***
It was late afternoon when we reached Etretat from the beach. Raymonde called her mother using my cell phone, letting her know we were all right, and we took a taxi back to the Villa Leblanc. Mrs Leblanc invited us to her room, where we talked while having an afternoon snack.
"So, in the end, this was just a wild goose chase?" Mrs Leblanc stated. "Simply a few forgotten tunnels leading to the channel."
"Not so, Mrs Leblanc. These tunnels have told us much already. For example, we know Romans built some of them. Those tunnels have probably been in existence for more than 2000 years. Additionally their existence confirms the caves are real, even though we have not found them yet. That is no little thing to know. The Germans found and used these tunnels, confirming the link to Hitler. His involvement is no longer a mere letter in Leblanc's office," I explained.
"I have used that letter for many years in the display in Grand-Papa's office. I found it folded with the final papers and books from his estate. I never knew it was so important, otherwise I would not have left it on display,"
"Be happy that you did. Without that crucial link, we would not have understood the true scale of the mysteries confronting us," I said.
Her comment about Leblanc reminded me of the book in the office. "Mrs Leblanc, when you went through your grandfather's papers, did you come across a copy of the Hollow Needle?"
She nodded. "Yes, an old copy, signed by him. I have kept it in his office all these years. It was left to his son, Patrice Leblanc, my father. He died during the Second World War."
Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. I now understood why I was here, hot on the trail of a family mystery, while the Leblanc family was not. The person to whom the mystery had been intended to be revealed, Leblanc's son, had died before he even knew of its existence.
We followed her into Leblanc's office. I took the time to put on my glasses and activate them. Coulter came online, soon followed by Briar. I updated them on the end of our tunnel adventure. By then, Mrs Leblanc had opened the cabinet doors and pulled out her copy. Briar exclaimed, "Good gosh, my boy, it's absolutely identical to the other two."
The printing history showed the same legend. It was number one of a limited printing of four and one.
"So none of them are forgeries. They are all identified as number one," commented Coulter.
Mrs Leblanc was shaking her head. "Paul, what is bothering me about this the most, and please don't take this the wrong way, is that you are here in the first place. I cannot understand how you were led to this place by your great-grandfather. Who was he that he knew about all this?"
"My boy, I have been asking myself these questions as well. Your great-grandfather, Paul Sirenne, must once have been in France. Yet, for unexplained reasons, he left and relocated to Canada to open that bookstore of his," said Briar.
"He was also very rich!" I added. "My inherited wealth comes from long ago. The Sirennes did not leave France for reasons of poverty."
Inspired by a sudden thought, I opened the book to the back.
There were the same white stitches. Could it be? Yes! A hidden flap, carefully concealed by fake stitches. "Let me get my tools."
Before I could move, Mrs Leblanc had opened the desk drawer, pulling out a pair of tweezers. I got to work, playing with the edge, until I had loosened the thin layer of leather binding. Pulling the flap up, I revealed a piece of folded paper. Trying to stop the trembling in my fingers, I reached in with the tweezers and pulled it out.
Unfolding it gingerly, I read it aloud:
Patrice:
If you have found this note, then you have taken the first step towards regaining your heritage. Time and events have overtaken me. I have not been able to tell you everything. There is much more to know. You know what has been found, I have told you that much. You must look further, to discover what is really there.
When the time is right, your son's son must find a bookstore owner named Paul Sirenne, in Ottawa, Canada. With his help, what we have hidden will be revealed. Do not fail me, do not fail Etretat.
Your Father,
Maurice Leblanc
PS:
A real story ends near Etretat
Lost until Patrice infers new ideas subtly
Your friend
Paul Sirenne
My legs collapsing, I dropped heavily into the desk chair. O'Flanahan had just signed on and the others were talking excitedly. My head was buzzing. This note directly connected the Leblancs and the Sirennes together, telling us to find each other. Once again, I was forced to accept I was part of a pact spanning generations.
"What is going on?" I exclaimed.
"If only we knew more about events in Etretat during the Second World War. The revelations from this note are also muddying the Vallin waters. Let's not forget we need to find out how they knew of these tunnels," said Briar.
"Would talking to someone who was there be helpful?" sprung Mrs Leblanc.
I looked at her in surprise. "Do you know of someone?"
"Yes, I do. He is old now but, from what I hear, still has his wits about him. I was very young when I ran away with Grand-Papa. When I was old enough to grow curious about such things, I researched the past of this place, to find out what had gone on in our house after we were forced to abandon it. Eventually, I was led to 'Bequilles', a local man who had been active in the Resistance during the Second World War. He was a cripple, walking around on crutches, and had not been accepted for regular service. However, he found other ways to be helpful. If you tell him I sent you, he might share what he knows."
We decided to use the next few hours to go see this 'Bequilles' fellow. Perhaps our visit would provide useful information.
CHAPTER 11
Bequilles' Story
I parked the Porsche in front of an old house converted into apartments. I was wearing my glasses and they were in recording mode. The man's apartment was on the ground floor. There was no answer when we rang. A snooping landlord came out to tell us his tenant had gone out for a bite to eat, when Bequilles returned.
