The Smuggler’s Find

The Third Discovery

The Gap — The Zodiac Bronzes

The old stone staircase descended into darkness beneath the Smugglers’ Inn.

Henri Moreau led the way, carrying a powerful flashlight.

“Mind your heads,” he warned. “The ceiling is rather low in places.”

Jack followed, carrying the old Polish mathematics book and a copy of the decoded message.

Chas came next, followed by Vicky and Jasmine.

Duke brought up the rear.

The air grew cooler as they descended. The walls were rough stone, darkened by centuries of moisture.

At the bottom of the stairs, Henri unlocked a heavy wooden door.

Beyond it stretched a narrow passage with an arched stone ceiling.

“This,” Henri announced proudly, “is the famous smugglers’ passage.”

Jack looked down its length.

“How far does it go?”

“Approximately forty meters. It once connected the inn to a concealed landing on the Seine.”

“And people used it to smuggle goods?”

“Wine, tobacco, silk, and whatever else the customs officials preferred not to know about.”

Chas smiled.

“Sounds like a profitable business.”

“Extremely profitable, Monsieur Williams. Until the authorities became less accommodating.”

Jazz examined the damp walls.

“Does this place flood?”

Henri nodded.

“Oh, yes. Several times over the years. During the worst floods, the water reached nearly to the ceiling.”

Jack stopped.

“Nearly to the ceiling?”

“Indeed. The Seine can be a most unpleasant neighbor.”

Duke examined the walls.

“THE PASSAGE SHOWS EVIDENCE OF REPEATED FLOODING.”

“Thank you, Link,” Chas replied. “I was beginning to suspect that.”

They continued down the passage.

Water dripped somewhere ahead.

The sound echoed faintly through the darkness.

Jack stopped.

“Wait.”

Everyone fell silent.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Jack looked at the decoded message.

“Follow the passage to the place where water falls.”

Henri pointed ahead.

“That would be the old drainage pipe.”

They rounded a bend.

A short iron pipe projected horizontally from the stone wall, approximately four feet above the floor.

Water dripped steadily from its open end into a shallow stone drain directly beneath it.

The pipe was dark with age, its surface covered with rust and mineral deposits.

Henri shrugged.

“That thing has been dripping for as long as I can remember.”

Jack approached it.

“Has anyone ever repaired it?”

“Why would they? It drains water from somewhere inside the old masonry. It has never caused any trouble.”

Jack smiled.

“That’s interesting.”

Chas looked at the pipe.

“Doesn’t look like much.”

“The candle flame didn’t look like much either,” Jack replied.

“Neither did the Earth on that wooden carving.”

“Exactly.”

Jack opened the mathematics book and laid the decoded message beside it on a dry stone ledge.

He read aloud.

“Between the dripping pipe and the drain, the secret waits.”

Jazz looked at the wall.

“Well, there’s the pipe.”

“And there’s the drain,” Vicky added.

Jack continued.

“Lower the water one inch toward its resting place.”

Chas stepped closer.

“Just like we thought. Pull the pipe down.”

Henri frowned.

“Pull it down?”

“That’s what the instructions suggest.”

Henri looked alarmed.

“Monsieur Williams, that pipe is very old.”

“So is everything else down here,” Chas replied.

“Yes, but I would prefer that you not break it.”

Jack examined the pipe carefully.

“Look at this.”

He pointed to a narrow circular seam where the pipe entered the wall.

“It isn’t mortared into the stone.”

Henri leaned closer.

“You’re right.”

“There’s a metal collar around it.”

Duke approached the wall.

“JACK, THE PIPE APPEARS TO BE MOUNTED ON A PIVOT.”

Jack nodded.

“That’s what I was thinking.”

He placed one hand beneath the pipe.

“Everybody stand back a little.”

Jazz moved behind her father.

“Is it going to explode?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Reasonably.”

“That’s comforting.”

Jack applied gentle downward pressure.

Nothing happened.

He pushed a little harder.

The pipe resisted.

Then, slowly, it moved.

A quarter inch.

Half an inch.

Three quarters.

At exactly one inch, something clicked inside the wall.

A deep metallic sound followed.

Clunk.

Everyone froze.

Henri stared at the stonework.

“Mon Dieu.”

Jack released the pipe.

It remained in its lowered position.

For several seconds, nothing else happened.

Then a narrow vertical crack appeared between two stones.

Jack stepped back.

A rectangular section of the wall had moved outward perhaps half an inch.

“There’s our compartment,” he whispered.

Chas grinned.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Duke wagged his tail.

“THE THIRD MECHANISM HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY ACTIVATED.”

Henri approached the wall as though he expected it to disappear.

“All these years,” he murmured. “All these years, and I never knew.”

Jack examined the released section.

It was approximately three feet wide and two feet high.

Two recessed iron handles had become accessible along its edges.

“Help me, Dad.”

