And here joining them in
stealthy review, I found the C and the CH; then
something of an A just following; and then a terminal
Y. Here was also the whole name spelt out to me; it
seemed familiar too; and yet for some time I could not
bridge the imperfection. Then I came upon another
stamp, in which an L was legible before the Y, and in a
moment the word leaped up complete. Chailly, that was
the name: Chailly-en-Biere, the post-town of Barbizon--
ah, there was the very place for any man to hide
himself--there was the very place for Mr. Norris, who
had rambled over England making sketches--the very
place for Goddedaal, who had left a palette-knife on
board the FLYING SCUD. Singular, indeed, that
while I was drifting over England with the shyster, the
man we were in quest of awaited me at my own ultimate
destination.
Whether Mr. Denman had shown his album to Bellairs,
whether, indeed, Bellairs could have caught (as I did)
this hint from an obliterated postmark, I shall never
know, and it mattered not. We were equal now; my task
at Stallbridge-le-Carthew was accomplished; my interest
in postage-stamps died shamelessly away; the astonished
Denman was bowed out; and, ordering the horse to be put
in, I plunged into the study of the time-table.
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