"That telegram!"
There was a telegram pinned to the three anonymous letters which Hanaud had in the file—the two which Hanaud had shown to Frobisher in Paris and the third which Betty Harlowe had given to him that very afternoon. And the telegram was pieced together by two strips of stamp-paper in a cross.
"That's our telegram. The telegram sent to my firm by Miss Harlowe on Monday—yes, by George, this last Monday."
It quite took Jim's breath away, so crowded had his days been with fears and reliefs, excitements and doubts, discoveries and disappointments, to realise that this was only the Friday night; that at so recent a date as Wednesday he had never seen or spoken with Betty Harlowe. "The telegram announcing to us in London that you were engaged upon the case."
Hanaud nodded in assent.
"Yes. You gave it to me."
"And you tore it up."
"I did. But I picked it out of the waste-paper basket afterwards and stuck it together." Hanaud explained, in no wise disconcerted by Jim Frobisher's attack of perspicacity. "I meant to make some trouble here with the Police for letting out the secret. I am very glad now that I did pick it out. You yourself must have realised its importance the very next morning before I even arrived at the Maison Crenelle, when you told Mademoiselle that you had shown it to me."
Jim cast his memory back. He had a passion for precision and exactness which was very proper in one of his profession.
"It was not until you came that I learnt Miss Harlowe had the news by an anonymous letter," he said.