The butler paused in thought. ‘I do not, monsieur. It was on the Wednesday or Thursday following, I believe, but I’m not positive.’ ‘Thank you, François. There is one other thing I should be greatly obliged if you could do for me. Get me a sample of Madame’s writing.’ François shook his head. ‘I haven’t such a thing, monsieur,’ he replied, ‘but I can show you her desk, if you would care to look over it.’ They went into the boudoir, and François pointed out a small davenport finished with some delicate carving and with inlaid panels, a beautiful example of the cabinetmaker’s art. Lefarge seated himself before it and began to go through the papers it contained. ‘Somebody’s been before us,’ he said. ‘There’s precious little here.’ He produced a number of old receipted bills and circulars, with some unimportant letters and printed papers, but not a scrap in Madame’s handwriting could he discover. Suddenly François gave an exclamation. ‘I believe I can get you what you want, messieurs, if you will wait a moment.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, as he returned a few seconds later, ‘this will perhaps do. It was framed in the servants’ hall.’ It was a short document giving the work of the different servants, their hours of duty, and other similar information, and was written in the hand, so far as the detectives could recollect, of the letter of farewell to M. Boirac. Lefarge put it away carefully in his notebook. ‘Now let us see Madame’s room.’ They examined the bedroom, looking particularly for old letters, but without success. Next they interviewed the other servants, also fruitlessly. ‘All we want now,’ said Lefarge to the old butler, ‘is a list of the guests at that dinner, or at least some of them.’ ‘I can tell you, I think, all of them, monsieur,’ returned François, and Lefarge noted the names in his book. ‘What time is M. Boirac likely to return?’ asked Burnley, when they had finished. ‘He should have been here before this, monsieur. He generally gets back by half-past six.’ It was now nearly seven, and, as they waited, they heard his latchkey in the door. ‘Ah, messieurs,’ he greeted them, ‘so you are here already. Any luck?’ ‘No luck so far, M. Boirac,’ replied Lefarge, continuing after a pause: ‘There is a point on which we should be obliged for some information, monsieur. It is about this marble group.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Could you tell us the circumstances under which you got it, and of its arrival here?’