“Yes.”
“Tell that to Salvator, and, if possible, procure the document for him. Write to him at once. You risk nothing.”
The advice was bold, dangerous even at first sight, but Madame Andermatt had no choice. Besides, as Daspry had said, she ran no risk. If the unknown writer were an enemy, that step would not aggravate the situation. If he were a stranger seeking to accomplish a particular purpose, he would attach to those letters only a secondary importance. Whatever might happen, it was the only solution offered to her, and she, in her anxiety, was only too glad to act on it. She thanked us effusively, and promised to keep us informed.
In fact, two days later, she sent us the following letter that she had received from Salvator:
“Have not found the letters, but I will get them. Rest easy. I am watching everything. S.”
I looked at the letter. It was in the same handwriting as the note I found in my book on the night of 22 June.
Daspry was right. Salvator was, indeed, the originator of that affair.
We were beginning to see a little light coming out of the darkness that surrounded us, and an unexpected light was thrown on certain points; but other points yet remained obscure—for instance, the finding of the two seven-of-hearts. Perhaps I was unnecessarily concerned about those two cards whose seven punctured spots had appeared to me under such startling circumstances! Yet I could not refrain from asking myself: What role will they play in the drama? What importance do they bear? What conclusion must be drawn from the fact that the submarine constructed from the plans of Louis Lacombe bore the name of ‘Seven-of-Hearts’?
Daspry gave little thought to the other two cards; he devoted all his attention to another problem which he considered more urgent; he was seeking the famous hiding-place.