"No, but I saw his arm."

Coquenil gave a start of satisfaction. "His arm? Then a man threw it?"

"Oh, yes, I saw his black coat sleeve and his white cuff quite plainly."

"But not his face?"

"No, only the arm."

"Do you remember the window from which he threw this object?" The detective
looked at her anxiously.

"Yes, indeed, it is easy to remember; it's the end window, on the first
floor of the hotel. There!"

Coquenil felt a thrill of excitement, for, unless he had misunderstood the
commissary's diagram, the seamstress was pointing not to private room
Number Six, _but to private room Number Seven!_

"Lucien!" he called, and, taking his friend aside, he asked: "Does that end
window on the first floor belong to Number Six or Number Seven?"

"Number Seven."

"And the window next to it?"

"Number Six."

"Are you sure?"