One of those sparks was struck out sooner than he expected, a spark which lighted one quarter of the darkness, a quarter from which he did not think that anything important would come. One morning he was gazing out of his window, with his eyes fixed on the windows of Bregeac’s house, when he saw, still disguised as a rag-picker, the murderer Jodot. This time Jodot was carrying on his shoulder a canvas bag into which he dropped his loot. He set it down in front of the house itself, sat down and began to eat his dejeuner, poking about in the orderly box which the cook had carried out. The action seemed mechanical, but in a minute or two Ralph perceived that the man was only hooking out of the box crumpled envelopes and torn-up letters. He cast a glance over each scrap and then continued his sorting. There was no doubt that he was interested in Bregeac’s correspondence. A quarter of an hour later he hoisted his bag on to his back and went off. Ralph followed him to Montmartre, to discover that Jodot had a junk shop there. He came three days in succession and on each occasion he repeated the same equivocal operation. But on the third day, which was a Sunday, Ralph surprised Bregeac watching him out of his window. When Jodot went off, Bregeac, in his turn, followed him with infinite precaution. Ralph followed both of them at a distance. Was he going to discover the tie which connected Bregeac and Jodot? In this order, following one another, they went through the Monceau district, crossed over the fortifications, and came to the banks of the Seine at the end of the Boulevard Bineau. A few modest villas stood between patches of waste land. Jodot set down his bag in front of one of these villas and sat down on the curb and began to eat. He remained there four or five hours, watched by Bregeac, who had his lunch in the arbor of a small restaurant about thirty yards away, and by Ralph, who, stretched at full length on the river bank, smoked cigarettes. When Jodot went away, Bregeac went off in the opposite direction as if he had lost all interest in the matter. Ralph went into the restaurant and over a meal, for which he was more than ready, chatted to the proprietor. He learned that the villa in front of which Jodot had been sitting, had belonged a few weeks before to the two brothers Loubeaux, who had been murdered by three ruffians in the Marseilles express. The police had sealed it up and left it in charge of a neighbor who went for a walk every Sunday afternoon. Ralph had started at hearing the name of the brothers Loubeaux. The maneuvers of Jodot began to assume significance. He went deeper into the matter and learned that at the time of their death the brothers Loubeaux lived very little at their villa, which they only used as an office for their champagne business. They had separated from their partner and were traveling on their own account. “Their partner?” said Ralph.