“The stones of the lavatory have not been washed by Daddy Jacques for some time,” he said; “that can be seen by the layer of dust that covers them. Now, notice here, the marks of two large footprints and the black ash they left where they have been. That ash is nothing else than the charcoal dust that covers the path along which you must pass through the forest, in order to get directly from Epinay to the Glandier. You know there is a little village of charcoal-burners at that place, who make large quantities of charcoal. What the murderer did was to come here at midday, when there was nobody at the pavilion, and attempt his robbery.” “But what robbery?—Where do you see any signs of robbery? What proves to you that a robbery has been committed?” we all cried at once. “What put me on the trace of it,” continued the journalist,— “Was this?” interrupted Monsieur de Marquet, still on his knees. “Evidently,” said Rouletabille. And Monsieur de Marquet explained that there were on the dust of the pavement marks of two footsteps, as well as the impression, freshly-made, of a heavy rectangular parcel, the marks of the cord with which it had been fastened being easily distinguished. “You have been here, then, Monsieur Rouletabille? I thought I had given orders to Daddy Jacques, who was left in charge of the pavilion, not to allow anybody to enter.” “Don’t scold Daddy Jacques, I came here with Monsieur Robert Darzac.” “Ah!—Indeed!” exclaimed Monsieur de Marquet, disagreeably, casting a side-glance at Monsieur Darzac, who remained perfectly silent.