"Ian Selkirk spoilt the scheme. Vreeland was so eager to do Ian one in the eye that he brought up Algy in broad daylight. Then it took only a good second look to show it was a fake. The lads on the point realized that when they got their telescopes on it.
"Rum thing about Ian. He's not really a coward—he was in submarines with me during the war—but just this once he panicked. He didn't even wait to help with the packing but left last night. Trouble with Ian is, all he thinks of is dipping his wick. Now could we go out for a look at Algy?"
I took Lord Kintyre out in the Colton rowboat. We circled Algy, who was still sitting in the water as he had been left.
Algy consisted of head, six feet of neck, and an egg-shaped body without limbs, save for a kind of rudder aft. This fin made the monster face forward when towed through the water, so that Vreeland could parade the thing back and forth, as far as his rope tackle allowed.
The last Scots had left Indian Point with their apparatus. We moved up close to Algy, and Lord Kintyre took out a pocket knife. "I'll cut a little piece off as a souvenir, if you don't mind," he said.
He got his piece of sponge rubber, and we started back. Then I said: "Hey, Alec! Look around!"
Something was happening to Algy. He was moving back and forth by jerks, stirring the water to foam. The jerks became wider and more violent. Have you ever seen a dog shake a squirrel or similar small prey to death? Algy was moving as if he had been seized from below and was being thus shaken. The boat rocked in the waves. Lord Kintyre's monocle fell out and dangled on its string. Algy was drawn down until he almost disappeared.
Then the water quieted. Algy bobbed up again—but in pieces. We sat quietly, afraid (at least I was) to move or speak, lest whatever had mangled Algy come for us.
When nothing more happened, I took a few cautious strokes towards the scene of the disturbance, backing water so that I could pull for shore in a hurry. I fished out a piece of blue-green sponge rubber, the size of my foot. I think it came from Algy's neck.
Lord Kintyre replaced his eyeglass and sighed. "Just my damned luck," he said, "to be without camera or other equipment."
"Are you going to call your boys back, to start watching again?"
"No. Some have already left for home, and the rest are all packed up. We've spend enough money and got enough material for our report to the Society. Someone else will have to chase the real Algy."
In the years since then, I have heard of no further mysterious phenomena on Lake Algonquin. But, although I have been back there several times, I have always found some excuse for not going swimming.
The Menhir
Coming down the stairs after breakfast, I passed the beautiful Countess. She said: "Bonjour, Monsieur Newbury. Did you sleep well?"
"Parfaitement, merci," I said.
"Did you hear any sounds in the night?
"No, Madame. Should I have?"
She shrugged. "I just asked myself. This old chateau is full of strange knocks and creaks. Some of our guests are disturbed, although I am sure that the causes are natural."
"I shall watch for such phenomena, Madame. They will not intimidate me, I assure you, for I am not without experience in such matters."
"Good. Where did you and the little Denise go yesterday? You returned late."
"We walked around the city wall at Vannes and then took the boat ride around the Golfe du Morbihan."
"That is much for one day."
"It is the truth, Madame, but our time is limited. That is without doubt why we slept ourselves so profoundly."
"Where are you going today?" she asked. The Comtesse de la Carriere was a strikingly handsome woman in her early thirties. She forwent makeup, not needing it.
"We thought we should go to Hennebont. One says that there is a fine medieval gate and rampart."
The Comtesse made a slight grimace. "Certainly! But we, our memories of it are not of the most agreeable."
"Ainsi donc?"
"We were there, my sister and I, at the time of the massacre."
"Oh? I read of that in the guide."
"It is not exaggerated. Before the Germans left, on the seventh of August, 1944, they went to the houses, knocked on the doors, and shot the people as they came out. There were also many townspeople in the shelters, to avoid the American bombardment; but the Germans went there, too, and shot them. Angèle—she was a little girl then, you know—would have been killed, but the young German lieutenant, who commanded the platoon that was shooting the others, whispered to her to run. Thus she survived. Have you made the tour of the megaliths?"
"We saw the alignements of Carnac the day before yesterday. We thought that this afternoon, if we get back in good time, we might continue on to Locmariaquer to see the big menhir and the dolmen."
"Well, if you do not have the time to go so far, you can see our private menhir, on a piece of our land one kilometer away on the Quiberon road. This Menhir of Locmelon is broken like that at Locmariaquer. It was complete until the war, when an explosion knocked it over. We say the Germans blew it up to show their Aryan superiority; they say it was a bomb from an American airplane, hunting for Lorient or St. Nazaire. The year past, the members of an English cult came here to march around the remains in long robes, carrying candles. They said they were Druids."
"If I understand my archaeology, these huge stones were erected long before the Celts and their Druid priests arrived."
"You have reason, Monsieur; but you know how people love to believe fairytales. Anyway, bonne chance."
I have traveled enough not to be impressed by titles— especially French titles, since in that country any citizen may call himself by any title he pleases. If Jacques Leblanc wants to call himself the Grand Khan of Tatary, he may do so.
Still, it was nice to get on the good side of our titled landlord and landlady at the Chateau Kerzeriolet. Denise and I had seen only glimpses of them during the first few days of our stay. I suspect that a gaffe we pulled on our first day there had something to do with this.
We had arrived from Normandy with a suitcase full of dirty clothes. The first full day we spent washing up, and we had hung the garments on an elastic laundry cord across an open window. We did not realize that this festoon was plainly visible from the courtyard, until Jean-Pierre Tanguy, the professional hotelier who handled the paying guests, telephoned in great embarrassment to ask us to take them down. We were even more embarrassed than the manager.
On the fourth day, however, we ran into the Comte and Comtesse de la Carriere long enough to exchange amenities, when they found that Denise was French and that I spoke the language, they thawed.
Denise had saved me from a couple of other blunders. On the first morning, for instance, I was all set to go down to breakfast, but she insisted that we stay in our room and wait for our coffee and rolls to be brought up. That was how it was done here, and we should merely gum up the works by trying to change the routine. To me, an eggless French breakfast has never seemed quite the real thing; but with all this talk of cholesterol, perhaps the French had the right idea all along.
The castellated wall at Hennebont can be seen in minutes. We could view only the outside of the great medieval gate, the Porte Broerec'h, because workmen were still repairing war damage. So we got back early and went on to Locmariaquer.
There we examined the Fairy Stone, the biggest menhir of all. When new, it must have stood sixty feet tall and have weighed over 350 tons. Archaeologists think it fell in ancient times, perhaps while being erected. The technology of those people was not quite up to handling so huge a piece.