His old frame rested heavily on two worn crutches. He was looking at us with tired eyes, unsure about what we might want. His entire demeanour changed when we mentioned our names. He grew attentive and a spark scintillated in his deep, black eyes, barely visible underneath a pair of thick eyebrows.
"I'll not have us standing in the hallway like a gang of troublesome youngsters," he invited, unlocking the last door on the right. "Besides, I've been walking for almost thirty minutes. My old bones have had it for the day."
We entered into the small apartment. There was clutter everywhere. He led us around various piles of newspapers and magazines, to a small dining table. Once we were seated, he reached into a nearby cupboard, pulling out a bottle of wine, along with three glasses that were more or less clean. Uncorking the bottle, he poured an equal amount in each glass. Lifting his glass up, he called a toast, "To Victoire Leblanc, who lost so much and endured so much more."
It made me reflect on her tribulations, sixty years ago. After a brief moment, Bequilles spoke up.
"Last time I saw Victoire, we talked about some things from a long while ago. Most folks around these parts might prefer to let those things be. But she sent you and I can't have you wasting all that time coming here for nothing. So go on, ask your questions."
Right to the point. I liked him already! "Sir, Raymonde and I are on a search for historical information. We have come up with some unexpected knowledge connecting Leblanc's old villa with the Germans in World War Two. Mrs Leblanc felt you were the best man to tell us about that period."
His deep-set eyes bored into mine. "These things you want to know, why do you want to know them?"
"Raymonde and I met at the Villa Leblanc. We were both looking for the same thing, although neither of us knew it at the time. Raymonde's interest comes from her mother, who got it from her grandfather, Maurice Leblanc. Mine comes from my father, who gave me Leblan
c's book along with a strange message, when I was nine. Our search has united us in a way we could never have anticipated. We know something happened here long ago and it revolves around what Leblanc did in 1911. Then we discovered the Germans were mixed up in it."
Bequilles sat in silence for a while before replying, "There have been secrets in Etretat for a long time. I have been party to those secrets, something I hesitate to admit to strangers. But you may be the very people meant to receive this knowledge. Who knows? I wasn't part of the inner circle back then, so I wasn't made aware of everything. The war being what it was, some lines got blurred and I learned a bit more than I was supposed to, I guess. I always had a tendency to keep my mouth shut and my ears open.
"It was bad, this war, and Etretat got hit pretty hard. Our little village fared better than some others, so there was little use complaining. I was already working for the Resistance. Lucien Duperoux himself asked me to join. He knew about my skills with the radio. He had also seen me win a race with my crutches. He knew I could move fast when I needed to, something the Germans would never believe. I always acted stupid and slow around them. They might beat me but they would never suspect me.
"If I were to choose a place to start my story, it would be when Obersleutenant Weissmuller arrived, on June the thirteenth, 1940. I'll never forget that day, the day everything changed. One tank drove right up Henry V Avenue and shot at a large pile of garbage. Can't imagine what they were thinking. That's about the only funny thing that day. The Germans had itchy trigger fingers and some people got shot for simply being there. It was terrible. And it got worse. Over the next four days, they ransacked the entire town, terrorizing everyone, taking whatever they wanted and destroying the rest.
"Our real mayor back then, Raymond Lindon, had left before the Germans arrived, since he was Jewish. He went into hiding and he was good at that. He was an integral part of the local Resistance and had his hands in a lot of things. He came right back, as soon as the war ended and took up his post as if he had never left.
"Leblanc was gone by then, never to return. Anyway, Tonnetot, the deputy mayor, was summoned in the middle of night to meet Obersleutenant Weissmuller. Sitting in a bed, smoking our cigars and drinking our champagne, he threatened Tonnetot with death should any of his men be harmed and then sent him on his way. Four days later, Weissmuller was gone, called away to squelch a nest of resistance in Dieppe. On the seventeenth of June, another Kommandant arrived and took over control of the area."
Bequilles refilled his wine glass. "I've had a long time to think about back then. Over the years I came up with a theory. You see, although Weissmuller and his men drove off four days after they got here, I think they never left!"
He paused dramatically. "I did a lot of things during those four years. Most of it was simple stuff. There was food to bring to those that needed it and that was most everybody. We had to hide what we did have, because the Germans kept taking everything. We got pretty tricky along the way and bamboozled them a fair few times. Sometimes, we would get caught. Like when I was caught with coal I shouldn't have had, which, back then, was a pretty bad thing. I played dumb as always. They took me to see the Kommandant. He was busy talking with another man, who was giving him a serious dressing down. I only saw that man for a minute but I would put my hand in the fire and swear it was Obersleutenant Weissmuller, supposed to be gone more than five months before.
"Whenever there was talk, I would listen, trying to piece more of it together. Everyone in the resistance knew something strange was going on. Unexplained murders, many of them downright gruesome, convoys in the night, all sorts of things. Then, there was the growing list of new Kommandants. Germans were a pretty organised lot. I mean they had to be, considering what they were trying to do. I would have thought when a Kommandant was in place, he would stay there. I even checked in other towns and found that was pretty much the rule. Yet, every six months, a new Kommandant and his troops would roll in. It made no sense. Then, there were the trucks."
