“That would refer to Mlle. de Gesvres and Mlle. de Saint-Véran.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“And do you see nothing more?”
“Yes. I also note an hiatus in the middle of the last line; and, if I apply a similar operation to the beginning of the line, I at once see that the only consonant able to take the place of the dot between the diphthongs fai and ui is the letter g and that, when I have thus formed the first five letters of the word, aigui, it is natural and inevitable that, with the two next dots and the final e, I should arrive at the word aiguille.”
“Yes, the word aiguille forces itself upon us.”
“Finally, for the last word, I have three vowels and three consonants. I cast about again, I try all the letters, one after the other, and, starting with the principle that the two first letters are necessary consonants, I find that three words apply: fleuve, preuve and creuse. I eliminate the words fleuve and preuve, as possessing no possible relation to a needle, and I keep the word creuse.”
“Making ‘hollow needle’! By jove! I admit that your solution is correct, because it needs must be; but how does it help us?”
“Not at all,” said Beautrelet, in a thoughtful tone. “Not at all, for the moment.—Later on, we shall see.—I have an idea that a number of things are included in the puzzling conjunction of those two words, aiguille creuse. What is troubling me at present is rather the material on which the document is written, the paper employed.—Do they still manufacture this sort of rather coarse-grained parchment? And then this ivory color.—And those folds—the wear of those folds—and, lastly, look, those marks of red sealing-wax, on the back—”
At that moment Beautrelet, was interrupted by Brédoux, the magistrate’s clerk, who opened the door and announced the unexpected arrival of the chief public prosecutor. M. Filleul rose:
“Anything new? Is Monsieur le Procureur Général downstairs?”