"Why it's written in French," Pembroke exclaimed, as he bent over to examine it.
"Yes, I know it is," said Dan. "I can't make head or tail of it. Besides it seems to be only a part of a note or letter. I could hardly wait to give you a chance at it. You can make something of it, can't you?"
"I don't know—I guess I can. It's hard to read the handwriting. The thing's torn in two—haven't you the rest of it?"
"No, I tell you; that's all I could find; that's all, I am sure, that can be in the cabinet now. My theory is that the old marquis has somehow come across the other half and is still looking for this. God only knows who hid it there.
"How the deuce could the Marquis know about it. Ah! look—it's signed somebody, something de Boisdhyver—'ançois—that's short for François, I guess. Evidently 't wasn't the Marquis himself. Wonder what it means?"
For goodness' sake, try to read it."
"Wait. Get that old French dictionary out of the bookcase downstairs, will you? I'll see if I can translate."
Dan crept softly out, leaving Tom bent over the paper. Again he smoothed it out carefully on the table, bringing the two candles nearer, and tried to puzzle out the faint fine handwriting.
"I can make out some of it," he remarked to Dan, when his friend returned with the dictionary. "Let me have that thing; there are a few words I don't know at all, but I'll write out as good a translation as I can."
While Tom was busy with the dictionary, Dan placed writing materials to his hand, and sat down to wait as patiently as he could. His curiosity was intensified by Pembroke's occasional exclamations and the absorption with which he bent over the task.