CHAPTER XXII

"We must find out," said Chase, viewing the opening with considerable astonishment.

"It may be some secret passageway," put in Dunstan, excitedly. "Upon my word, this is a mighty interesting development!"

"I should say it is," exclaimed Don Hale, and having uttered these words with much conviction, he began hastily climbing over the wreckage. The broken, uneven surfaces leading downward afforded a good foothold, and thus he was able to make his way to the bottom without much trouble.

"Yes sir, it's a subterranean passageway," he called to the others, who were sliding and slipping down the incline. "Now we'll see what's ahead of us."

With Chase and Dunstan at his heels, he plunged boldly through a wide and spacious passageway which led directly away from the building.

"I'll bet I was right, fellows!" cried Dunstan. "This is probably a secret passageway connected with the basement. I suppose in the old feudal times, when law and order weren't so much in fashion as they are to-day, such places were often mighty convenient."

"You bet!" agreed Don.

He brought out his flash-light, for the passageway ahead was becoming dim and somber. A click of the instrument, and the white rays streaked the walls and floor with a series of fantastic flashes.

Their interest and curiosity highly aroused, the three ambulanciers pushed slowly ahead, and after covering a distance of many yards discovered an open doorway.

"Aha!" cried Dunstan, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. "Lead on, Monsieur le torch-bearer."

"Nobody could stop me," grinned Don.

"Be a little careful now," cautioned Chase, as the aviator's son stood at the threshold. "There may be some deep pit in there. You don't want to take a tumble."

But as Don thrust the light inside he saw nothing to warrant any such fear. Before his eyes was a great square apartment, the ceiling supported by massive pillars. Its appearance did not suggest a dungeon, however, but rather a well-built room. It was furnished, too, with a table and several chairs, while against the walls were piled numerous handsome picture frames and ornaments of many different kinds.

"Well, what do you think of this!" cried Don, in astonishment. "Who could have ever suspected that such a place existed?"

"A whole lot of people never did, I suppose," said Dunstan.

"To me it suggests a retreat where plotters, in comfort and seclusion, could plan dark deeds," commented Chase, and as he spoke in a loud tone his voice echoed and reëchoed in a most startlingly weird fashion.

The boys thought there was something very strange and unique in the situation. Here they were, exploring a mysterious underground room, and while Don Hale's light flashed and crisscrossed through the intense blackness and objects momentarily tumbled into view and out again, they speculated as to who had been the last person to visit it.

"Let's make a hasty exploration of the whole place before spending any time in here," suggested Dunstan.

"A good idea," agreed Don. "I say, if we were to all yell together wouldn't it sound just like an exploding marmite?"

"Please don't remind me of 'em," pleaded Chase.

Preceded by the "torch-bearer," they filed out into the "subway," as Don termed the passageway, and walking a short distance came across another room, situated, however, on the opposite side. But the ambulanciers, desirous of finding out where the corridor led, did not enter.

Their curiosity was quickly gratified. At the end they discovered a third room—the largest of all, and though bare of furnishing, the light immediately disclosed the fact that it was by no means empty. Neatly piled against the four walls were great numbers of boxes and cases of all sixes.

"Hello, what's in those, I wonder!" cried Don.

"I can't offer any explanation," replied Chase, dryly.

"A little investigation, however, wouldn't come amiss," declared Dunstan. "It strikes me, fellows, that these things are here because somebody had particular reasons for wishing to keep them out of sight."

"Well, he certainly succeeded, all right," declared young Manning.

"Then, of course, they are probably of some value," cried Don. "I say, Dunstan"—a sudden idea had flashed into his mind—"I wonder—I wonder——"

"What?" demanded the art student.

"If—if——" Don, pausing again, began to laugh. "No—no—that's absurd!"

Walking forward, he began to examine several of the boxes, while Dunstan and Chase peered earnestly over his shoulder.

"Aha! If they don't contain pictures I'm pretty badly mistaken!" cried the art student, suddenly. Excitement was in his tone. "By George, Don, having guessed your meaning, I'm beginning to wonder myself if——Hello!—by all that's wonderful, just look at that name!" Dunstan's voice almost rose into a shout. "Great Julius Cæsar! Astounding—astounding! Just think of it—Giovanni Bellini!"

Now the name of Giovanni Bellini, which the art student pronounced with a degree of earnestness that almost suggested a feeling of awe, meant very little to either Don or Chase, neither of whom were especially interested in artistic matters, but nevertheless the excitement displayed by the art student at once communicated itself to them.

"Do you really think it's possible that the mystery of the Château de Morancourt is solved at last?" cried Don, his voice quivering with suppressed eagerness, his eyes open to their widest extent, while Chase, staring with considerable curiosity at the name of Giovanni Bellini, murmured:

"What a marvelous thing it would be!"

