Beautrelet gave a start:
“What’s that? The body—”
“Of a young woman.—The body is horribly mutilated, they say, and it would be impossible to establish the identity, but for a very narrow little gold curb-bracelet on the right arm which has become encrusted in the swollen skin. Now Mlle. de Saint-Véran used to wear a gold curb-bracelet on her right arm. Evidently, therefore, Monsieur le Comte, this is the body of your poor niece, which the sea must have washed to that distance. What do you think, Beautrelet?”
“Nothing—nothing—or, rather, yes—everything is connected, as you see—and there is no link missing in my argument. All the facts, one after the other, however contradictory, however disconcerting they may appear, end by supporting the supposition which I imagined from the first.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You soon will. Remember, I promised you the whole truth.”
“But it seems to me—”
“A little patience, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction. So far, you have had no cause to complain of me. It is a fine day. Go for a walk, lunch at the château, smoke your pipe. I shall be back by four o’clock. As for my school, well, I don’t care: I shall take the night train.”
They had reached the out-houses at the back of the château. Beautrelet jumped on his bicycle and rode away.
At Dieppe, he stopped at the office of the local paper, the Vigie, and examined the file for the last fortnight. Then he went on to the market-town of Envermeu, six or seven miles farther. At Envermeu, he talked to the mayor, the rector and the local policeman. The church-clock struck three. His inquiry was finished.