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XXIII
After tea everyone left the dining hall except for Atuel, Aubry, Montes and me.
 The commissioner said, "Now we'll hear what Dr. Manning has to tell us."
"The hypothesis I want to put forth is one I have already discussed with Inspector Atwell."
At first I thought I had heard him incorrectly, then that his simple phrase had transformed the world and rendered the familiar unknown and dangerous. I could hardly contain my irritation.
I repeated -- Atuel, Atwell.
Manning explained, "I deserve no praise. It was the purest chance. As you know, yesterday morning I spent a good while in Mary's room. The table was covered with sheets of paper. Suddenly, on one sheet, I read a passage that drew my attention. Perhaps I gave it too much importance; I copied it. When we came up to the dining hall, I let Atwell know."
Commissioner Aubry snubbed into the ash tray the cigarette he had just lit. "It's not in me to reproach you, Inspector," he said, "but why didn't you say anything? As soon as I knew who you were, I asked for your assistance."
"Why would I disturb you with a suggestion that I myself couldn't believe? But let's not waste time with procedural questions: the important thing is the result. Let Dr. Manning continue."
"Probably you had all failed to see the page because the typist had tidied up the table," continued the latter. "There were galley sheets and handwritten pages; the latter were the translation Miss Gutierrez was making of a Michael Innes novel. As it was a cursive text, none of you continued reading, but the page must still be there."
The commissioner breathed painfully. His displeasure was visible.
Manning continued, "The passage in question was either part of a book or a message from Miss Gutierrez. The first could be easily established. The night before she died, the young lady told us that she had, there in the room, a small collection of all of the books she had translated. I asked the inspector to let me read the manuscript pages. He told me that we must not touch them. I managed to get him to let me read the books: they were less personal objects. In these two afternoons I have read the novel Miss Gutierrez was translating and a good part of the books she had already translated. The inspector read the others. We have worked diligently. We can assure you that the passage does not come from any of the books."
We were all silent. At last the commissioner exclaimed, "My dear inspector, what a way to cooperate with your colleagues!"
From his tone I believed that he was resentful, that he was inclined to accept Manning's conclusion, and that he had no desire to know so. As for me, I could not repress my curiosity (I pride myself on it: our attachment to life is measured by the intensity of our passions). I pled with Manning not to delay sharing with us this passage, the key that had allowed him and Atwell to plumb a mystery still darkened to the rest of us.
"This is what Miss Gutierrez wrote before dying," Manning replied in a monotone. Then he read from the paper in his hands:
It is with pain that I have to tell you my decision because I know so much that will leave you astonished, and if something on this cruel earth could persuade me to abandon my determination it would be our long friendship and the thought of your good will and affection. But things have come to such a point that nothing remains but for me to bid farewell to the world and leave it.
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