This conclusion was borne out by his light baggage, which still lay about the berth,—­hat-box, rugs, umbrella, brown morocco hand-bag.  All were the property of some one well to do, or at least possessed of decent belongings.  One or two pieces bore a monogram, “F.Q.,” the same as on the shirt and under-linen; but on the bag was a luggage label, with the name, “Francis Quadling, passenger to Paris,” in full.  Its owner had apparently no reason to conceal his name.  More strangely, those who had done him to death had been at no pains to remove all traces of his identity.

M. Flocon opened the hand-bag, seeking for further evidence; but found nothing of importance,—­only loose collars, cuffs, a sponge and slippers, two Italian newspapers of an earlier date.  No money, valuables, or papers.  All these had been removed probably, and presumably, by the perpetrator of the crime.

Having settled the first preliminary but essential points, he next surveyed the whole compartment critically.  Now, for the first time, he was struck with the fact that the window was open to its full height.  Since when was this?  It was a question to be put presently to the porter and any others who had entered the car, but the discovery drew him to examine the window more closely, and with good results.

At the ledge, caught on a projecting point on the far side, partly in, partly out of the car, was a morsel of white lace, a scrap of feminine apparel; although what part, or how it had come there, was not at once obvious to M. Flocon.  A long and minute inspection of this bit of lace, which he was careful not to detach as yet from the place in which he found it, showed that it was ragged, and frayed, and fast caught where it hung.  It could not have been blown there by any chance air; it must have been torn from the article to which it belonged, whatever that might be,—­head-dress, nightcap, night-dress, or handkerchief.  The lace was of a kind to serve any of these purposes.

Inspecting further, M. Flocon made a second discovery.  On the small table under the window was a short length of black jet beading, part of the trimming or ornamentation of a lady’s dress.

These two objects of feminine origin—­one partly outside the car, the other near it, but quite inside—­gave rise to many conjectures.  It led, however, to the inevitable conclusion that a woman had been at some time or other in the berth.  M. Flocon could not but connect these two finds with the fact of the open window.  The latter might, of course, have been the work of the murdered man himself at an earlier hour.  Yet it is unusual, as the detective imagined, for a passenger, and especially an Italian, to lie under an open window in a sleeping-berth when travelling by express train before daylight in March.

Who opened that window, then, and why?  Perhaps some further facts might be found on the outside of the car.  With this idea, M. Flocon left it, and passed on to the line or permanent way.