Le dossier no. 113. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  VI

  The Archangel Hotel, Mme. Gypsy's asylum, was the most elegant buildingon the Quai St. Michel.

  A person who pays her fortnight's board in advance is treated withconsideration at this hotel.

  Mme. Alexandre, who had been a handsome woman, was now stout, laced tillshe could scarcely breathe, always over-dressed, and fond of wearing anumber of flashy gold chains around her fat neck.

  She had bright eyes and white teeth; but, alas, a red nose. Of all herweaknesses, and Heaven knows she had indulged in every variety, only oneremained; she loved a good dinner, washed down with plenty of good wine.

  She also loved her husband; and, about the time M. Patrigent was leavingthe hospital, she began to be worried that her "little man" had notreturned to dinner. She was about to sit down without him, when thehotel-boy cried out:

  "Here is monsieur."

  And Fanferlot appeared in person.

  Three years before, Fanferlot had kept a little office of secretintelligence; Mme. Alexandre was a trader without a license in perfumeryand toilet articles, and, finding it necessary to watch some of hersuspicious customers, engaged Fanferlot's services; this was the originof their acquaintance.

  If they went through the marriage ceremony for the good of the mayoraltyand the church, it was because they imagined it would, like a baptism,wash out the sins of the past.

  Upon this momentous day, Fanferlot gave up his secret intelligenceoffice, and entered the police, where he had already been occasionallyemployed, and Mme. Alexandre retired from trade.

  Uniting their savings, they hired and furnished the "Archangel,"which they were now carrying on prosperously well, esteemed by theirneighbors, who were ignorant of Fanferlot's connection with the policeforce.

  "Why, how late you are, my little man!" she exclaimed, as she droppedher knife and fork, and rushed forward to embrace him.

  He received her caresses with an air of abstraction.

  "My back is broken," he said. "I have been the whole day playingbilliards with Evariste, M. Fauvel's valet, and allowed him to win asoften as he wished, a man who does not know what 'the pool' is! I becameacquainted with him yesterday, and now I am his best friend. If I wishto enter M. Fauvel's service in Antonin's place, I can rely upon M.Evariste's good word."

  "What, you be an office messenger? you?"

  "Of course I would. How else am I to get an opportunity of studying mycharacters, if I am not on the spot to watch them all the time?"

  "Then the valet gave you no news?"

  "He gave me none that I could make use of, and yet I turned him insideout, like a glove. This banker is a remarkable man; you don't often meetwith one of his sort nowadays. Evariste says he has not a single vice,not even a little defect by which his valet could gain ten sous. Heneither smokes, drinks, nor plays; in fact, he is a saint. He is worthmillions, and lives as respectably and quietly as a grocer. He isdevoted to his wife, adores his children, is lavishly hospitable, andseldom goes into society."

  "Then his wife is young?"

  "She must be about fifty."

  Mme. Alexandre reflected a minute, then asked:

  "Did you inquire about the other members of the family?"

  "Certainly. The younger son is in the army. The elder son, Lucien, liveswith his parents, and is as proper as a young lady; so good, indeed,that he is stupid."

  "And what about the niece?"

  "Evariste could tell me nothing about her."

  Mme. Alexandre shrugged her fat shoulders.

  "If you have discovered nothing, it is because there is nothing to bediscovered. Still, do you know what I would do, if I were you?"

  "Tell me."

  "I would consult with M. Lecoq."

  Fanferlot jumped up as if he had been shot.

  "Now, that's pretty advice! Do you want me to lose my place? M. Lecoqdoes not suspect that I have anything to do with the case, except toobey his orders."

  "Nobody told you to let him know you were investigating it on your ownaccount. You can consult him with an air of indifference, as if you werenot at all interested; and, after you have got his opinion, you can takeadvantage of it."

  The detective weighed his wife's words, and then said:

  "Perhaps you are right; yet M. Lecoq is so devilishly shrewd, that hemight see through me."

  "Shrewd!" echoed Mme. Alexandre, "shrewd! All of you at the policeoffice say that so often, that he has gained his reputation by it: youare just as sharp as he is."

  "Well, we will see. I will think the matter over; but, in the meantime,what does the girl say?"

  The "girl" was Mme. Nina Gypsy.

  In taking up her abode at the Archangel, the poor girl thought shewas following good advice; and, as Fanferlot had never appeared in herpresence since, she was still under the impression that she had obeyeda friend of Prosper's. When she received her summons from M. Patrigent,she admired the wonderful skill of the police in discovering herhiding-place; for she had established herself at the hotel under afalse, or rather her true name, Palmyre Chocareille.

  Artfully questioned by her inquisitive landlady, she had, without anymistrust, confided her history to her.

