The train threaded the tunnel that precedes the old Norman city. On reaching the station, Isidore took a few turns on the platform to stretch his legs. He was about to re-enter his compartment, when a cry escaped him. As he passed the bookstall, he had read, in an absent-minded way, the following lines on the front page of a special edition of the Journal de Rouen; and their alarming sense suddenly burst upon him:
STOP-PRESS NEWS
We hear by telephone from Dieppe that the Château d’Ambrumésy was broken into last night by criminals, who bound and gagged Mlle. de Gesvres and carried off Mlle. de Saint-Véran. Traces of blood have been seen at a distance of five hundred yards from the house and a scarf has been found close by, which is also stained with blood. There is every reason to fear that the poor young girl has been murdered.
Isidore Beautrelet completed his journey to Dieppe without moving a limb. Bent in two, with his elbows on his knees and his hands plastered against his face, he sat thinking.
At Dieppe, he took a fly. At the door of Ambrumésy, he met the examining magistrate, who confirmed the horrible news.
“You know nothing more?” asked Beautrelet.
“Nothing. I have only just arrived.”
At that moment, the sergeant of gendarmes came up to M. Filleul and handed him a crumpled, torn and discolored piece of paper, which he had picked up not far from the place where the scarf was found. M. Filleul looked at it and gave it to Beautrelet, saying:
“I don’t suppose this will help us much in our investigations.”
Isidore turned the paper over and over. It was covered with figures, dots and signs and presented the exact appearance reproduced below: