“No, this afternoon, at a quarter to two.”
Patrice took out his watch:
“And it’s now four. So in two hours . . .”
“Not that. I’ve been here an hour.”
“Did you find out from Ya-Bon?”
“Do you think I’ve no better use for my time? Ya-Bon simply told me that you were not there, which was enough to astonish me.”
“After that?”
“I looked to see where you were.”
“How?”
“I first searched your room and, doing so in my own thorough fashion, ended by discovering that there was a crack at the back of your roll-top desk and that this crack faced a hole in the wall of the next room. I was able therefore to pull out the book in which you kept your diary and acquaint myself with what was going on. This, moreover, was how Siméon became aware of your least intentions. This was how he knew of your plan to come here, on a pilgrimage, on the fourteenth of April. This was how, last night, seeing you write, he preferred, before attacking you, to know what you were writing. Knowing it and learning, from your own words, that you were on your guard, he refrained. You see how simple it all is. If M. Masseron had grown uneasy at your absence, he would have been just as successful. Only he would have been successful to-morrow.”