“Certainly not. The Indre is on the other side of the river. This side, it’s the Creuse.”
Isidore saw it all in a flash. The Château de l’Aiguille! The department of the Creuse! L’Aiguille Creuse! The Hollow Needle! The very key to the document! Certain, decisive, absolute victory!
Without another word, he turned his back on the two girls and went his way, tottering like a drunken man.
CHAPTER SIX
AN HISTORIC SECRET
Beautrelet’s resolve was soon taken: he would act alone. To inform the police was too dangerous. Apart from the fact that he could only offer presumptions, he dreaded the slowness of the police, their inevitable indiscretions, the whole preliminary inquiry, during which Lupin, who was sure to be warned, would have time to effect a retreat in good order.
At eight o’clock the next morning, with his bundle under his arm, he left the inn in which he was staying near Cuzion, made for the nearest thicket, took off his workman’s clothes, became once more the young English painter that he had been and went to call on the notary at Éguzon, the largest place in the immediate neighborhood.
He said that he liked the country and that he was thinking of taking up his residence there, with his relations, if he could find a suitable house.
The notary mentioned a number of properties. Beautrelet took note of them and let fall that some one had spoken to him of the Château de l’Aiguille, on the bank of the Creuse.
“Oh, yes, but the Château de l’Aiguille, which has belonged to one of my clients for the last five years, is not for sale.”
“He lives in it, then?”