"Nor me either," replied Flambeau frowning, while the other
went on eating fish with an air of entire resignation. "If all you
can suggest is that notion of a message conveyed by contraries,
I call it uncommonly clever, but...well, what would you call it?"

"I should call it thin," said the priest promptly.
"I should call it uncommonly thin. But that's the queer thing
about the whole business. The lie is like a schoolboy's.
There are only three versions, Dubosc's and Hirsch's and that fancy of mine.
Either that note was written by a French officer to ruin a French official;
or it was written by the French official to help German officers;
or it was written by the French official to mislead German officers.
Very well. You'd expect a secret paper passing between such people,
officials or officers, to look quite different from that.
You'd expect, probably a cipher, certainly abbreviations;
most certainly scientific and strictly professional terms.
But this thing's elaborately simple, like a penny dreadful:
`In the purple grotto you will find the golden casket.' It looks as if...
as if it were meant to be seen through at once."

Almost before they could take it in a short figure in French uniform
had walked up to their table like the wind, and sat down
with a sort of thump.

"I have extraordinary news," said the Duc de Valognes.
"I have just come from this Colonel of ours. He is packing up
to leave the country, and he asks us to make his excuses sur le terrain."

"What?" cried Flambeau, with an incredulity quite frightful--
"apologize?"