  Thus Fanferlot was able to impress the judge with the idea of his beinga skilful detective, when he pretended to have discovered all thisinformation from a variety of sources.

  "She is still upstairs," answered Mme. Alexandre. "She suspects nothing;but to keep her in her present ignorance becomes daily more difficult.I don't know what the judge told her, but she came home quite besideherself with anger. She wanted to go and make a fuss at M. Fauvel's;then she wrote a letter which she told Jean to post for her; but I keptit to show you."

  "What!" interrupted Fanferlot, "you have a letter, and did not tellme before? Perhaps it contains the clew to the mystery. Give it to me,quick."

  Obeying her husband, Mme. Alexandre opened a little cupboard, and tookout a letter which she handed to him.

  "Here, take it," she said, "and be satisfied."

  Considering that she used to be a chambermaid, Palmyre Chocareille,since become Mme. Gypsy, wrote a good letter.

  It bore the following address, written in a free, flowing hand:

  FOR M. L. DE CLAMERAN,

  Forge-Master, Hotel du Louvre.

  To be handed to M. Raoul de Lagors.

  (In great haste.)

  "Oh, ho!" said Fanferlot, accompanying his exclamation with a littlewhistle, as was his habit when he thought he had made a grand discovery."Oh, ho!"

  "Do you intend to open it?" questioned Mme. Alexandre.

  "A little bit," said Fanferlot, as he dexterously opened the envelope.

  Mme. Alexandre leaned over her husband's shoulder, and they both readthe following letter:

  "MONSIEUR RAOUL--Prosper is in prison, accused of a robbery which henever committed. I wrote to you three days ago."

  "What!" interrupted Fanferlot, "this silly girl wrote, and I never sawthe letter?"

  "But, little man, she must have posted it herself, the day she went tothe Palais de Justice."

  "Very likely," said Fanferlot propitiated. He continued reading:

  "I wrote to you three days ago, and have no reply. Who will help Prosperif his best friends desert him? If you don't answer this letter, I shallconsider myself released from a certain promise, and without scruplewill tell Prosper of the conversation I overheard between you and M. deClameran. But I can count on you, can I not? I shall expect you at theArchangel day after to-morrow, between twelve and four.

  "NINA GYPSY"

  The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to copy it.

  "Well!" said Mme. Alexandre, "what do you think?"

  Fanferlot was delicately resealing the letter when the door of the hoteloffice was abruptly opened, and the boy twice whispered, "Pst! Pst!"

  Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet. He had barely time toclose the door before Mme. Gypsy entered the room.

  The poor girl was sadly changed. She was pal
e and hollow-cheeked, andher eyes were red with weeping.

  On seeing her, Mme. Alexandre could not conceal her surprise.

  "Why, my child, you are not going out?"

  "I am obliged to do so, madame; and I come to ask you to tell anyonethat may call during my absence to wait until I return."

  "But where in the world are you going at this hour, sick as you are?"

  For a moment Mme. Gypsy hesitated.

  "Oh," she said, "you are so kind that I am tempted to confide in you;read this note which a messenger just now brought to me."

  "What!" cried Mme. Alexandre perfectly aghast: "a messenger enter myhouse, and go up to your room!"

  "Is there anything surprising in that?"

  "Oh, oh, no! nothing surprising."

  And in a tone loud enough to be heard in the closet she read the note:

  "A friend of Prosper who can neither receive you, nor present himselfat your house, is very anxious to speak to you. Be in the stage-officeopposite the Saint Jacques tower, to-night at nine precisely, and thewriter will approach, and tell you what he has to say.

  "I have appointed this public place for the rendezvous so as to relieveyour mind of all fear."

  "And you are going to this rendezvous?"

  "Certainly, madame."

  "But it is imprudent, foolish; it is a snare to entrap you."

  "It makes no difference," interrupted Gypsy. "I am so unfortunatealready that I have nothing more to dread. Any change would be arelief."

  And, without waiting to hear any more, she went out. The door hadscarcely closed upon Mme. Gypsy, before Fanferlot bounced out of thecloset.

  The mild detective was white with rage, and swore violently.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he cried. "Am I to stand by and havepeople walking over the Archangel, as if it were a public street?"

  Mme. Alexandre stood trembling, and dared not speak.

  "Was ever such impudence heard of before!" he continued. "A messengercomes into my house, and goes upstairs without being seen by anybody!I will look into this. And the idea of you, Mme. Alexandre, you, asensible woman, being idiotic enough to persuade that little viper notto keep the appointment!"

  "But, my dear--"

  "Had you not sense enough to know that I would follow her, and discoverwhat she is attempting to conceal? Come, make haste, and help me, sothat she won't recognize me."

  In a few minutes Fanferlot was completely disguised by a thick beard, awig, and one of those long linen blouses worn by dishonest workmen, whogo about seeking labor, and, at the same time, hoping they may not findany.

