He made these reflections sotto voce; and Father Absinthe’s curiosity was aroused.
“Excuse me,” said he, “I did not quite understand you.”
“I say that we must find some tangible proof before asking permission to proceed further.”
He paused with knitted brows.
In seeking a circumstance which would establish the complicity between some member of the duke’s household and the witnesses who had been called upon to give their testimony, Lecoq thought of Mme. Milner, the owner of the Hotel de Mariembourg, and his first meeting with her.
He saw her again, standing upon a chair, her face on a level with a cage, covered with a large piece of black silk, persistently repeating three or four German words to a starling, who as persistently retorted: “Camille! Where is Camille?”
“One thing is certain,” resumed Lecoq; “if Madame Milner—who is a German and who speaks with the strongest possible German accent—had raised this bird, it would either have spoken German or with the same accent as its mistress. Therefore it cannot have been in her possession long, and who gave it to her?”
Father Absinthe began to grow impatient.
“In sober earnest, what are you talking about?” he asked, petulantly.
“I say that if there is someone at the Hotel de Sairmeuse named Camille, I have the proof I desire. Come, Papa Absinthe, let us hurry on.”