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“What is it?” asked Pinot. Bending over, he read, “A survey of the number of hand-forged nails made in Calais in 1523? That’s the evidence? Nails in Calais? It doesn’t make sense.”

Calais, thought Armand and smiled. The burghers, you old devil.

“We need to see the file,” he said. “Where is it?”

She pointed down. “Purgatory. Where documents are put that can’t be thrown out, but neither are they likely to ever see the light of day.”

“This one has,” said Gamache. “And recently. Can you take us to it?”

Madame Lenoir made a note of the reference number. Then they followed her through another thick door, which Gamache quietly locked behind them, and down, down, down flights of stairs into a subbasement.

Turning on the overhead lights, they saw what looked more like a crypt than an archive. The brick ceilings were vaulted and the floor was dirt. But the temperature and humidity were constant and no daylight could penetrate. It was, in fact, the perfect place to keep very old, frail documents.

Allida Lenoir went looking for the file.

“You really think Stephen hid the evidence here?” Pinot asked, looking around.

“No.”

“No?”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but on seeing the name of that file, I think he had another idea. I think he’d get the evidence as far from him, as far from Paris, as possible. Wouldn’t you?”

“I guess so,” said Pinot. “So where is it?”

“Calais. That’s why he asked for that file. He’s not interested in nails in Calais. Who is? He’s telling us, telling me, where he hid the evidence.”

“It’s somewhere in Calais?” asked Pinot. “But that’s a city. How’re we supposed to know where to find the stuff, if it’s even there?”

Gamache looked down the long subbasement. He could no longer see the Chief Archivist.

“Do those work?” he asked, nodding at the computer terminals.

Madame de la Granger sat down and hit some keys. It sprang to life.

“Can you look up Calais?” said Gamache. “You know Stephen well, Alain. See if there’s a place you think he might’ve gone. We used to talk about the burghers. Maybe one of their homes. A museum there. Something.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’m going to find Madame Lenoir.”

Alain Pinot seemed far from convinced, but he sat beside Madame de la Granger and the two began to hunt while Armand went hunting for the Chief Archivist.

He found her down a side aisle, deep in a cabinet.

“It’s here,” she said, handing a dossier to Gamache.

Putting on his reading glasses, he rapidly went through the pages, once. Then, more slowly, a second time. Finally, he raised his head and caught her anxious eyes.

“Nothing,” he said, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I was hoping this might tell us where in Calais he hid the evidence. That he might’ve even left a note behind.”

He looked at his watch. It was 6:35. Less than an hour. Making up his mind, he closed the folder.

“Can you keep the others here?” He tucked the file under his arm.

“While you?”