Then he rose and crossed again to the settee.

He stood at the side of it, with his hands clutching the lapels of his coat and his face gravely troubled.

After a few moments of silence for himself, of suspense for all the others who watched him, he stooped suddenly.
Slowly, and with extraordinary care, he pushed his hands under the head-cushion and lifted it up gently, so that the indentations of its surface might not be disarranged.

He carried it over to the light of the open window.

The cushion was covered with silk, and as he held it to the sunlight all could see a small brown stain.
Hanaud took his magnifying-glass from his pocket and bent his head over the cushion.