  "Have you your handcuffs?" asked the solicitous Mme. Alexandre.

  "Yes, yes: make haste and put that letter to M. de Clameran in thepost-office, and--and keep good watch."

  And without waiting for his wife's reply, who cried out, "Good luck!"Fanferlot darted into the street.

  Mme. Gypsy had ten minutes' start of him; but he ran up the street heknew she must have taken, and overtook her near the Change Bridge.

  She was walking with the uncertain gait of a person who, impatient tobe at a rendezvous, has started too soon, and is obliged to occupythe intervening time; she would walk very rapidly, then retrace herfootsteps, and proceed slowly.

  On Chatelet Place she strolled up and down several times, read thetheatre-bills, and finally took a seat on a bench. One minute before aquarter of nine, she entered the stage-office, and sat down.

  A moment after, Fanferlot entered; but, as he feared that Mme. Gypsymight recognize him in spite of his heavy beard, he took a seat at theopposite end of the room, in a dark corner.

  "Singular place for a conversation," he thought, as he watched theyoung woman. "Who in the world could have made this appointment in astage-office? Judging from her evident curiosity and uneasiness, I couldswear she has not the faintest idea for whom she is waiting."

  Meanwhile, the office was gradually filling with people. Every minutea man would shriek out the destination of an omnibus which had justarrived, and the bewildered passengers would rush in to get tickets, andinquire when the omnibus would leave.

  As each new-comer entered, Gypsy would tremble, and Fanferlot would say,"This is he!"

  Finally, as the Hotel-de-Ville clock was striking nine, a man entered,and, without going to the ticket-window, walked directly up to Gypsy,bowed, and took a seat beside her.

  He was a medium-sized man, rather stout, with a crimson face, andfiery-red whiskers. His dress was that of a well-to-do merchant, andthere was nothing in his manner or appearance to excite attention.

  Fanferlot watched him eagerly.

  "Well, my friend," he said to himself, "in future I shall recognize you,no matter where we meet; and this very evening I will find out who youare."

  Despite his intent listening, he could not hear a word spoken by thestranger or Gypsy. All he could do was to judge by their pantomime andcountenances, what the subject of their conversation might be.

  When the stout man bowed and spoke to her, the girl looked so surprisedthat it was evident she had never seen him before. When he sat down byher, and said a few words, she jumped up with a frightened look, asif seeking to escape. A single word and look made her resume her seat.Then, as the stout man went on talking, Gypsy's attitude betrayed greatapprehension. She positively refused to do something; then suddenly sheseemed to consent, when he stated a good reason for her so doing. Atone moment she appeared ready to weep, and the next her pretty face wasillumined by a bright smile. Finally, she shook hands with him, as ifshe was confirming a promise.

  "What can all that mean?" said Fanferlot to himself, as he sat in hisdark corner, biting his nails. "What an idiot I am to have stationedmyself so far off!"

  He was thinking how he could manage to approach nearer without arousingtheir suspicions, when the fat man arose, offered his arm to Mme. Gypsy,who accepted it without hesitation, and together they walked toward thedoor.

  They were so engrossed with each other, that Fanferlot thought he could,without risk, follow them; and it was well he did; for the crowd wasdense outside, and he would soon have lost them.

  Reaching the door, he saw the stout man and Gypsy cross the pavement,approach a hackney-coach, and enter it.

  "Very good," muttered Fanferlot, "I've got them now. There is no use ofhurrying any more."

  While the coachman was gathering up his reins, Fanferlot preparedhis legs; and, when the coach started, he followed in a brisk trot,determined upon following it to the end of the earth.

  The cab went up the Boulevard Sebastopol. It went pretty fast; but itwas not for nothing that Fanferlot had won the name of "Squirrel." Withhis elbows glued to his sides, and holding his breath, he ran on.

  By the time he had reached the Boulevard St. Denis, he began to getbreathless, and stiff from a pain in his side. The cabman abruptlyturned into the Rue Faubourg St. Martin.

  But Fanferlot, who, at eight years of age, had been familiar with everystreet in Paris, was not to be baffled: he was a man of resources. Heseized the springs of the coach, raised himself up by the strength ofhis wrists, and hung on behind, with his legs resting on the axle-treeof the back wheels. He was not quite comfortable, but then, he no longerran the risk of being distanced.

  "Now," he chuckled, behind his false beard, "you may drive as fast asyou please, M. Cabby."

  The man whipped up his horses, and drove furiously along the hillystreet of the Faubourg St. Martin.

  Finally the cab stopped in front of a wine-store, and the driver jumpeddown from his seat, and went in.

  The detective also left his uncomfortable post, and crouching ina doorway, waited for Gypsy and her companion to get out, with theintention of following closely upon their heels.

