Chapter: 62
The late spring travel season was at its peak along the Swiss lakeside town of Montreux. The flower gardens along the banks of the lake were in full bloom as Albert slowly rolled my wheelchair down the steep hills from the Montreux train station to the waterfront park. The priest remained calm and well composed as Mrs. McGraven escorted him to the Chillon castle.
The esplanade stretched out for miles as it twisted and turned along the coastline of Lake Geneva. An abundance of hibiscus flowers, green leafy plants and rose bushes lined the esplanade that we followed to our final destination, the Chillon Castle.
The tourist from around the world marvel at the majestic town as the late day sun sparkled of the water of Lake Geneva. My heart throbbed with excitement as we quickly walked to the Chillion castle to reclaim my treasure.
The spectacular castle was a large fortress on the shores of Lake Geneva. We walked over the large drawbridge, passed through a large stone arch and into a large beautiful courtyard. Lavish flower plots adorn the wooden windows that look down upon the courtyard. The fortress’s large, impressive stone walls loomed over our heads as we try to take in the magnificence of this palace. Like the other foreign tourist, we gaze in amazement at the soaring stone arches and mingled around the large stone Gothic cathedral.
We casually walked through the great hall that once served lavish banquet to the Savory family. The stone stairs lead us down to the underground jails. Echoes of children playing drift down the dark and treacherous path to the jail cell where prisoners were forced to live for many years.
“Which way father?” Albert Kandinsky snarled as he threatened to strangle the priest.
“Down that way,” the father said as he pointed his twitching finger down the dark corridor. The stone corridor became colder and smaller as we made our way down to the last cell.
“Where is it?” Albert insisted. “There, behind that wall,” the priest insists in a trembling voice.
Albert turned to see a large stone that was protruding slightly from the wall. Albert uses all his might to move the large stone from the wall. My eyes sparkle and my heart pounded like thunder in anticipation of finally seeing the treasure for the first time since 1944. The rock finally gave way. Albert Kandinsky stuck his hand into the large hole in the wall.
A disappointed look quickly spread across the German’s face as he pulled out a stone with a note attached. Albert grabbed the priest by the throat and threatened to crush the priest's head in with the stone. “Where is the treasure, you French bastard,” Albert roared.