The Conqueror of Death, page 28
And in spite of the assurance of the knowledgeable professor of the École des Mines, he bought some mercury, and, on his return to Meudon, summoned Stanislas Borichevski to his house.”
In fact, a new suspicion, in an inverse direction to the first, had occurred to him. Scientists are theoreticians, who do not have the experience of prospectors, and Borichevski seemed so sure of himself—and it does not cost very much to carry out a trial.
Without saying anything to the adventurer about the analysis he had commissioned. Monsieur Pommeret announced to him that he now had the mercury and that nothing was standing in the way of their pushing a further experiment in washing through to the conclusion.
Without the slightest embarrassment, Borichevski recommenced washing a new wheelbarrow-load of sand through the sieve. Then, Monsieur Pommeret felt that he was capable of continuing that work on his own, and asked the adventurer to do the washing with the bowl while he continued to pass sand through the sieve.
The two operations went marvelously, and were approaching their conclusion. Monsieur Pommeret was already talking about beginning the mercury treatment when all of a sudden, as he was emptying out the gravel left in the sieve, he uttered a loud cry that brought Borichevski running.
In the midst of the coarse gravel, sparkling in the sunlight, was a superb gold nugget, irregular in form, but almost having the size and rugged appearance of one of the semi-cotyledons of a walnut.
Monsieur Pommeret picked it up and, trembling with emotion, handed it to Borichevski, who could not believe his eyes. It really was, however, a nugget of gold, exhibiting traces of concretion or fusion, still enveloping a few particles of sand in its mass. It had the gleam and weight of gold; Borichevski could not be mistaken about that.
Thus, he backtracked, and wondered, in perfectly good faith, whether, by inventing a fable, he might not have put his hand on a reality. There really was alluvial gold at Meudon, then—in nuggets!”
That changed everything, completely, and it was a matter of warning Monsieur Norval as quickly as possible.
“It must be gold,” he murmured, “but in order to be absolutely sure, I’d like to show this to my master.”
“I’d like that,” replied the property-owner, who could already see himself at the head of a gold mine, “but on the express condition that you and he maintain the strictest secrecy regarding this discovery.”
“I promise you that.” And, stretching his legs prodigiously, Borichevski ran to the Villa des Orchidées, clutching the precious nugget in his fist.
The adventurer had calculated correctly; his master was still there, glad to pass all his time with Monsieur Dumortier and Lauriane, with whom he was talking constantly about the past, the present and, most of all, the future.
Marthe told Monsieur Norval that Borichevski had an urgent communication to make to him, of the highest importune.
The young scientist hastened to go to his domestic, who placed the nugget in his hand, saying: “We’ve just found that at Monsieur Pommeret’s.”
“Impossible!” Christian exclaimed, weighing the object in his hand and turning it back and forth repeatedly.
“It’s absolutely true—but I promised Monsieur Pommeret to keep it a secret.”
“Oh, this is very curious!” said the young scientist, simultaneously smiling and pensive. Then, a sudden idea having crossed his mind he said: “Wait here and keep this. I’m going to make my excuses to Monsieur Dumortier and his daughter, and we’ll go to my house, where I can submit the nugget to the touchstone. I want to make certain.”
A few minutes later, Christian Norval tested the piece of gold found by Monsieur Pommeret with the touchstone and acid, and a smile spread over his lips at the same time that light dawned in his thoughts.
He did not let anything show, however, and he handed the nugget back to Borichevski, saying: “It really is gold. You can assure Monsieur Pommeret that we’ll keep the secret.”
It was, however, Monsieur Pommeret who did not keep it—or, at least, the comings and goings of Borichevski, and the earthworks that the property-owner was digging in his garden in the hope of finding more nuggets ended up attracting the attention of the neighbors. The latter, already put on the alert by the rumors that had been going round for several weeks, were on the lookout, and the rumor spread that Monsieur Pommeret had found a gold seam in his garden, that he was subjecting alluvial deposits to daily washing, and had already collected a great abundance of the precious metal.