  Five minutes passed, and still there were no signs of them.

  "What can they be doing all this time?" grumbled the detective.

  With great precautions, he approached the cab, and peeped in.

  Oh, cruel deception! it was empty!


  Fanferlot felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-water over him;he remained rooted to the spot with his mouth stretched, the picture ofblank bewilderment.

  He soon recovered his wits sufficiently to burst forth in a volley ofoaths, loud enough to rattle all the window-panes in the neighborhood.

  "Tricked!" he said, "fooled! Ah! but won't I make them pay for this!"

  In a moment his quick mind had run over the gamut of possibilities,probable and improbable.

  "Evidently," he muttered, "this fellow and Gypsy entered one door, andgot out of the other; the trick is simple enough. If they resortedto it, 'tis because they feared being watched. If they feared beingwatched, they have uneasy consciences: therefore--"

  He suddenly interrupted his monologue as the idea struck him that he hadbetter attempt to find out something from the driver.

  Unfortunately, the driver was in a very surly mood, and not only refusedto answer, but shook his whip in so threatening a manner that Fanferlotdeemed it prudent to beat a retreat.

  "Oh, Lord," he muttered, "perhaps he and the driver are one and thesame!"

  But what could he do now, at this time of night? He could not imagine.He walked dejectedly back to the quay, and it was half-past eleven whenhe reached his own door.

  "Has the little fool returned?" he inquired of Mme. Alexandre, theinstant she opened the door for him.

  "No; but here are two large bundles which have come for her."

  Fanferlot hastily opened the bundles.

  They contained three calico dresses, some coarse shoes, and some linencaps.

  "Well," said the detective in a vexed tone, "now she is going todisguise herself. Upon my word, I am getting puzzled! What can she be upto?"

  When Fanferlot was sulkily walking down the Faubourg St. Martin, hehad fully made up his mind that he would not tell his wife of hisdiscomfiture.

  But once at home, confronted with a new fact of a nature to negative allhis conjectures, his vanity disappeared. He confessed everything--hishopes so nearly realized, his strange mischance, and his suspicions.

  They talked the matter over, and finally decided that they would notgo to bed until Mme. Gypsy, from whom Mme. Alexandre was determined toobtain an explanation of what had happened, returned. At one o'clock theworthy couple were about giving over all hope of her re-appearance, whenthey heard the bell ring.

  Fanferlot instantly slipped into the closet, and Mme. Alexandre remainedin the office to received Gypsy.

  "Here you are at last, my dear child!" she cried. "Oh, I have been souneasy, so afraid lest some misfortune had happened!"

  "Thanks for your kind interest, madame. Has a bundle been sent here forme?"

  Poor Gypsy's appearance had strikingly changed; she was very sad, butnot as before dejected. To her melancholy of the last few days, hadsucceeded a firm and generous resolution, which was betrayed in hersparkling eyes and resolute step.

  "Yes, two bundles came for you; here they are. I suppose you saw M.Bertomy's friend?"

  "Yes, madame; and his advice has so changed my plans, that, I regret tosay, I must leave you to-morrow."

  "Going away to-morrow! then something must have happened."

  "Oh! nothing that would interest you, madame."

  After lighting her candle at the gas-burner, Mme. Gypsy said"Good-night" in a very significant way, and left the room.

  "And what do you think of that, Mme. Alexandre?" questioned Fanferlot,emerging from his hiding-place.

  "It is incredible! This girl writes to M. de Clameran to meet her here,and then does not wait for him."

  "She evidently mistrusts us; she knows who I am."

  "Then this friend of the cashier must have told her."

  "Nobody knows who told her. I shall end by believing that I am amonga gang of thieves. They think I am on their track, and are trying toescape me. I should not be at all surprised if this little rogue has themoney herself, and intends to run off with it to-morrow."

  "That is not my opinion; but listen to me: you had better take myadvice, and consult M. Lecoq."

  Fanferlot meditated awhile, then exclaimed.

  "Very well; I will see him, just for your satisfaction; because Iknow that, if I have discovered nothing, neither has he. But, ifhe undertakes to be domineering, it won't do; for, if he shows hisinsolence to me, _I_ will make him know his place!"

  Notwithstanding this brave speech, the detective passed an uneasy night,and at six o'clock the next morning he was up--it was necessary to risevery early if he wished to catch M. Lecoq at home--and, refreshed by acup of strong coffee, he directed his steps toward the dwelling of thecelebrated detective.

  Fanferlot the Squirrel certainly was not afraid of his patron, as hecalled him; for he started out with his nose in the air, and his hatcocked on one side.

  But by the time he reached the Rue Montmartre, where M. Lecoq lived,his courage had vanished; he pulled his hat over his eyes, and hunghis head, as if looking for relief among the paving-stones. He slowlyascended the steps, pausing several times, and looking around as if hewould like to fly.

