"What, Madame—what?" asked Simon, catching the fire of her eagerness.
"The hole in the leg, Monsieur," she cried. "Don't you see? A piece torn out against some rough surface——"
"Yes, but——"
"And here is the cloth that was torn from it," she gasped, exhibiting a small piece of cotton cloth. "You see? It fits the tear exactly."
Simon took it from her hands and scrutinized it through his glasses. The torn piece was of the same material as the cotton skin of the lay figure, soiled upon one side and clean upon the other.
"Where did you find this piece of cotton, Madame?" he asked in a suppressed tone.
"Outside the window—hanging below a torn edge of the tin gutter, where it must have escaped the eyes of Monsieur le Commissaire."
"Mon Dieu! Then the lay figure must have been outside on the ledge——"
"Exactly. Outside. The stain of dust upon the leg shows how it lay——"
"Magnifique, Madame——"