"By whom? And in what year?"
"There's an inscription over the front door: 'Lucien Destange, architect, 1877.'"
"Thank you, madame. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
He went away, muttering:
"Destange.... Lucien Destange.... I seem to know the name...."
He found a public library, consulted a modern biographical dictionary and copied out the reference to "Lucien Destange, born 1840, Grand-Prix de Rome, officer of the Legion of Honour, author of several valuable works on architecture," etc.
He next went to the chemist's and, from there, to the hospital to which Wilson had been moved. Old chap was lying on his bed of pain, with his arm in splints, shivering with fever and slightly delirious.
"Victory! Victory!" cried Shears. "I have one end of the clue."
"What clue?"