He lowered his head and thought for a moment. What kind of password would Wenger set? As a person who was proficient in history and literature, he would definitely set a number with commemorative significance. If it wasn't that date, then what could it be? Could it be a name?
Marguerite?
In an instant, Lin Hai thought of the name Marguerite, but the password device did not have English letters, so he had to use the Arabic numeral keys.
At this point, he remembered the plot he had seen in the story on the 19th level of hell - using Arabic numerals instead of English letters to set passwords.
Yes, if you arrange the 26 letters in order, a=1, b=2, c=3... and so on, until z=26.
Then, the 11 letters in Marguerite, in numerical order, are: m=13, a=1, r=18, g=7, u=21, e=5, i=9, t=20.
Putting Marguerite together is 131187215189205.
This is a 15-digit number that completely conforms to the principle of password setting.
Lin Hai took a deep breath and slowly entered the 15-digit number on the password device.
"Pass!"
Thank goodness, Wenger had set this password, and the automatic anti-theft door finally opened.
Lin Hai pulled Marguerite out of the room, almost excitedly shouting, feeling like Dantès surfacing from the sea, about to become the Count of Monte Cristo.
It was already ten o'clock in the morning, and they ran out of the building. Lin Hai breathed in the outside air deeply, holding Marguerite's hand and said, "We must call Paris now and have them stop Wenger and Victor."
After a lot of searching, they finally found a place to make international long-distance calls, and Lin Hai immediately dialed my number in Paris.
At this moment, Wenger and Victor were crossing the Eurasian continent on the plane.
But the radio waves reached Paris in an instant...
In the early morning of the Sorbonne in Paris, on the roof of the History Building, the ghosts were dancing elegantly in the moonlight.
Just below the ceiling on the top floor, electromagnetic waves from thousands of miles away flew into my cell phone, waking me up from my sleep.
I panicked and jumped up, seeing a strange domestic number displayed on my phone. Who could be calling me in the middle of the night? But according to the time difference, it should be morning in China now.
After hesitating for a while, I still answered the phone, and heard Lin Hai's voice: "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay. A few ghosts were scared off by you just now."
"I've found the real 'Marguerite' painting, but the real painting was taken by someone from the La More family."
The first sentence immediately made me excited, but the second sentence left me puzzled: "Wait a minute, I don't understand what you mean."
Lin Hai on the other end of the phone was very anxious, he could only roughly explain the situation. He told me the names of two men from the Lamore family, Wenger and Victor. They were carrying the real "Margaret" from four hundred years ago and a fake "Margaret" on the plane, and they were going back to Paris this afternoon.
I immediately understood his meaning: "Lin Hai, don't worry, we still have time. I'll do everything I can to intercept them at the airport."
After hanging up the phone, I was wide awake and walked to the window, looking at the night sky in Paris, imagining the large plane carrying "Margaret" traveling through the distant clouds.
It was now 3:30 in the morning in Paris, and I nervously waited until dawn before calling Yu Li.
Yu Li was clearly still sleeping, and my call startled him, but he quickly promised to come over.
We met at the school's cafeteria, and after meeting, Yu Li repeatedly asked if the news was accurate. In fact, I had no idea either, but at this point, we could only try to do something.
Yu Li immediately consulted with Professor Orleans, who was also very surprised. He immediately reported to the French police, reporting that someone may be smuggling cultural relics into the country, and hoping that the police could intercept Wenger and Victor at Charles de Gaulle Airport.
Originally, the police did not believe this kind of thing, but because a professor from Voltaire University reported it, they immediately arranged for police to escort us to the airport.
By the time we arrived at the airport, it was already noon. We checked the flight information and found that there was indeed a flight from Shanghai that would land in Paris at 4:00 pm.
The police checked the passenger list provided by the airline and found the names of Wenger and Victor. Their surnames were both Lamore, and they did indeed check in two large pieces of luggage. So, the police informed the immigration inspection department and immediately detained Wenger and Victor upon their arrival.
We waited at the airport immigration, and Yu Li and Professor Orleans were both very nervous. At around 4:00 pm, a large group of people walked out, and two men immediately caught my attention.
One of them was in his thirties, well-mannered and elegant, while the other was nearly fifty years old, with a hooked nose and a fierce expression. They had been waiting at immigration for a long time and seemed to have been questioned the whole time. The young one smiled and answered all the questions until they were both taken away by the police.
A police officer came over and told us that Wenger and Victor had been detained. The police checked the luggage they had checked in and found two oil paintings.
Professor Orleans immediately perked up and was taken by the police to a small room where the two oil paintings were placed on the wall and already unpacked.
I was stunned. This was the "Margaret" that Lin Hai had seen – the French princess from four hundred years ago sitting upright with a sad gaze, staring straight into my eyes. It was truly a stunning masterpiece.