"I'll give you my opinion in a few minutes," burst out Dunstan, who was acting in a manner totally unlike his usually calm self. "Quick, Don—your light! Let me see the name on this case—quick, I say!"

And as the illumination played across the one he indicated the art student rose to his feet and waved his hand in the air, at the same time uttering a loud hurrah, which made wild echoes ring and reverberate throughout the room.

"Fellows, in my opinion the mystery is solved!" he exclaimed. "The name I have just seen is Andrea Mantegna, a most celebrated artist born in Padua, Italy, in fourteen thirty-one. His works are priceless. By Jove, fellows, I honestly believe the tale we have to tell is going to create even more excitement than we dreamed. Ha, ha! I can almost see our pictures in the papers. Monsieur le torch-bearer, I believe your light has been the means of lighting our way to fame."

"I—I can scarcely believe all this is real!" cried Don.

Almost feverishly, the three examined case after case, and these names, one by one, fell from Dunstan Farrington's lips:

"Hobbema, Hans Holbein, Franz Hals, Velasquez, Ribera."

And with each word the art student's voice became louder—his excitement greater.

"A most remarkable and unexpected sequel to the great event!" he cried. "Boys, there is a finis to the story, after all—and what a grand, dramatic one! I wonder—I wonder what 'Peewee' will have to say!"

Seating themselves on convenient boxes, the ambulanciers, full of strange, pent-up emotions, continued to converse in eager, animated tones. A remarkable change had come over the feelings of every one. Now, instead of being disturbed and distressed, they were happy—almost exultant.

Suddenly Don Hale leaped to his feet and exclaimed:

"Listen—listen! There's somebody coming."

The others ceased speaking, and a strange, oppressive silence seemed to hover over the chamber.

Then, almost instantly, there came sounds which indicated that several people were approaching along the passageway.

"We are discovered!" exclaimed Dunstan, grim humor in his tone. "Ah, fellows, our sensational exploit must be revealed to a gaping world sooner than we expected!"

Simultaneously, the three sprang to their feet and made for the doorway.

Beyond the beams of Don Hale's flash-light the passageway was illuminated by the yellow glow of a lantern carried by the leader of a dim and shadowy group.

Anxiously—expectantly—the ambulanciers waited, while the sound of voices, steadily growing louder, echoed through the subterranean retreat.

And one of them made Chase Manning give a loud gasp of surprise.

"Well, well, can you beat that!" he exclaimed, clutching Don Hale tightly by the arm.

"Who is it?" asked Don. But the question needed no answer from Chase. For at that moment the lantern, swung high, illuminated the face of the man who carried it, and the boys recognized the "mysterious poilu."

But the astonishment of the boys was not nearly so great as that of the poilu, who held the lantern aloft so as to permit its yellow glare to fall full upon the Red Cross men; it was a moment or two, indeed, before he found his voice.

And, while the two groups stared intently toward one another, he broke the profound silence by exclaiming harshly:

"You here again! Didn't I expressly order you to keep away!" Advancing, he peered menacingly into Chase Manning's face. "Your persistency in coming here is quite remarkable. Now, perhaps you will answer a few questions."

"Go ahead," exclaimed Chase, defiantly.

A number of soldiers crowded about the four. Upon their faces picturesque flashes of light stood out against deep, somber shadows, which lost themselves in the background like a painting of some old Dutch master.

"Where were you when the Germans started to bombard the château?"

"In the tower," replied Chase, shortly.

This answer created a sensation. A murmur of loud and excited voices was immediately heard, while the interrogator, giving a perceptible start, almost shouted:

"In the tower, you say? Why—this is most extraordinary!" His fists were clenched. His eyes gleamed. "And do you know if your presence was suspected by the Germans?"

This question, couched in the harshest tones, added to the feelings of wrath which Chase, as well as his fellow ambulanciers, was beginning to experience. As though a challenge had been hurled at him and accepted, Chase replied:

"Yes, Monsieur, I believe it must have been."

This frank answer, received with gasps of astonishment, had a most extraordinary effect upon the "mysterious poilu."

He appeared about to hurl himself bodily upon the ambulanciers. It was a thrilling and dramatic moment.

Then, amid a chorus of noisily resounding voices, Don Hale spoke up.

"I fear the truth is that we were discovered in the grounds by a German airman," he said.

"You saw the machine, then?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"And it never occurred to you, I suppose, that if the Germans detected any signs of life about the château they would certainly bombard it?"

"My answer to your question, Monsieur, is that we got out of sight the instant we saw the plane."

"But by that time you had probably already been observed."