"Trucks?" Raymonde asked, captivated by his story.
"Yes. Lots and lots of trucks. Almost every night, you could hear their rumble. At night, the patrols doubled, so you couldn't go wandering the countryside on a whim, no sir. It was our biggest problem. The Resistance had a lot of trouble getting out there to find out what was going on. I know, from seeing a manifest one very lucky time, that some of those trucks were bringing cement. Tons of cement. Later, there were explosions in the channel. For almost six months, they went on. But things got real interesting when we noticed the duplicate German patrols."
"Duplicate patrols? What do you mean?" I asked.
He grinned a toothless smile. "It sure threw us for a loop when we figured it out. When the first unexpected patrol came by, we blamed the lookout who had worked on the timetable. When it happened again and again, we realised something entirely different was going on. One day, we were lucky. We were able to follow the surprise patrol to a small glade, near the Dungeon, a local restaurant. Soldiers were being dropped off. They entered the wooded glade and never came out. By our count, over one hundred men had entered the glade and vanished during a period of twelve days. To add to the mystery, it wasn't the Kommandant's troops either. It seemed likely they knew of the other soldiers, I mean, how could they not? But they never paid them the slightest notice.
"There were two separate groups of Germans, one hidden and the other brought here strictly to deal with the daily tasks, left in the dark about the activities of the first group.
"Eventually, the local leader of the Resistance sneaked into the glade to follow the disappearing men. We had all heard the fishermen's tales about secret tunnels and such. Perhaps there was some truth to them. Although guarded, the glade had a slight dip in its centre, which he used to crawl past unseen. Seeing a soldier entering a narrow hole in the west side of the glade, he pursued him, entering into a long tunnel, which led him to the beach, on the Amont side. The soldier was nowhere to be seen."
Raymonde and I knew that tunnel. We had glimpsed the glade through the locked iron gate. Bequilles continued, "The tunnel on the beach ended at least eight metres in the air, its original access destroyed long ago by the tide. The Germans could not be going there. There had to be another way out. So he searched and searched, only to be nearly caught by four soldiers who came out of the tunnel wall. He dropped to the ground, hiding in the shadows. After they were gone, he examined where they had come from and found a trigger brick that opened a hidden door, leading to another tunnel. More Germans were coming and he almost got caught, jumping into the Channel from the edge of the tunnel, the Germans hot on his tail. They must have thought he'd drowned, which he nearly did. They beefed up their security around the glade after that. It only was much later that he chanced going back, near the end of the war. The Germans were in a panic by then. He returned to the second hidden tunnel, eventually arriving at a crossroad. One way was blocked by a fresh rock fall. The other led to Leblanc's house."
Bequilles emptied the last dregs of wine into his glass. "That's almost all I know. After the Germans left, one more thing happened. A woman who lived out on the Petit Valaine road woke up in the night, hearing faint screams and machine gun fire, followed by sporadic firing. Searches were carried out the next day but nothing was ever found."
"The Resistance leader who found those tunnels? What was his name?"
"His name? He was called Vallin, Gerard Vallin."
There was our connection. It explained how the Vallin brothers knew of the tunnel. Their father had been in the Resistance. "Why did you never tell anyone of the tunnels?"
Bequilles' eyes narrowed. "That's a good question. Yes sir, it is. Vallin told me about it as quick as he could, the first time around, and told many others, although most didn't believe him. The second time he went in, he only told me. That's because someone else was there, when he was doing the telling: Tonnetot. As soon as he heard Vallin, he jumped on both of us right quick. Told us we weren't to ev
er tell anyone else about it. No one was to know about the Secret. That's what he called it, 'The Secret', like it was something big and important. He said Etretat was hiding something very special and some of us had the duty to protect it. So, I haven't breathed a word about them until this very day, no Sir, not to anyone,"
"So why did you tell us?" Raymonde asked.
His eyes twinkled a bit. "There are many reasons, I guess. I'm not long for this world," he paused, noticing our concerned looks. "Oohh, there's no use denying it, I can feel it coming. I'm thinking this might be the last chance I get to pass on the knowledge that's been in my head all these years, never breathing a word of it. It feels good to let it out. But it's not just that, it's you two as well. Let me explain. When Tonnetot told us what he did, he let on more than he intended. He wasn't surprised about the tunnels. He was more worried about us telling anyone than about what the Germans had been up to. One thing I knew for sure about Tonnetot- what he said was for the good of Etretat. Today, when you explained your reasons for being here, I felt you were here for the good of Etretat as well. I thought this story long dead, but you two are bringing it back to life," he paused, pointing a trembling finger at Raymonde. "You are from the very family that began all this so long ago. You are directly involved in this secret, as Tonnetot called it. As for you, Mr Sirenne, I think you are very special indeed. I am very surprised to finally meet you. It is right for both of you to find out about your heritage. Call me an old fool but that is what I believe and that is why I told you."
I shook his hand warmly, thanking him for his trust, and Raymonde hugged him tightly. He remained sitting at the kitchen table when we left, looking at his empty glass of wine.
The Caves of Etretat: Part One of Four Page 13