That earned Monsieur Pommeret a visit from Monsieur Roret, who begged him, in his capacity as an old inhabitant of Meudon, like himself, to tell him the truth, promising to keep anything that was revealed to him secret.
Then Monsieur Pommeret showed him the nugget and recounted how he had found it,
It did not take much to inflame the speculator’s imagination. He begged Monsieur Pommeret to sell the first fruit of his search, and, although the nugget only weighed eight and a quarter grams, he agreed to pay fifty francs for it. Then he returned home with the treasure and began to reflect. If the terrains of Meudon and Bas-Meudon contained gold, the value of those terrains was incalculable, and he, Roret, had made an error in getting rid of so much land in favor of his friend Dumortier.
Fortunately, he had the right to buy it back by paying a forfeit of a hundred thousand francs. The whole thing depended on whether, as he said to himself in his study, “the game was worth the candle,” and whether the nugget found by Monsieur Pommeret had numerous sisters in Meudon. How could he make certain of that without giving too much away?
Monsieur Roret’s decision was soon made. He had a correspondent in London to whom he wrote: Find me, at my expense, an English engineer who has had experience in the gold mines of the Transvaal or Australia. Have him come to see me in Meudon incognito. I have important business to discuss with him.
Having put that letter in the post, Monsieur Roret juggled with his nugget, murmuring: “We’ll see! Perhaps I’ll be able to do a superb deal!”
X. The Engineer and the Nuggets
Thus far, it was Borichevski who had benefited the most from the exploitation of the gold mines of Meudon; the unique nugget sold by Monsieur Pommeret for fifty francs had already cost the latter more than four times as much. Since fortune had smiled on him, though, Borichevski had resumed his deadly habits and had found it absolutely impossible on several occasions to assist Monsieur Pommeret in his search. That was all the more regrettable because the owners of neighboring properties had started digging on their own account, and had discovered several nuggets, which Monsieur Roret had similarly acquired.
The terrains of Meudon were definitely auriferous.
Everyone wanted to monopolize Borichevski in order to obtain initiation into the work of excavation and washing.
More or less secretly, large-scale excavations were effected behind the enclosing walls of various properties in Meudon, sometimes giving rise to bizarre finds of objects buried in various epochs.
Borichevski, pampered and spoiled, his pockets well-lined, yielded without restraint to his passion for alcoholic beverages and became more insolent by the day. The gold-seekers tolerated his eccentricities because they needed him, but Christian Norval, who did not have the same reasons to hold back, administered forceful reprimands on a daily basis.
One evening, the adventurer came back to his master’s villa in an utterly lamentable state of drunkenness. Christian Norval, losing patience, gave him a thorough dressing-down and declared that he would to thrown him out if the present state of affairs continued.
Then Borichevski became high-handed with his master. “If you’re not content with my services,” he said. “You only had to say so. I can earn an honest living by my labor...”
“Your services!” Christian exclaimed. “Not only are you good for nothing, but you’re compromising me. Everyone is astonished to see me tolerating a hardened drunkard...”
“That’s sufficient!” Borichevski interjected. “You’ve had enough! Me too! Goodbye! I’ll go elsewhere!”
And he went off, staggering, while the young man followed him with a compassionate gaze, ready to call him back—but the adventurer disappeared round a street corner, and Christian went back in, murmuring “Bah! We’ll see!”
Once he had sobered up, Borichevski regretted his impetuosity. He had become veritably fond of his master, and he thought immediately of going to beg his pardon, but a kind of shame held him back and he began to wander through the streets of Meudon, like a soul in torment, his heart heavy, having no desire to go into a cabaret to drown his sorrows in the depths of a glass.
He arrived thus at the bank of the Seine, near the landing-stage of boats from Paris, following the ebb and flow of passengers with a dull gaze.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Among the travelers coming across the gangplank one by one he had just perceived a tall man whose physiognomy reminded him of an old acquaintance.
