I found all my belongings turned upside down; my papers scattered over the floor, every drawer and trunk and box ransacked from top to bottom.

You can guess how frightened I was.

I do not think they had come to do me any personal harm, not even to rob me, for I had left my modest jewellery on the mantelpiece and found them still there: those who entered my room did not covet valuables.

Then, why did they come?

You are perhaps going to say that my imagination is playing me tricks!... Nevertheless, I assure you that I try to keep calm, but I cannot keep control of myself, and I am terribly afraid!

I have just said that nothing was stolen from me; I think, however, it right to mention one strange coincidence.

I was convinced that I had left, in a little red pocket book, the list I spoke to you of, which had been retrieved at my brother’s house on the day of Madame de Vibray’s death.

It was, as I have told you, written in green ink by a person whose handwriting I do not know. I can hardly tell why, but amidst all the disorders in my room I immediately searched for this list. The little pocket book was on the floor amongst other papers, but the list was not to be found in it.

Am I mistaken? Have I packed it in somewhere else, or, allowing for the fact that everything had been turned upside down, has this paper slipped among other papers, which would explain why I had not come across it again?

In spite of myself, I must confess to you that the thieves, I fancy, had only one aim in view when they entered my room, and that was to get hold of this list.

What is your opinion?

I feel that perhaps I am about to show myself both inconsiderate and injudicious, but you know how miserable I am, and you will understand how the position I am in gives me grounds for being distracted. I am bent on talking this over with you, on knowing what you think of it. Perhaps even, knowing how clever you are, you might be able to find something, an indication, some detail, in my room? I have not touched anything.

I shall stay indoors all tomorrow in the hope of seeing you; do come if you possibly can. It seems to me that I am forsaken by everyone, and I trust only you...”

Jérôme Fandor read and re-read this letter, which had been written with a trembling hand.