In this small room at the airport, Yu Li, Professor Orleans, and I all held our breath and stared blankly at the two identical paintings. Although one was a fake, they both looked equally exquisite.
Yu Li muttered, "The secret is right in front of us."
Then the professor requested that the police take the two paintings back to Voltaire University for appraisal to determine whether they were legally recognized cultural relics and to convict Wenger and Victor.The police officer hesitated for a while, but finally agreed to Professor Orleans' request, on the condition that the university provides a guarantee. The professor immediately contacted the school and quickly processed the guarantee procedure, and then took the two paintings from the police.
The police car escorted us back to the university, where, with the help of several police officers, we carefully moved the paintings into the History Department's research room.
After the police left, Yu Li closed the door of the research room and even pulled the curtains. In the special lighting, only the three of us faced the two paintings of Margaret.
Professor Orleans took a magnifying glass and carefully examined the details of the paintings, but could not find any clues.
Suddenly, I remembered what Lin Hai had said on the phone. Under the fake painting painted by Lin Danqing, there was a signature of his, but it was later covered by the Ramor family. This was the only flaw in the fake.
I immediately leaned down and carefully looked at the lower end of the two paintings, but there was no difference, only a small shadow in the lower left corner of the painting on the right. I called the professor over and, with Yu Li's help, he carefully examined it and concluded that this shadow was indeed added later and was not left by the painter.
This painting must be a fake painted by Lin Danqing in 1936, and the signature under that shadow must be Lin Danqing's own, which was later erased by the Ramor family.
So the other painting is the real "Margaret"!
We leaned under the other painting again, and it was Yu Li who noticed that in the lower left corner of the painting, in an extremely inconspicuous corner, there seemed to be a line of fine print.
The professor used a high magnifying glass to look at it, and slowly read out the letters - "a. archabault".
What does this mean? Yu Li nodded and said, "In this position, it is usually the artist's signature."
Yes, just like Lin Danqing's signature on the fake.
Then "a. archabault" should be someone's name, but Yu Li shook his head and said, "It's really a weird name, and there has never been a surname like this among the French."
"If it is really the painter, then we just need to check the court painters of the sixteenth century in France."
"Good idea."
Yu Li immediately opened the computer in the research room. He had prepared a lot of information these days, including possible authors of "Margaret". He quickly found the information of all court painters in France at the end of the 16th century. Among the many unknown painters, he finally found someone named "Alain Archabault".
If I transliterated this name into Chinese, it would be "Alan Achabalt".
It turned out that Archabault was a Wallachian, now Romania. He settled in France when he was young and later became a court painter. Therefore, his surname was extremely strange to the French.
Archabault? Orleans Professor muttered softly, shaking his head with confusion, seemingly not having figured it out yet.
However, Yu Li nodded thoughtfully and checked his watch, saying, "It's already 7 pm, let's go downstairs for dinner first."
So we left the research room. Before leaving, Professor Orleans checked the doors and windows carefully and locked the door tightly.
I wasn't in the mood to eat outside, so the three of us had a simple dinner in the restaurant. During the meal, Professor Orleans remained silent, apparently still pondering over the last question. Yu Li said that there was very little information available about Alain Archabault, except that he was a Wallachian who settled in France and later became a court painter. So his surname appeared extremely strange to the French people.
But if this oil painting was left by Margaret to her child, then there must be some kind of secret hidden in the painting that was not present in the forgery, and the only difference between the genuine and fake painting was the signature. So I felt that the key was still in Archabault.
Professor Orleans did not eat much dinner and went back to the research room early. Yu Li said that he would be up all night studying. After he left to go to the police station to make a statement, I returned to the top floor of the history department alone.
I lay on the bed for a while, feeling my heart beating fast. I have always trusted my intuition, could there be something else that's about to happen?
Suddenly, my phone rang, and it was a call from Yu Li. "I'm at the police station. I just received a call from Professor Orleans, he wants me to tell you to come to the research room. He has something to show you."
I immediately ran down the stairs and saw that the door to the research room was ajar, and a faint light was shining through the crack. I gently pushed open the door and saw that the two paintings were still hanging on the wall, and Professor Orleans was sitting quietly on a recliner.
There was a faint smell in the room, and I couldn't tell what it was, but it made my heart beat faster. I walked silently to the professor's side and called him softly, but he did not answer me.
I turned to face him and saw that his eyes were tightly closed, and his expression was quite peaceful. Was he asleep? I couldn't help tapping him lightly, but he still did not respond.
Strangely, the professor was still holding a small button in his hand, and I suddenly noticed a red stain on his chest. I carefully touched it with my hand and found that it was blood!
Orleans Professor was dead, and he had been stabbed to death while sitting in the chair.
At that moment, the door to the research room slowly opened, and the female administrator of the building walked in with her head and eyes widened, screaming terribly when she saw the scene.
