The state dining-hall of the château was serving as the breakfast room
of a French general and his numerous staff. If the uniforms worn had
not indicated to what nation these soldiers belonged, the proof was
surely in the fact that they jested and sang before breakfast. It takes
a gay lot to be jolly before breakfast. After dinner anybody might have
the notion to be merry.
How Château Trouville had escaped destruction by the big guns of the
Germans might be accounted for by the fact that the aforesaid big
guns had been mostly employed, when not turned loose on the trenches,
in silencing French barrier forts. As a German battery lieutenant
remarked, “only forts really counted.”
However it was, this fine French country house had not even been
scratched, as yet.
The chatter in the dining-hall was all Greek to Billy, though Henri
and Reddy appeared to be much interested and amused by the lively
conversation.
Reddy pointed out here and there a chasseur that he knew by name.
“What’s the matter with us having a little breakfast ourselves?”
suggested Henri. There was plenty to eat in the knapsacks.
Billy and Reddy had no protest to make on this proposition, but they
found it thirsty work to swallow camp rations without even a sup of
liquid.
It so happened that a foot soldier serving as waiter passed close to
the wall, carrying a flagon filled with water. At the moment everybody
in the hall stood up in attitude of salute. The general was just coming
in to breakfast. The soldier set the flagon down near the panel; Henri
pressed the knob, making the opening wide enough for Reddy to poke an
arm through, and quick as a flash that expert young gentleman yanked
the prize through the crack, which was instantly closed by Henri.
The boys could not see what the soldier did when he discovered his
loss, but they imagined that he must have been considerably surprised
by the mysterious disappearance of the flagon.
The boys had not had a wink of sleep for more than twenty-four hours,
and with all their walking and the heavy work they had done at “point
of rocks” they were completely fagged.
“Oh, for a good soft place on which to stretch, and some air that is
decent to breathe,” murmured Billy with nodding head.
“The surest thing I know,” was Henri’s encouraging words to the
sleepy-head. “Come on, fellows.”
Further up the passage Henri pressed another knob in the wall, and the
opening immediately created let in a veritable blaze of sunlight.
It was a small, narrow room on the other side of this panel, but
spangled with mullioned or barred windows.
Off this room was another apartment, longer but no wider than the
first. In this latter chamber stood a gilded bedstead under canopy.
“Here,” said Henri, “royalty was once upon a time concealed, when it
was good for his princely health to be hidden.”
Billy was more intent on the project of testing the bed than listening
to legends. He mussed up the rich covering to his liking and rolled
like a log, clothes and all, into the broad expanse under the canopy.
Henri and Reddy with no more ceremony followed suit, and the three went
after the record of the famous Seven Sleepers.
It was early afternoon when a tremendous clatter of iron-shod hoofs in
the stone courtyard far below roused Reddy, who always slept with one
ear open.
With no effort to select a favorite, Reddy applied spanks right and
left to his snoring companions.
“Who hit me?” demanded Billy in a dream voice.
“Where’s the trouble?” Henri was probing the covers in his haste to
reach the inside works of an imaginary aëroplane motor.
Reddy dragged Henri out of bed by the heels, and in watching the
wrestling match that followed Billy lost the desire to turn over for
just one more nap.
“You fellows will insult the memory of his royal nibs if you don’t
quit,” he growled.
“There’s evidently something doing below.”
Henri had shaken off the wiry Reddy and climbed upon one of the window
ledges.
It was a cavalry movement, evidently, from the noise, and movement that
indicated hurry orders.
“Perhaps the general won’t be back for dinner.”
The good sleep had put Billy back in his usual good humor.
“I don’t know what’s up,” admitted Henri, “but whatever it is I’m
thinking that it’s time for us to get into action before the fighters
go to pulling ears in this vicinity.”
“In other words,” said Billy, “it’s time for us to pull up the treasure
and pull out.”
“That’s the ticket.”
Henri adjusted his knapsack, setting example for his comrades to get in
marching order.
Passing out of the royal bed-chamber, the boys hastened again into the
main passageway, going further north than they had yet been in their
flittings through the concealed walks.
Henri finally stopped over a big brass plate set in the floor.
“It is not like moving that slab last night,” he commented, as the
plate dropped with a snap on easy hinges by some combination which
Henri well knew how to work.
A spiral staircase was revealed, and round and round and ever downward
the boys proceeded.
At the foot of the staircase, at the end of a short passage, the trio
were confronted by what was apparently a blank wall.
Henri counted to himself as he passed his hands over the face of the
wall. When satisfied that his calculations were correct he called to
Billy to give him a lift. Billy promptly furnished a pair of square
shoulders, upon which Henri stood, after removing his shoes.
Henri tapped smartly at a selected spot, a hidden spring was released
and a section of the wall fell away.
Once astride of the cross-piece upon which the moving section had
rested, Henri lent Billy a helping hand, and Billy in turn gave Reddy,
the lightweight, a stocky leg on which to climb.
The boys then dropped down on the other side.
They were in the treasure house of the Trouvilles!