  Finally he reached the third floor, and stood before a door decoratedwith the arms of the famous detective--a cock, the symbol ofvigilance--and his heart failed him so that he had scarcely the courageto ring the bell.

  The door was opened by Janouille, M. Lecoq's old servant, who had verymuch the manner and appearance of a grenadier. She was as faithful toher master as a watch-dog, and always stood ready to attack anyone whodid not treat him with the august respect which she considered his due.

  "Well, M. Fanferlot," she said, "you come in time for once in your life.Your patron wants to see you."

  Upon this announcement, Fanferlot was seized with a violent desire toretreat. By what chance could Lecoq want anything of him?

  While he thus hesitated, Janouille seized him by the arm, and pulled himin, saying:

  "Do you want to take root there? Come along, your patron is waiting foryou."

  In the middle of a large room curiously furnished, half library and halfgreen-room, was seated at a desk the same person with gold spectacles,who had said to Prosper at the police-office, "Have courage."

  This was M. Lecoq in his official character.

  Upon Fanferlot's entrance, as he advanced respectfully, bowing tillhis backbone was a perfect curve, M. Lecoq laid down his pen, and said,looking sharply at him:

  "Ah, here you are, young man. Well, it seems that you haven't made muchprogress in the Bertomy case."

  "Why," murmured Fanferlot, "you know--"

  "I know that you have muddled everything until you can't see your wayout; so that you are ready to give up."

  "But, M. Lecoq, it was not I----"

  M. Lecoq arose, and walked up and down the room: suddenly he confrontedFanferlot, and said, in a tone of scornful irony:

  "What would you think, Master Squirrel, of a man who abuses theconfidence of those who employ him, who reveals just enough to lead theprosecution on the wrong scent, who sacrifices to his own foolish vanitythe cause of justice and the liberty of an unfortunate man?"

  Fanferlot started back with a frightened look.

  "I should say," he stammered, "I should say--"

  "You would say this man ought to be punished, and dismissed from hisemployment; and you are right. The less a profession is honored, themore honorable should those be who belong to it. And yet you have beenfalse to yours. Ah! Master Fanferlot, we are ambitious, and we try tomake the police force serve our own views! We let Justice stray her way,and we go ours. One must be a more cunning bloodhound than you are, myfriend, to be able to hunt without a huntsman. You are too self-reliantby half."

  "But, patron, I swear--"

  "Silence! Do you pretend to say that you did your duty, and told allto the judge of instruction? Whilst others were informing against thecashier, you undertook to inform against the banker. You watched hismovements: you became intimate with his valet."

  Was M. Lecoq really angry, or
pretending to be? Fanferlot, who knew himwell, was puzzled to know whether all this indignation was real.

  "If you were only skilful," he continued, "but no: you wish to bemaster, and you are not fit to be a journeyman."

  "You are right, patron," said Fanferlot, piteously, for he saw thatit was useless for him to deny anything. "But how could I go about anaffair like this, where there was not even a trace or sign to startfrom?"

  M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders.

  "You are an ass! Why, don't you know that on the very day you were sentfor with the commissary to verify the robbery, you held--I do not saycertainly, but very probably held--in your great stupid hands the meansof knowing which key had been used when the money was stolen?"

  "How! What!"

  "You want to know, do you? I will tell you. Do you remember the scratchyou discovered on the safe-door? You were so struck by it, that youexclaimed directly you saw it. You carefully examined it, and wereconvinced that it was a fresh scratch, only a few hours old. Youthought, and rightly too, that this scratch was made at the time of thetheft. Now, with what was it made? Evidently with a key. That beingthe case, you should have asked for the keys both of the banker and thecashier. One of them would have had some particles of the hard greenpaint sticking to it."

  Fanferlot listened with open mouth to this explanation. At the lastwords, he violently slapped his forehead with his hand, and cried out:

  "Imbecile! Imbecile!"

  "You have rightly named yourself," said M. Lecoq. "Imbecile! This proofstares you right in the face, and you don't see it! This scratch is thesole and only clew to work the case upon, and you must go and lose thetraces of it. If I find the guilty party, it will be by means of thisscratch; and I am determined that I will find him."

  At a distance the Squirrel very bravely abused and defied M. Lecoq; but,in his presence, he yielded to the influence which this extraordinaryman exercised upon all who approached him.

  This exact information, these minute details of all his secretmovements, and even thoughts, so upset his mind that he could not thinkwhere and how M. Lecoq had obtained them. Finally he said, humbly:

  "You must have been looking up this case, patron?"

  "Probably I have; but I am not infallible, and may have overlooked someimportant evidence. Take a seat, and tell me all you know."