It was only then that I noticed my own hands, already stained with the blood from the professor's chest.
Undoubtedly, the female administrator had already regarded me as the killer!
In an instant, many images from thrilling movies flickered through my mind. I never thought I would become the protagonist of such a movie.
Perhaps instinctively, I immediately rushed towards the door of the research room, pushing the female administrator aside and running down the stairs in panic.
Her screams continued behind me, and my mind was blank. I ran like a gust of wind, through the path, and finally out of the back gate of Voltaire University.
Although I had already left the university, I still felt unsafe because this place seemed remote, and as a Chinese person, I was more likely to attract attention. So I hailed a taxi and headed straight for the Seine River in the city center.
I vigorously rolled down the window, gasping for breath in the Parisian night breeze. The screams of the female administrator still rang in my ears. Oh my god, Professor Orléans had actually died. Who could have killed him? Was it suicide because he couldn't solve the problem?
Suddenly, I thought of Yu Li's words to me. Many scholars who had researched the "mystery of Louis IX" had died mysteriously at critical moments. Could it be that Professor Orléans was also unable to escape this pattern?
I opened my hands again, and the terrible blood stains were still on my palms. The female administrator had seen it all, and with the evidence and witnesses, I had become the biggest suspect. But what was the use of running away? The female administrator knew who I was, and the police would soon be looking for me all over Paris. I was unfamiliar with life in France, and more importantly, had a language barrier. It would be too easy to catch me, and I wouldn't be able to explain myself. They would say, "If you didn't kill anyone, then why did you go into hiding?"
Thinking of this, I felt a sense of despair, like a big stone pressing down on my chest. I had no mood to admire the charming Parisian night scene outside. I quietly took out a napkin and wiped the blood stains off my palms, but there was still a faint smell of blood that lingered.
Originally, I came to Paris for the mysterious parchment and to meet Lin Hai, whom I didn't know. I also wanted to take advantage of a free trip to France. But I never expected tonight to happen. By tomorrow morning, the media would probably report on this, and I wouldn't need the publishing house to help me hype up my book. I would truly become a "news figure."
Sigh, why am I so unlucky?
The taxi stopped by the Seine River, and after getting out, I hid in the crowd of people taking a night tour of Paris. Classic detective novels had taught me that the best place to hide a leaf was in the forest, and generally, the more people there were, the safer it was.
Suddenly, I thought of Yu Li. He was probably the only one who could save me now.
I immediately called Yu Li, who had already heard about Professor Orléans' murder at the police station. He said that I was now a wanted criminal, and the police were searching for me all over Paris.
I loudly said on the phone, "Yu Li, you know me. How could I have possibly killed someone? I'm innocent."
"I believe you, but the police don't. I think you should come back and turn yourself in. I'll hire a lawyer to help you."
"Okay, I'll think about it."
Trembling, I ended the call. Now I had nowhere to go. Looking back at the tourists by the Seine River, I saw unfamiliar faces looking back at me, as if someone could arrest me at any moment.
My heart was beating faster and faster, and I was trembling all over. Even if I had the courage, I wouldn't dare to expose myself to the light. I lowered my head and walked down the riverbank until I reached a bridge underpass on the Seine River.
I never expected to see several homeless people huddled in the underpass. Had I also fallen to this end?
As I was in a daze, suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed my pant leg tightly. I was so scared that I almost screamed, but then I saw a figure standing up from the darkness. He patted my shoulder and said in English, "I'm Jack, your friend." It turned out to be Jacques. It startled me. It was amazing that I had already met him four times in Paris.
Jacques asked me where I was going in his broken English, but I couldn't answer. I wanted to tell him that I was in danger, but I didn't dare to say it out loud. However, Jacques "warmly" took me away, suggesting that I come to his "home" and sit for a while. I really didn't know what a homeless person's "home" could be, but now I was really at my wit's end. Going to his place to hide for a while was not a bad idea.
So Jacques took me across the Seine and headed northwest in Paris. We walked through the colorful Paris streets and he greeted many beggars along the way. I felt nervous as following him made me even more conspicuous. I had to lower my head and not let people see my face clearly.
Homeless people were all expert walkers, and Jacques actually walked for more than half an hour without stopping. My legs were almost broken and I could see that we were gradually leaving the city center, with the surrounding lights dimming. Could he be leading me to a secret place of the homeless people?
The surroundings became more and more remote, until Jacques stopped at a wall and pointed to a large hole in the corner where we could crawl through. He pulled me into the wall, and inside, surprisingly, was an open space surrounded by trees with strange stones standing in the darkness. The cool wind blew, and I shivered. I asked what this place was, and Jacques's answer was very straightforward: "Cemetery."
Although my English was terrible, I had heard of this word before, which meant a graveyard.