Chas took one handle while Jack grasped the other.

Together they pulled.

The stone-faced panel moved outward on concealed metal guides.

It was surprisingly heavy, but it moved smoothly.

Behind it was a second door.

This one was made of thick bronze-colored metal, with a broad sealing rim around its edges.

Jack stared.

“Look at that.”

Henri leaned forward.

“Another door?”

“Not just a door,” Jack replied. “A watertight seal.”

Duke moved closer.

“THE OUTER STONE PANEL CONCEALED THE COMPARTMENT. THE INNER METAL DOOR WAS DESIGNED TO EXCLUDE WATER.”

Chas ran his fingers along the edge.

“That’s a lot of trouble to go through.”

“Especially in the 1930s,” Jack said.

Henri looked at the damp passage.

“The river has flooded this cellar several times since then.”

Jack nodded.

“And the people who built this knew it would.”

The inner door was secured by two heavy rotating catches.

Jack turned the first.

It moved reluctantly.

The second required help from his father.

With both catches released, Jack pulled the door open.

There was a faint sucking sound as the old seal separated.

Behind it was a dry compartment.

Completely dry.

And inside stood a small leather suitcase.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Henri whispered, “Incroyable.”

Jack stared at the suitcase.

It was dark brown, with brass fittings and a heavy leather handle.

The leather looked old but remarkably well preserved.

On its lid was a small embossed emblem.

Three zodiac symbols.

Cancer.

Scorpio.

Pisces.

Jack smiled.

“We found them.”

Chas placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Looks like you did, son.”

Henri was still staring into the compartment.

“I have owned this inn for thirty-seven years.”

He shook his head.

“Thirty-seven years. And that suitcase has been sitting behind my cellar wall the entire time.”

Jazz smiled.

“Well, at least you didn’t have to tear the building apart.”

Henri laughed.

“Madame, I am beginning to think that was the wisest decision I ever made.”

Jack carefully lifted the suitcase from its hiding place.

It was heavier than he expected.

He set it on a dry stone ledge.

The brass latches opened with a little resistance.

Inside were three bundles wrapped in dark oilskin, each secured with waxed cord.

The bundles rested in fitted compartments lined with old cloth.

Jack touched the first.

“Oilskin.”

Duke nodded.

“A COMMON METHOD OF PROTECTING OBJECTS FROM MOISTURE DURING THAT PERIOD.”

Chas looked back toward the sealed compartment.

“Seems like they took every precaution.”

“They had to,” Jack replied. “They knew the river flooded.”

He examined the bundles.

“Let’s get these upstairs before we open them.”

Henri nodded immediately.

“Yes. Please. I would much prefer to see my treasure in the daylight.”

Chas smiled.

“Your seven percent, Henri.”

“Of course, Monsieur Williams. My seven percent.”

⸻

Twenty minutes later, the suitcase rested on a large wooden table in the inn’s courtyard.

Sunlight filtered between the surrounding buildings.

Henri had brought clean towels and cleared the table.

Jack opened the suitcase again.

The family gathered around him.

Duke sat beside Jazz, watching intently.

Jack carefully untied the cord around the first bundle.

The oilskin unfolded in stiff layers.

Beneath it was a second wrapping of soft cloth.

He lifted the cloth away.

A bronze crab emerged into the sunlight.

Cancer.

The sculpture stood on a small rectangular base, its claws raised in a defensive posture.

Every detail of its shell had been rendered with astonishing precision.

The legs were delicate, the joints perfectly formed, and the surface carried the same deep, dark patina as the six previously recovered sculptures.

Jack turned it slightly.

“Look at the detail.”

Vicky leaned closer.

“It’s beautiful.”

Henri stared.

“That was hidden beneath my inn?”

“For nearly a century,” Jack replied.

Chas studied the sculpture.

“Whoever made these certainly knew what they were doing.”

Jack placed Cancer on a folded towel.

Then he reached for the second bundle.

The oilskin came away more easily.

Inside was Scorpio.

A bronze scorpion, its segmented tail arched high above its body, the curved stinger poised as though ready to strike.

Its claws were extended, and the sculptor had captured the tension of the creature with remarkable realism.

Jazz leaned closer.

“That one is a little frightening.”

Jack smiled.

“It’s supposed to be.”

“Well, she succeeded.”

Vicky looked at her daughter.

“She?”

Jazz shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just think the artist might have been a woman.”

Jack examined the base.

The same three initials were present.

A.R.K.

“Whoever it was,” he said, “they were extraordinary.”

He placed Scorpio beside Cancer.

Then he reached for the final bundle.

It was slightly larger than the others.

He untied the cord and unfolded the oilskin.

Inside was Pisces.

Two bronze fish curved around one another in a graceful circular composition, their bodies flowing in opposite directions.

Their scales were individually detailed, and their fins appeared almost weightless.

