“Spare me your compliments,” said Villefort, “or I may be forced to demand an apology.”
The Count laughed. “Pardon me, Villefort, but the jolting of that clumsy carriage over that infernally rough road has filled my foot with a dozen toothaches. But what have you found?”
“They may mean something or nothing, but here, cut in the table, and the cuts are fresh ones, are the initials V. D. C. They are a clue to something—but what?”
“Go downstairs,” said the Count, “and find out who last occupied this room.”
In a short time Villefort returned with the information that the room had not been occupied since the young gentleman who was in the company of the English admiral had left it.
“So our man put up here,” said the Count. “But why V. D. C.?”
“Perhaps his name is spelled D-u C-a-i-n,” suggested Villefort.
“Guessing won’t hit the mark,” the Count cried. “Have you no wits? Five louis d’or if you prove that Vandemar Della Coscia and the Englishman are one and the same person! Think of something. Use the carriage if you need it. Come back in an hour. I am going to lie down and rest to see if I can get rid of this damnable torture. If he had given me a cut with his axe, it would have healed long ago.”
Villefort did not take the carriage, but walked slowly along the main street, wondering how he could earn the promised reward.
“The price offered is very small,” he soliloquised, “but if I succeed, I shall make bold to suggest to the Count that he double it.”