  M. Lecoq was not the man to be hoodwinked, so Fanferlot told the exacttruth, a rare thing for him to do. However as he reached the end of hisstatement, a feeling of mortified vanity prevented his telling how hehad been fooled by Gypsy and the stout man.

  Unfortunately for poor Fanferlot, M. Lecoq was always fully informed onevery subject in which he interested himself.

  "It seems to me, Master Squirrel, that you have forgotten something. Howfar did you follow the empty coach?"

  Fanferlot blushed, and hung his head like a guilty school-boy.

  "Oh, patron!" he cried, "and you know about that too! How could youhave----"

  But a sudden idea flashed across his brain: he stopped short, boundedoff his chair, and cried:

  "Oh! I know now: you were the large gentleman with red whiskers."

  His surprise gave so singular an expression to his face that M. Lecoqcould not restrain a smile.

  "Then it was you," continued the bewildered detective; "you were thelarge gentleman at whom I stared, so as to impress his appearance uponmy mind, and I never recognized you! Patron, you would make a superbactor, if you would go on the stage; but I was disguised, too--very welldisguised."

  "Very poorly disguised; it is only just to you that I should let youknow what a failure it was, Fanferlot. Do you think that a heavy beardand a blouse are a sufficient transformation? The eye is the thing to bechanged--the eye! The art lies in being able to change the eye. That isthe secret."

  This theory of disguise explained why the lynx-eyed Lecoq never appearedat the police-office without his gold spectacles.

  "Then, patron," said Fanferlot, clinging to his idea, "you have beenmore successful than Mme. Alexandre; you have made the little girlconfess? You know why she leaves the Archangel, why she does not waitfor M. de Clameran, and why she bought calico dresses?"

  "She is following my advice."

  "That being the case," said the detective dejectedly, "there is nothingleft for me to do, but to acknowledge myself an ass."

  "No, Squirrel," said M. Lecoq, kindly, "you are not an ass. Youmerely did wrong in undertaking a task beyond your capacity. Have youprogressed one step since you started this affair? No. That shows that,although you are incomparable as a lieutenant, you do not possess thequalities of a general. I am going to present you with an aphorism;remember it, and let it be your guide in the future: _A man can shine inthe second rank, who would be totally eclipsed in the first_."

  Never had Fanferlot seen his patron so talkative and good-natured.Finding his deceit discovered, he had expected to be overwhelmed witha storm of anger; whereas he had escaped with a little shower that hadcooled his brain. Lecoq's anger disappeared like one of those heavyclouds which threaten in the horizon for a moment, and then are suddenlyswept away by a gust of wind.

  But this unexpected affability made Fanferlot feel uneasy. He was afraidthat something might be concealed beneath it.

  "Do you know who the thief is, patron?"

  "I know no more than you do, Fanferlot; and you seem to have made upyour mind, whereas I am still undecided. You declare the cashier to beinnocent, and the banker guilty. I don't know whether you are right orwrong. I started after you, and have only reached the preliminaries ofmy search. I am certain of but one thing, and that is, that a scratchwas on the safe-door. That scratch is my starting-point."

  As he spoke, M. Lecoq took from his desk and unrolled an immense sheetof drawing-paper.

  On this paper was photographed the door of M. Fauvel's safe. Theimpression of every detail was perfect. There were the five movablebuttons with the engraved letters, and the narrow, projecting brasslock: The scratch was indicated with great exactness.

  "Now," said M. Lecoq, "here is our scratch. It runs from top to bottom,starting from the hole of the lock, diagonally, and, observe, from leftto right; that is to say, it terminates on the side next to the privatestaircase leading to the banker's apartments. Although very deep at thekey-hole, it ends off in a scarcely perceptible mark."

  "Yes, patron, I see all that."

  "Naturally you thought that this scratch was made by the person who tookthe money. Let us see if you were right. I have here a little iron box,painted with green varnish like M. Fauvel's safe; here it is. Take akey, and try to scratch it."

  "The deuce take it!" he said after several attempts, "this paint isawfully hard to move!"

  "Very hard, my friend, and yet that on the safe is still harder andthicker. So you see the scratch you discovered could not have been madeby the trembling hand of a thief letting the key slip."

  "Sapristi!" exclaimed Fanferlot, stupefied: "I never should have thoughtof that. It certainly required great force to make the deep scratch onthe safe."

  "Yes, but how was that force employed? I have been racking my brainfor three days, and only yesterday did I come to a conclusion. Let usexamine together, and see if our conjectures present enough chances ofprobability to establish a starting-point."

  M. Lecoq abandoned the photograph, and, walking to the doorcommunicating with his bedroom, took the key from the lock, and, holdingit in his hand, said:

  "Come here, Fanferlot, and stand by my side: there; very well. Nowsuppose that I want to open this door, and you don't want me to openit; when you see me about to insert the key, what would be your firstimpulse?"