"I should say it is quite certain that they were," broke in a French lieutenant.

Like a lawyer conducting an examination, he began asking questions, and after becoming acquainted with all the details, like a lawyer summing up, he showed as conclusively as it could be shown under the circumstances that the boys were responsible for the destruction of the château.

Just before he finished speaking the poilu raised his arm, and, with a gesture that embraced all three Americans, cried in a terrible voice:

"And, as a De Morancourt—the nephew of the count—I order your arrest. Lieutenant, take these young men in charge! They shall be made to pay the penalty for their conduct."

"The nephew of the Count de Morancourt!" repeated Don, quite aghast.

The revelation of the man's identity came as a stunning surprise.

The Frenchman's dramatic outburst appeared to relieve his pent-up wrath. The lantern which he held in his hand sent splotches and dashes of yellowish light flitting weirdly from place to place, and presently, noticing the boxes and cases, he uttered a loud exclamation, brushed past them and entered the room.

And the moment he discovered the names of the artists his whole manner abruptly changed.

"Get me a screw-driver! Ma foi!" he cried out hoarsely. "Can it be possible that my hopes, aroused to the highest pitch by the finding of this underground passageway, are to be realized!"

And in response to his peremptory command one of the poilus left the room almost on a run.

The atmosphere seemed surcharged with tense excitement. Every one was speaking at the same time, but the noise—the confusion—was so great that probably none understood what the others were saying.

Like a man almost overcome by his feelings, the nephew of the count sent the light flashing over the other boxes and cases, and exactly as the art student had been affected so was he. Every inscription he saw appeared still further to increase his emotion.

"If it should only be so!" he cried, in a strained voice, at length. "But we shall soon know. Will that man never come back, I wonder! Ah!"

The footsteps of the poilu in the passageway rapidly grew louder, and presently he walked into the room, exclaiming:

"Here it is, Monsieur de Morancourt; here it is!"

The nephew of the count seized the tool extended toward him, and, surrounded by an intensely eager and interested group, set to work unscrewing the cover of one of the boxes. A sudden hush settled over the room.

With a hand that trembled, the young man presently completed his task, and there was exposed to view a wonderful picture, centuries old—a picture, mellow and golden in tone, representing the Madonna and Child, and signed by the famous Italian artist Giovanni Bellini.

Monsieur de Morancourt was the first to speak.

"I feel confident all of the missing treasures are here," he declared. Once more his deportment was that of the calm, rather austere and elegant soldier whom Don, Dunstan and Chase had met in the Cheval Noir. "The whole aspect of the situation is now changed. This discovery has proved a wonderful solace to my disturbed feelings. Monsieur le Lieutenant, I countermand my order. Perhaps, after all, the château would sooner or later have been destroyed."

"I don't think there can be any doubt about that," said the lieutenant, who seemed vastly relieved.

Monsieur de Morancourt, extending his hand toward Chase, remarked, with a smile:

"Shall peace be declared between us, Monsieur l'Americaine?"

"By all means," acquiesced Chase, heartily.

"Strange how old Mars first of all got us in an awful pile of trouble and then helped us out again!" cried the delighted Don, as he and Dunstan, each in turn, shook hands with the now smiling Frenchman.

Good fellowship having been restored, the whole party, after a few moments' conversation, continued their exploration and investigation of the underground apartments and within a half hour it was demonstrated to the satisfaction of all that the mystery of the Château de Morancourt was certainly a thing of the past, for in the room which the boys had not entered the various objects of art were found, carefully packed.

At length they emerged into the open, and the boys immediately discovered a large military car standing on the road near by.

"It's the vehicle that brought us here," explained Monsieur de Morancourt. "I had been out and was returning to the Cheval Noir when the bombardment of the château began. Somehow suspecting the truth, I made an immediate investigation, and when my fears were verified, ran to the nearest encampment, where I was given authority to use the motor car, which is supplied with all sorts of tools for use in cases of emergency. And now, mes amis, I must hurry away to make arrangements for the removal of the valuables. Of course, during my absence, some of the soldiers will remain on guard. When shall I see you again?"

"We'd be delighted if you could visit us at the Hotel de la Palette," exclaimed Don Hale. He smiled. "Of course we too would be mighty glad to learn something about the Count de Morancourt and your connection with the affair."

"I am more than pleased to accept your invitation," said Monsieur de Morancourt, cordially. "You may count upon seeing me this evening. Au revoir, mes amis."

He waved his hand, and joined the lieutenant and the poilus.

"And so what promised to be a most unfortunate and unpleasant situation for us has turned out to be quite the reverse," commented Dunstan. "Boys, I reckon we'll never forget the Château de Morancourt, eh?"

