I felt this so clearly that I declared, emphatically, in the course of my evidence: "She was caught in a trap and carried off." "Prove it," they retorted. "Find some justification for the appointments which she made and kept all through the winter with the fellow whom you call the man with the glasses, in other words, with the man Velmot." And the police based their suspicions on a really disturbing charge which they had discovered and which had escaped me. During his struggle with his assailant, very likely at the moment when the latter, after reducing him to a state of helplessness, had moved away to fetch the pick-axe, Noël Dorgeroux had managed to scrawl a few words with a broken flint at the foot of the screen. The writing was very faint and almost illegible, for the flint in places had merely scratched the plaster; nevertheless, it was possible to decipher the following: "B-ray. . . . Berge. . ." The term "B-ray" evidently referred to Noël Dorgeroux's invention. My uncle's first thought, when threatened with death, had been to convey in the briefest (but, unfortunately, also the most unintelligible) form the particulars which would save his marvellous discovery from oblivion. "B-ray" was an expression which he himself understood but which suggested nothing to those who did not know what he meant by it. The five letters "B.E.R.G.E.," on the other hand, allowed of only one interpretation. "Berge" stood for Bergeronnette, the pet name by which Noël Dorgeroux called his god-daughter. "Very well," I exclaimed before the magistrate, who had taken me to the screen. "Very well, I agree with your interpretation. It relates to Bérangère. But my uncle was simply wishing to express his love for her and his extreme anxiety on her behalf. In writing his god-daughter's name at the very moment when he is in mortal danger, he shows that he is uneasy about her, that he is recommending her to our care." "Or that he is accusing her," retorted the magistrate. Bérangère accused by my uncle! Bérangère capable of sharing in the murder of her god-father! I remember shrugging my shoulders. But there was no reply that I could make beyond protests based upon no actual fact and contradicted by appearances. All that I said was: "I fail to see what interest she could have had! . . ." "A very considerable interest: the exploitation of the wonderful secret which you have mentioned." "But she is ignorant of the secret!" "How do you know? She's not ignorant of it, if she is in league with the two accomplices. The manuscript which M. Dorgeroux sent you has disappeared: who was in a better position than she to steal it? However, mark me, I make no assertions. I have my suspicions, that's all; and I'm trying to discover what I can." But the most minute investigations led to no result. Was Bérangère also a victim of the two criminals?