The sculpture captured the illusion of movement so perfectly that the fish seemed ready to swim away.

For several seconds, nobody said anything.

Then Vicky spoke softly.

“Oh, Jack. That’s magnificent.”

Jack nodded.

“I think this might be my favorite.”

Chas smiled.

“You said that about the lion.”

“I know.”

“And the bull.”

“I know, Dad.”

“And the archer.”

“All right, Dad.”

Everyone laughed.

Henri stepped closer.

“May I?”

Jack nodded.

“Of course.”

Henri examined the three sculptures.

He looked from Cancer to Scorpio, then to Pisces.

His expression had changed.

The businessman who had negotiated seven percent of their value was suddenly very quiet.

“These are not ordinary objects,” he said.

“No,” Chas agreed. “They’re not.”

Henri looked at Jack.

“Someone went to extraordinary lengths to hide them.”

Jack nodded.

“And to make sure they survived.”

Henri looked toward the entrance to the cellar.

“The floods. The wars. All those years.”

He shook his head.

“And they survived everything.”

Duke raised his head.

“THE COMPARTMENT WAS REMARKABLY WELL ENGINEERED.”

Jack smiled.

“Whoever built it understood exactly what they were protecting.”

⸻

Jack carefully examined the inside of the suitcase.

There were three fitted spaces where the sculptures had rested.

But beneath the lining was a narrow pocket.

He reached inside.

His fingers touched something stiff.

“Wait a minute.”

Chas looked over.

“What have you got?”

Jack withdrew a small rectangular packet wrapped in oilskin.

It was sealed with wax.

On the outside were three symbols.

Gemini.

Libra.

Aquarius.

Jack smiled.

“The air signs.”

Jazz leaned forward.

“Another message?”

“Looks like it.”

He carefully opened the packet.

Inside was a folded sheet of paper covered with groups of five numbers.

At the top were three additional numbers, separated from the rest.

Jack stared at them.

Then he laughed.

Chas looked puzzled.

“What’s funny?”

“Another code.”

“Well, that’s not exactly a surprise.”

“No, Dad. But I was hoping they’d make this one easier.”

Duke examined the paper.

“THE PREVIOUS MESSAGE REQUIRED A MODIFICATION OF THE BOOK CIPHER.”

“Yes.”

“IT WOULD BE REASONABLE TO EXPECT ANOTHER MODIFICATION.”

Jack sighed.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Jazz looked at the three bronze sculptures standing in the sunlight.

“So where do we go next?”

Jack studied the message.

“I don’t know yet.”

Chas looked at his son.

“Any guesses?”

Jack shook his head.

“Not until I decode it.”

Henri smiled.

“Perhaps you will find another inn.”

Chas laughed.

“At this rate, I’ll end up owning half the hotels in Europe.”

Duke looked up.

“CHAS, YOU CURRENTLY OWN ONLY ONE OF THE INNS ASSOCIATED WITH THIS INVESTIGATION.”

“Thank you, Link.”

“YOU ARE WELCOME.”

Henri examined the sculptures again.

“And now, Monsieur Williams, I suppose we must discuss their value.”

Chas shook his head.

“Not yet, Henri.”

The Frenchman looked surprised.

“Not yet?”

“These are part of a set of twelve. We won’t know their true value until we have the complete collection.”

Henri considered that.

“And my seven percent?”

“Seven percent of the appraised value of your three as part of the complete collection. Just as we agreed.”

Henri smiled.

“Then I hope you find the remaining three.”

“So do I.”

Henri extended his hand.

“Monsieur Williams, it has been a pleasure doing business with you.”

Chas shook it.

“Likewise.”

⸻

Jack stood beside the table, looking at the three newly recovered bronzes.

Nine sculptures.

Three more to find.

He thought about the people who had hidden them.

Someone had constructed a watertight compartment beneath a centuries-old inn.

Someone had designed a mechanism disguised as an ordinary dripping pipe.

Someone had carefully wrapped each sculpture in oilskin, sealed the suitcase, and left another coded message.

All to protect the work of an artist whose name had apparently disappeared from history.

Jack looked at the initials on the base of Pisces.

A.R.K.

“Who were you?” he whispered.

Duke moved beside him.

“WE MAY SOON KNOW, JACK.”

Jack looked down.

“You think so?”

“THE FINAL MESSAGE MAY LEAD TO MORE THAN THREE SCULPTURES.”

Jack considered that.

“Maybe.”

He looked at the old Polish mathematics book resting beside the coded message.

Whoever had planned this elaborate treasure hunt had been remarkably clever.

But Jack was beginning to suspect something else.

They hadn’t simply hidden twelve bronze sculptures.

They had created a way for someone, someday, to find them again.

And perhaps, in doing so, to remember the person who had made them.

Jack closed the suitcase.

Nine masterpieces had returned to the light of day.

Somewhere in Europe, three more were waiting.