and was featured in his famous story. Soon after that, Old Man Vallin blew it up, at the request of someone whose identity remains unknown."

  "I just want to add a few points. The first is we have barely touched the surface about this tunnel business. The second point is Leblanc. He is at the centre of all this. He found Etretat as a young man and kept coming back. He rented a summerhouse there and later bought it. It is certain he was fascinated with the small town and was instrumental in drawing much attention to it through his books. All this attention bothered someone enough to pay Old Man Vallin to blow the fort up and perhaps, also, to hide its architectural drawings. Finally, we cannot forget what the two Hollow Needle books and their notes imply. That may be the most telling point of all," I finished.