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: [Illustration] CHAPTER THREE THE CORPSE At six o’clock in the evening, having finished all he had to do, M. Filluel, accompanied by M. Brédoux, his clerk, stood waiting for the carriage which was to take him back to Dieppe. He seemed restless, nervous. Twice over, he asked: “You haven’t seen anything of young Beautrelet, I suppose?” “No, Monsieur le Juge d’Instruction, I can’t say I have.” “Where on earth can he be? I haven’t set eyes on him all day!” Suddenly, he had an idea, handed his portfolio to Brédoux, ran round the château and made for the ruins. Isidore Beautrelet was lying near the cloisters, flat on his face, with one arm folded under his head, on the ground carpeted with pine-needles. He seemed drowsing. “Hullo, young man, what are you doing here? Are you asleep?” “I’m not asleep. I’ve been thinking.” “Ever since this morning?” “Ever since this morning.” “It’s not a question of thinking! One must see into things first, study facts, look for clues, establish connecting links. The time for thinking comes after, when one pieces all that together and discovers the truth.”