  "To put my hands on your arm, and draw it toward me so as to preventyour introducing the key."

  "Precisely so. Now let us try it; go on." Fanferlot obeyed; and the keyheld by M. Lecoq, pulled aside from the lock, slipped along the door,and traced upon it a diagonal scratch, from top to bottom, the exactreproduction of the one in the photograph.

>   "Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed Fanferlot in three different tones ofadmiration, as he stood gazing in a revery at the door.

  "Do you begin to understand now?" asked M. Lecoq.

  "Understand, patron? Why, a child could understand it now. Ah, what aman you are! I see the scene as if I had been present. Two persons werepresent at the robbery; one wished to take the money, the other wishedto prevent its being taken. That is clear, that is certain."

  Accustomed to triumphs of this sort, M. Lecoq was much amused atFanferlot's enthusiasm.

  "There you go off, half-primed again," he said, good-humoredly: "youregard as sure proof a circumstance which may be accidental, and at themost only probable."

  "No, patron, no! a man like you could not be mistaken: doubt no longerexists."

  "That being the case, what deductions would you draw from ourdiscovery?"

  "In the first place, it proves that I am correct in thinking the cashierinnocent."

  "How so?"

  "Because, at perfect liberty to open the safe whenever he wished todo so, it is not likely that he would have brought a witness when heintended to commit the theft."

  "Well reasoned, Fanferlot. But on this supposition the banker would beequally innocent: reflect a little."

  Fanferlot reflected, and all of his animation vanished.

  "You are right," he said in a despairing tone. "What can be done now?"

  "Look for the third rogue, or rather the real rogue, the one who openedthe safe, and stole the notes, and who is still at large, while othersare suspected."

  "Impossible, patron--impossible! Don't you know that M. Fauvel and hiscashier had keys, and they only? And they always kept these keys intheir pockets."

  "On the evening of the robbery the banker left his key in thesecretary."

  "Yes; but the key alone was not sufficient to open the safe; the wordalso must be known."

  M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

  "What was the word?" he asked.

  "Gypsy."

  "Which is the name of the cashier's grisette. Now keep your eyes open.The day you find a man sufficiently intimate with Prosper to be aware ofall the circumstances connected with this name, and at the same time ona footing with the Fauvel family which would give him the privilegeof entering M. Fauvel's chamber, then, and not until then, will youdiscover the guilty party. On that day the problem will be solved."

  Self-sufficient and vain, like all famous men, M. Lecoq had never had apupil, and never wished to have one. He worked alone, because he hatedassistants, wishing to share neither the pleasures of success nor thepain of defeat.

  Thus Fanferlot, who knew his patron's character, was surprised to hearhim giving advice, who heretofore had only given orders.

  He was so puzzled, that in spite of his pre-occupation he could not helpbetraying his surprise.

  "Patron," he ventured to say, "you seem to take a great interest in thisaffair, you have so deeply studied it."

  M. Lecoq started nervously, and replied, frowning:

  "You are too curious, Master Squirrel; be careful that you do not go toofar. Do you understand?"

  Fanferlot began to apologize.

  "That will do," interrupted M. Lecoq. "If I choose to lend you a helpinghand, it is because it suits my fancy to do so. It pleases me to be thehead, and let you be the hand. Unassisted, with your preconceived ideas,you never would have found the culprit; if we two together don't findhim, my name is not Lecoq."

  "We shall certainly succeed if you interest yourself in the case."

  "Yes, I am interested in it, and during the last four days I havediscovered many important facts. But listen to me. I have reasons fornot appearing in this affair. No matter what happens, I forbid yourmentioning my name. If we succeed, all the success must be attributedto you. And, above all, don't try to find out what I choose to keep fromyou. Be satisfied with what explanations I give you. Now, be careful."

  These conditions seemed quite to suit Fanferlot.

  "I will obey your instructions, and be discreet."

  "I shall rely upon you. Now, to begin, you must carry this photographto the judge of instruction. I know M. Patrigent is much perplexed aboutthis case. Explain to him, as if it were your own discovery, what I havejust shown you; repeat for his benefit the scene we have acted, and I amconvinced that this evidence will determine him to release the cashier.Prosper must be at liberty before I can commence my operations."

  "Of course, patron, but must I let him know that I suspect anyonebesides the banker or cashier?"

  "Certainly. Justice must not be kept in ignorance of your intention offollowing up this affair. M. Patrigent will tell you to watch Prosper;you will reply that you will not lose sight of him. I myself will answerfor his being in safe-keeping."

  "Suppose he asks me about Gypsy?"

  M. Lecoq hesitated for a moment.

  "Tell him," he finally said, "that you persuaded her, in the interestof Prosper, to live in a house where she can watch someone whom yoususpect."

