“Yes, I think so,” said Guerchard. “I have just looked at it myself.”
The door opened, and in came Bonavent, one of the detectives who had come earlier from the Prefecture. In his hand he carried a scrap of cloth.
He saluted Guerchard, and said to M. Formery, “I have just found this scrap of cloth on the edge of the well at the bottom of the garden. The concierge’s wife tells me that it has been torn from Victoire’s dress.”
“I feared it,” said M. Formery, taking the scrap of cloth from him. “I feared foul play. We must go to the well at once, send some one down it, or have it dragged.”
He was moving hastily to the door, when Guerchard said, in his husky, gentle voice, “I don’t think there is any need to look for Victoire in the well.”
“But this scrap of cloth,” said M. Formery, holding it out to him.
“Yes, yes, that scrap of cloth,” said Guerchard. And, turning to the Duke, he added, “Do you know if there’s a dog or cat in the house, your Grace? I suppose that, as the fiance of Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin, you are familiar with the house?”
“What on earth—” said M. Formery.
“Excuse me,” interrupted Guerchard. “But this is important—very important.”
“Yes, there is a cat,” said the Duke. “I’ve seen a cat at the door of the concierge’s rooms.”