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I do not understand it at all," remarked the governor. "Why," replied Lecoq, "don't you see that he wished to persuade the magistrate that the first note, the one that fell into the cell while you and I were there yesterday, had been written by me in a mad desire to prove the truth of my theory at any cost?
"Is he dead?" cried all three in the same breath. "Oh, no; you shall see," responded Baptiste, with a placid smile. M. Lecoq was a patient man, but not so patient as you might think.
"Monsieur the Judge," said he, "is perhaps now convinced that the deed was done at half-past ten." "Unless," interrupted M. Plantat, "the machinery of the clock has been out of order." "That often happens," added M. Courtois. "The clock in my drawing-room is in such a state that I never know the time of day." M. Lecoq reflected. "It is possible," said he, "that Monsieur Plantat is right.
Did the prisoner know that I was watching him from the loft, and that I had discovered his secret correspondence, was he ignorant of it? To my mind he evidently knew everything, as the last scene we had with him proves." "I must say that's my own opinion," interrupted M. Segmuller. "But how could he have known it?" resumed Lecoq. "He could not have discovered it by himself.
I had better do so now. Go and tell them to bring him to me. Lecoq left the order at the prison." In less than a quarter of an hour Polyte entered the room. From head to foot, from his lofty silk cap to his gaudy colored carpet slippers, he was indeed the original of the portrait upon which poor Toinon the Virtuous had lavished such loving glances. And yet the photograph was flattering.
As he went, he staggered like a drunken man. M. Lecoq went up to M. Plantat, and taking off his hat: "I surrender," said he, "and bow to you; you are great, like my master, the great Tabaret." The detective's amour-propre was clearly aroused; his professional zeal was inspired; he found himself before a great crime one of those crimes which triple the sale of the Gazette of the Courts.
The poor man seemed so embarrassed, humiliated, and vexed, that the judge hastened to his assistance. "The money is of little consequence, it seems to me," said he. "I beg you to excuse me I don't agree with you," returned M. Lecoq. "This matter may be a very grave one. What is the most serious evidence against Guespin? The money found in his pocket.
Then he who smoked it used a cigar-holder." Lecoq was unable to conceal his enthusiastic admiration, and noiselessly rubbed his hands together. The commissary appeared stupefied, while M. Daburon was delighted. Gevrol's face, on the contrary, was sensibly elongated. As for the corporal, he was overwhelmed. "Now," continued the old fellow, "follow me closely.
"We haven't even been in bed." "There is news, then? Has the count's body been found?" "There is much news, Monsieur," said M. Lecoq. "But the count's body has not been found, and I dare even say that it will not be found for the very simple fact that he has not been killed. The reason is that he was not one of the victims, as at first supposed, but the assassin."
Some pieces of gold in this drawer!" exclaimed Lecoq, who had been searching on his own account, "just three hundred and twenty francs!" "Well, I never!" cried Gevrol, a little disconcerted. But he soon recovered from his embarrassment, and added: "He must have forgotten them; that often happens.
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