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It was Fanferlot's task to escort Prosper to prison; but, as they were about starting, he asked the commissary to leave him at liberty to pursue another course, a request which his superior granted. Fanferlot had resolved to obtain possession of Prosper's note, which he knew to be in Cavaillon's pocket.
"Tell him," he finally said, "that you persuaded her, in the interest of Prosper, to live in a house where she can watch someone whom you suspect." Fanferlot was joyously picking up his hat to go, when M. Lecoq checked him by waving his hand, and said: "I have not finished. Do you know how to drive a carriage and manage horses?"
He saw the door open, and Madeleine appear upon the threshold; he lost not a single word or gesture of the rapid scene which had passed. It mattered little that every word of this scene was an enigma. M. Fanferlot was skilful enough to complete the sentences he did not understand. As yet he only had a suspicion; but a mere suspicion is better than nothing; it is a point to start from.
M. Verduret, with a shudder, turned to leave the prefecture, saying to Fanferlot: "Mme. Fauvel is saved, and by the interposition of God, who has himself punished Clameran!" "That don't help me in the least," grumbled Fanferlot. "The idea of all my trouble and labor ending in this flat, quiet way! I seem to be born for ill-luck!"
He had no sooner turned the corner of the street, than Fanferlot entered No. 39, gave his name to the porter as Prosper Bertomy, went upstairs, and knocked at the first door he came to. It was opened by a youthful footman, dressed in the most fanciful livery. "Is Mme. Gypsy at home?"
"If it should be Clameran!" thought M. Verduret; "if terror has deranged that brain, so capable of working out great crimes! Fate must have interposed " While thus talking to himself, he elbowed his way through the crowded court-yard of the hotel. At the foot of the staircase he found M. Fanferlot and three peculiar-looking individuals standing together, as if waiting for someone.
"If you were only skilful," he continued, "but no: you wish to be master, and you are not fit to be a journeyman." "You are right, patron," said Fanferlot, piteously, for he saw that it was useless for him to deny anything. "But how could I go about an affair like this, where there was not even a trace or sign to start from?" M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders. "You are an ass!
It was one of those streets where you could talk at your ease, without having to step from the sidewalk every moment. So Fanferlot and Cavaillon were in no danger of being disturbed by passers-by. "What I wished to say is, my dear monsieur," began the detective, "that M. Prosper Bertomy threw you a note this morning."
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 forgotten nothing: I have left nothing to chance. All my plans are fixed; and I shall make some progress to-day, provided the Squirrel does not waste time." But Fanferlot was too happy to waste a minute.
Alexandre was determined to obtain an explanation of what had happened, returned. At one o'clock the worthy couple were about giving over all hope of her re-appearance, when they heard the bell ring. Fanferlot instantly slipped into the closet, and Mme. Alexandre remained in the office to received Gypsy. "Here you are at last, my dear child!" she cried.
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