“Mr. Cowley!” he shouted.
The traveler stopped, examined Borichevski from head to toe with a rapid glance, and said in his turn: “Well, well! Stanislas Borichevski! By what chance…? Are we destined, then, to run into one another everywhere: Johannesburg, Coolgardie...”
“And Meudon!” concluded the adventurer. “But Mr. Engineer, have you come here to exploit placers, as in Johannesburg and Calgoorlie?”
“Perhaps. In any case, I beg you to keep my secret. I’ve come here incognito, summoned by a certain Monsieur Roret. You can take me to him—but don’t let anyone know who I am.”
“Understood, Master.”
“But how do you come to be here? I left you in Calgoorlie!”
“From there I went to Guiana, and I came here with a young scientist who made a small fortune in the alluvial deposits out there.”
“It’s serious, then—the alluvial deposits of Guiana?”
“As serious as can be.”
“And here? For after all, this Monsieur Roret, whom I don’t know and who sent for me, asked for an engineer experienced in gold mining. Are there gold mines in Meudon, then?”
Borichevski was about to tell the engineer what he knew when he remembered, just in time, that the secret did not belong to him. For fear of harming Monsieur Norval, he contented himself with saying: “People are digging and washing, but…”
“Have they found gold, however little?”
“Yes, but...”
“Then take me to Monsieur Roret, quickly. There’s something to be done.”
When Borichevski had shown Mr. Cowley the engineer where Monsieur Roret’s villa was, the Englishman said to him: “Where can I find you again? I might have need of you.”
The adventurer indicated his favorite tavern, which made Mr. Cowley smile, the latter knowing all about the gold-seekers inveterate habits. Then, having rung the doorbell, the engineer was introduced to Monsieur Roret’s house.
The latter had received a letter notifying him of the visit that very morning, so he had laid out in his study a map of Meudon, specimens of sand taken from various places, and the four nuggets discovered in the commune, all of which he had purchased.
“Monsieur Cowley,” said the speculator, without wasting time in preliminaries, “my excellent friend Monsieur Bormann, in London, of whom I had requested an engineer experienced in gold mining, has recommended you too me and praised you very highly. You’ve been in the Transvaal, Australia—you’re just the man I need.”
Cowley bowed, without making any reply.
“Know, then,” Monsieur Roret continued, “that very recently, a young scientist has come to live in Guiana who has come back from Guiana with a rather nice fortune made in the gold mines of that country. He had with him, as a domestic, an adventurer, a former prospector, who examined the terrains of Meudon and declared them to be auriferous.
“Oh!” exclaimed Cowley, amazed. “It’s that adventurer...”
“Yes. And I certainly wouldn’t have attached any great importance to what he said if the inhabitants of Meudon, having carried out diggings and washing on their property, hadn’t found, successively, these four nuggets, which are indisputably gold.”
Cowley, whose astonishment and curiosity were excited to the highest degree, examined the four nuggets one after another with minute attention, and remained plunged in profound reflection.
“Well?” demanded Roret.
“Well, it’s certainly gold—but those nuggets present a particular physiognomy that throws all my ideas into confusion, and prevents me from arriving at a firm conclusion on the subject. I’ve never seen anything like them...”
“What’s so peculiar about them, then?”
“Oh, at first glance they’re nuggets like any others, but when like me, one is habituated to the appearance of gold debris, one finds an appearance of fusion in them that isn’t ordinary. If you want my honest opinion, in brief, one might think that they were artificial nuggets...”
“Aha! Then, you believe...”
“I don’t believe anything at all. I’m only giving you my initial impression. It’s necessary not to jump to any conclusions. First, I need to see the soil where these nuggets were found.”
“Here are specimens identical to the sands that were washed,” said Roret, presenting the engineer with some little bags of cloth containing extracts made from several excavations.