  Fanferlot was joyously picking up his hat to go, when M. Lecoq checkedhim by waving his hand, and said:

  "I have not finished. Do you know how to drive a carriage and managehorses?"

  "Why, patron, can you ask this of a man who used to be a rider in theBouthor Circus?"

  "Very well. As soon as the judge dismisses you, return home immediately,make yourself a wig and the complete dress of a valet; and, havingdressed yourself, take this letter to the Agency on Delorme Street."

  "But, patron--"

  "There must be no but, my friend; the agent will send you to M.de Clameran, who is looking for a valet, his man having left himyesterday."

  "Excuse me if I venture to suggest that you are making a mistake. ThisClameran is not the cashier's friend."

  "Why do you always interrupt me?" said M. Lecoq imperiously. "Do what Itell you, and don't disturb your mind about the rest. Clameran is not afriend of Prosper's, I know; but he is the friend and protector ofRaoul de Lagors. Why so? Whence the intimacy of these two men of suchdifferent ages? That is what I must find out. I must also find out whothis forge-master is who lives in Paris, and never goes to attend tohis furnaces. A jolly fellow, who takes it into his head to live at theHotel du Louvre, in the midst of a tumultuous, ever-changing crowd, isa fellow difficult to watch. Through you I will have an eye upon him. Hehas a carriage, you are to drive it; and you will soon be able to giveme an account of his manner of life, and of the sort of people with whomhe associates."

  "You shall be obeyed, patron."

  "Another thing. M. de Clameran is irritable and suspicious. You will bepresented to him under the name of Joseph Dubois. He will demand yourcertificate of good character. Here are three, which state that you havelived with the Marquis de Sairmeuse and the Count de Commarin, and thatyou have just left the Baron de Wortschen, who went to Germany the otherday. Now keep your eyes open; be careful of your dress and manners.Be polite, but not excessively so. And, above all things, don't beobsequious; it might arouse suspicion."

  "I understand, patron. Where shall I report to you?"

  "I will call on you every day. Until I tell you differently, don't stepfoot in this house; you might be followed. If anything important shouldhappen, send a note to your wife, and she will inform me. Go, and beprudent."

  The door closed on Fanferlot as M. Lecoq passed into his bedroom.

  In the twinkling of an eye he had divested himself of the appearance ofa police officer. He took off his stiff cravat and gold spectacles, andremoved the close wig from his thick black hair. The official Lecoq haddisappeared, leaving in his place the genuine Lecoq whom nobody knew--ahandsome young man, with a bold, determined manner, and brilliant,piercing eyes.

  But he only remained himself for an instant. Seated before adressing-table covered with more cosmetics, paints, perfumes, falsehair, and other unmentionable shams, than are to be found on thetoilet-tables of our modern belles, he began to undo the work of nature,and make himself a new fa
ce.

  He worked slowly, handling his brushes with great care. But in an hourhe had accomplished one of his daily masterpieces. When he had finished,he was no longer Lecoq: he was the large gentleman with red whiskers,whom Fanferlot had failed to recognize.

  "Well," he said, casting a last look in the mirror, "I have forgottennothing: I have left nothing to chance. All my plans are fixed; and Ishall make some progress to-day, provided the Squirrel does not wastetime."

  But Fanferlot was too happy to waste a minute. He did not run, he flew,toward the Palais de Justice.

  At last he was now able to convince someone that he, Fanferlot, was aman of wonderful perspicacity.

  As to acknowledging that he was about to obtain a triumph with the ideasof another man, he never thought of it. It is generally in perfect goodfaith that the jackdaw struts in the peacock's feathers.

  His hopes were not deceived. If the judge was not absolutely andfully convinced, he admired the ingenuity and shrewdness of the wholeproceeding, and complimented the proud jackdaw upon his brilliancy.

  "This decides me," he said, as he dismissed Fanferlot. "I will make outa favorable report to-day; and it is highly probable that the accusedwill be released to-morrow."

  He began at once to write out one of these terrible decisions of "Notproven," which restores liberty, but not honor, to the accused man;which says that he is not guilty, but does not say he is innocent.

  "Whereas there do not exist sufficient charges against the accused,Prosper Bertomy, in pursuance of Article 128 of the Criminal Code,we hereby declare that we find no grounds for prosecution against theaforesaid prisoner at this present time; and we order that he shall bereleased from the prison where he is confined, and set at liberty by thejailer," etc.

  "Well," he said to the clerk, "here is another one of those crimeswhich justice cannot clear up. The mystery remains to be solved. This isanother file to be stowed away among the archives of the record-office."

  And with his own hand he wrote on the cover of the bundle of papersrelating to Prosper's case, the number of the package, File No. 113.