"Yes. Has it ever occurred to you, my poet, to investigate Monsieur le Chevalier's grey cloak; that is to say, search its pockets?"
Victor smothered an oath and thwacked his thigh. "Horns of Panurge!" softly.
"Then you have not. It would be droll if our salvation was accompanying us to the desert." The vicomte was up and heading toward D'Hérouville.
"Victor, lad," said the Chevalier, "go you and see if there is anything in the pockets of that grey cloak."
"Well, Monsieur?" said D'Hérouville, eagerly.
"There is a ghost upon the ship," replied the vicomte.
"You have secured the papers?"
"Papers?" with elevated brows. "Is there more than one, then?" the vicomte's tone hardening.
"Paper or papers, it matters not; I was speaking only in a general way."
"Do you recall that when I touched that cloak it gave forth a crackling sound as of paper?"