He came to the fireplace and raked in the ashes of the burnt-out fire.

But Ricardo noticed a singular thing.

In the midst of his search Hanaud's eyes were always straying back to the settee, and always with a look of extreme perplexity, as if he read there something, definitely something, but something which he could not explain.

Finally he went back to it; he drew it farther away from the wall, and suddenly with a little cry he stooped and went down on his knees.

When he rose he was holding some torn fragments of paper in his hand.