As Langdon and Sophie drove the armored truck up the winding, poplar-lined driveway toward thehouse, Sophie could already feel her muscles relaxing. It was a relief to be off the road, and shecould think of few safer places to get their feet under them than this private, gated estate owned bya good-natured foreigner.
They turned into the sweeping circular driveway, and Chateau Villette came into view on theirright. Three stories tall and at least sixty meters long, the edifice had gray stone facing illuminatedby outside spotlights. The coarse facade stood in stark juxtaposition to the immaculatelylandscaped gardens and glassy pond.
The inside lights were just now coming on.
Rather than driving to the front door, Langdon pulled into a parking area nestled in the evergreens.
"No reason to risk being spotted from the road," he said. "Or having Leigh wonder why we arrivedin a wrecked armored truck."Sophie nodded. "What do we do with the cryptex? We probably shouldn't leave it out here, but ifLeigh sees it, he'll certainly want to know what it is.""Not to worry," Langdon said, removing his jacket as he stepped out of the car. He wrapped thetweed coat around the box and held the bundle in his arms like a baby.
Sophie looked dubious. "Subtle.""Teabing never answers his own door; he prefers to make an entrance. I'll find somewhere inside tostash this before he joins us." Langdon paused. "Actually, I should probably warn you before youmeet him. Sir Leigh has a sense of humor that people often find a bit... strange."Sophie doubted anything tonight would strike her as strange anymore.
The pathway to the main entrance was hand-laid cobblestone. It curved to a door of carved oak andcherry with a brass knocker the size of a grapefruit. Before Sophie could grasp the knocker, thedoor swung open from within.
A prim and elegant butler stood before them, making final adjustments on the white tie and tuxedohe had apparently just donned. He looked to be about fifty, with refined features and an austereexpression that left little doubt he was unamused by their presence here.
"Sir Leigh will be down presently," he declared, his accent thick French. "He is dressing. Heprefers not to greet visitors while wearing only a nightshirt. May I take your coat?" He scowled atthe bunched-up tweed in Langdon's arms.
"Thank you, I'm fine.""Of course you are. Right this way, please."The butler guided them through a lush marble foyer into an exquisitely adorned drawing room,softly lit by tassel-draped Victorian lamps. The air inside smelled antediluvian, regal somehow,with traces of pipe tobacco, tea leaves, cooking sherry, and the earthen aroma of stone architecture.
Against the far wall, flanked between two glistening suits of chain mail armor, was a rough-hewnfireplace large enough to roast an ox. Walking to the hearth, the butler knelt and touched a match toa pre-laid arrangement of oak logs and kindling. A fire quickly crackled to life.
The man stood, straightening his jacket. "His master requests that you make yourselves at home."With that, he departed, leaving Langdon and Sophie alone.
Sophie wondered which of the fireside antiques she was supposed to sit on—the Renaissancevelvet divan, the rustic eagle-claw rocker, or the pair of stone pews that looked like they'd beenlifted from some Byzantine temple.
Langdon unwrapped the cryptex from his coat, walked to the velvet divan, and slid the wooden boxdeep underneath it, well out of sight. Then, shaking out his jacket, he put it back on, smoothed thelapels, and smiled at Sophie as he sat down directly over the stashed treasure.
The divan it is, Sophie thought, taking a seat beside him.
As she stared into the growing fire, enjoying the warmth, Sophie had the sensation that hergrandfather would have loved this room. The dark wood paneling was bedecked with Old Masterpaintings, one of which Sophie recognized as a Poussin, her grandfather's second-favorite painter.
On the mantel above the fireplace, an alabaster bust of Isis watched over the room.
Beneath the Egyptian goddess, inside the fireplace, two stone gargoyles served as andirons, theirmouths gaping to reveal their menacing hollow throats. Gargoyles had always terrified Sophie as achild; that was, until her grandfather cured her of the fear by taking her atop Notre Dame Cathedralin a rainstorm. "Princess, look at these silly creatures," he had told her, pointing to the gargoylerainspouts with their mouths gushing water. "Do you hear that funny sound in their throats?"Sophie nodded, having to smile at the burping sound of the water gurgling through their throats.
"They're gargling," her grandfather told her. "Gargariser! And that's where they get the silly name'gargoyles.' " Sophie had never again been afraid.
The fond memory caused Sophie a pang of sadness as the harsh reality of the murder gripped heragain. Grand-père is gone. She pictured the cryptex under the divan and wondered if LeighTeabing would have any idea how to open it. Or if we e............