And his companions heartily agreed that they never would.

That evening at the Hotel de la Palette, with the nephew of the Count de Morancourt as a guest of the ambulance section, was quite a memorable one. This time the story which Don, Dunstan and Chase related really did create a sensation.

"Honest to goodness, fellows, I always had a sort of hazy idea that there was going to be a sensational development," confessed "Peewee," "and——"

"It was certainly hazy enough, I'll wager," chortled Bodkins.

And he might have added a great deal more but for the fact that Monsieur de Morancourt was speaking.

"Before I begin my own explanations I should be glad to know all about your own experiences at the château," he declared, politely.

Thereupon Don Hale, ably assisted by Dunstan and Chase, gave a brief but graphic account of all that had taken place.

"It seems quite extraordinary," commented Monsieur de Morancourt, reflectively, when his curiosity was finally satisfied, "that but for your interest in regard to the mystery of the Château de Morancourt the objects so long sought for might have remained hidden for years."

Then, in a conversational tone, he began his story.

"Some time after the outbreak of the war I visited my uncle, the Count de Morancourt, at the château, and saw his great collection. He said nothing of his intention of leaving; indeed, it was long afterward that I learned of his departure for America. It seems that as the scene of war drew near to the château the count decided that it wouldn't be safe to remain any longer. Accordingly he dismissed all his servants but one, the latter his valet, and then, after attending to various matters, embarked for America. The military authorities had already begun to use the tower as an observation post.

"It came as a great surprise to me when I learned that no one knew what had become of his priceless collection of paintings. The fact naturally disturbed me very much indeed. I wrote several letters to my uncle, but whether they reached him or not I do not know; at any rate, no replies were ever received.

"At last I decided to do a little investigating on my own account, and, obtaining leave of absence, came on to this part of the country. Discovering the Cheval Noir, which was in a habitable condition, I concluded to make my headquarters there, but not wishing to be interfered with or bothered in any way did not choose to disclose my identity.

"I held this theory—there might be secret apartments under the old château, in which the count, with the assistance of his valet, had stored the valuables."

"And you certainly made a mighty good guess," declared Don.

"Yes; so it seems," replied Monsieur de Morancourt, with a smile. "I spent a great part of my time in the château searching for an entrance to the subterranean passageway. On the occasion of your first appearance I must have entered the building very soon after you. It was I who stumbled over the chair, and, naturally, I realized at once that it had been moved. Surmising the presence of some one, I merely waited until I heard you coming down-stairs and then walked outside.

"After your departure, I reëntered, and, wishing to see if anything had been disturbed, made a hasty examination—that explains the flashing light at the window."

"How very simple mysteries sometimes appear after one has learned all about them," laughed Don. "And maybe we wouldn't have been surprised at the Cheval Noir if we'd known that you were the very man responsible!"

"Well, rather!" chuckled Chase.

"And we never even had a suspicion of the truth," laughed Dunstan.

"I certainly was astonished to run into the mysterious visitors," declared Monsieur de Morancourt. And then addressing Chase, he added: "When you made your early morning call my presence is explained by the fact that I had spent the night in one of the upper rooms.

"Now, Messieurs, I believe there is nothing further to add to my story."

The ambulanciers all declared that it had been a very interesting one.

At length, in the midst of a general conversation and much levity and noise, Bodkins, holding his banjo aloft, shouted:

"I think that after all the disturbance these chaps have caused they ought to be made to face the music."

And as he began strumming the instrument even "Peewee" forgot to object.

It was a long time before the gathering broke up, and when Monsieur de Morancourt finally took his leave he said:

"I have heard a great deal about the exploits of this particular section of the Red Cross and fully expect that some day every one of you will be awarded the Croix de Guerre. And now, my young friend"—he turned to Don—"allow me to wish you very great success when you take up your new duties."

"So do we!" cried "Peewee." "I say, boys, three cheers and a tiger for Don Hale with the flying squadron!"

[1]Literally "hairy ones." The affectionate slang term that all France applies to its private soldiers.

[2]Blessé: a wounded man.

[3]Marmite: a large shell.

[4]Poste de secours: surgical first aid station.

[5]En repos: off duty—"at rest."

[6]"Show your passes, gentlemen, please."

[7]Snipers: sharpshooters.

[8]Mechant: wicked.

[9]Camion: truck.

[10]Bureau; office.

[11]"Gone West": been killed.

[12]Tir de barrage: a barrage fire, or bombardment by which shells are placed close together along a certain line, so as to form there a barrier against advancing troops.

DON HALE IN THE WAR ZONE

DON HALE OVER THERE

DON HALE WITH THE FLYING SQUADRON (in press)

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