Cowley submitted them to careful examination, and concluded: “These sands have very little chance of being auriferous. Nevertheless, I need to see them in location and in their relationship to other strata. In sum, what do you want from me?”
“I want to know whether the land situated in the commune of Meudon can be fruitfully exploited from the viewpoint of gold, because I possess a considerable quantity of that land.” And Roret, using his map, showed the engineer the location of all the parcels of land that he had acquired, especially in Bas-Meudon, as many on his own account as with Monsieur Dumortier’s conditional option.
“Right!” said Cowley. “I understand perfectly. At present, these plots of land have no value, but if they’re auriferous, or reputed to be auriferous, they might acquire a very great value. In consequence, what you want me to tell you is whether these terrains really are auriferous?”
“Exactly.”
“First, it’s necessary for me to reach a conviction with regard to these singular nuggets. Do you have a touchstone, nitric acid and a little saw?”
“I have all of that,” said Roret, swiftly.
Firstly, Cowley tested the various nuggets with the touchstone and the acid.
“I suspected as much,” he said, when he had concluded the trials. “These nuggets aren’t pure gold. They have exactly the same composition as first-rate French gold jewelry; one might therefore think that they’ve been produced by melting down jewelry. But let’s have a look at their internal texture.
Skillfully using the little fretsaw that Roret occasionally used to cut wood, Cowly set about sawing the largest of the nuggets in two. The fine steel blade sliced rapidly through the metal, and the operation was almost complete when the saw came to a abrupt stop and the blade snapped.
The section of the nugget was sufficiently extensive for it to be possible to separate the piece of gold into two with the aid of a steel chisel. Then, the obstacle that had broken the saw became visible: it was a little diamond, cut in rose fashion, completely embedded in the gold of the nugget.
The two experimenters gazed at it, astonished but convinced. It really was a matter of artificial nuggets resulting from the melting off jewelry, from which someone had not even bothered to remove the precious stones.
“From whom did you acquire these nuggets, then?” Cowley asked.
Roret explained how he had obtained them.
“Then it must be the prospector you mentioned who has made them. But why? First of all, that needs clarification.”
Cowley took his leave of Monsieur Roret, telling him that the first necessary step was to question Borichevski in order to discover the true origin of the nuggets. Without mentioning that he had known the man in question for a long time, he declared that he would take charge of the enquiry personally and would come back to see the landowner when he knew something.
XI. How Monsieur Dumortier’s speculation in
Meudon earned him a hundred thousand francs
Cowley set off in search of the adventurer and found him, as he had expected, in the tavern.
“Aha!” he said, sitting down opposite him. “You haven’t been entirely frank with me, Mr. Borichevski. You talked to me vaguely about gold-washing carried out in Meudon, when you are, in reality, the initiating mainspring of all that work. You’ve even fabricated nuggets that might have fooled anyone but me. With what aim?”
“Me!” exclaimed Borichevski. “I’ve fabricated nuggets?”
There was such a note of sincerity in his protest that Cowley added: “Who, then? For those nuggets are artificial.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure—and you know that I can’t be mistaken.”
“In that case, their discovery is even more extraordinary than if they were natural, for it’s certain that no one put them there intentionally.” And Borichevski recounted the naïve fashion in which a few property-owners had dug in their gardens and found the nuggets.
“According to what you’ve told me,” the engineer concluded, “I believe I understand that the various finds were made not far from one another.”
“Indeed.”
“Well then, take me to the place in question.”
Borichevski complied with a good grace and showed Cowley, in succession, Monsieur Pommeret’s villa and the neighboring villas where the nuggets had been found.
Suddenly, the engineer’s attention was attracted by the Chapelle de Notre-Dame-des-Flammes, which was adjacent to the villas in question. “What is that building?” he asked.
Borichevski satisfied his curiosity, explaining that the chapel had been built on the spot where the terrible Versailles railway disaster of 8 May 1842 had occurred, when so many people had perished, burned to a crisp by the conflagration that the locomotive’s coal had communicated to the wagons.30
