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Updated: May 15, 2025
The chambers are on the first floor, a study, a " "Enough," M. Lecoq said, "my plan is made." And rising abruptly, he opened the door, and followed by M. Plantat and Palot, went into the large room. All the men rose at his approach as before. "Monsieur Job," said the detective, "listen attentively to what I have to say.
"Now," said the strange gentleman, "you see the futility of your attempts. La Candele knew you at once. I wished to speak to you; so I sent for Palot, one of my men, and instructed him to pick a quarrel with you. The policemen arrested you, and we have met without any one being at all the wiser. Be kind enough to efface my little corrections, as they will be noticed in the street."
Just as Andre fell, a commissaire had rushed forward and seized a woman. She was one of the class of unfortunates who frequent the Champs Elysees, and she it was who had uttered the cry that had lured Andre to destruction. The woman made an effort to escape, but Palot, for it was he, caught her arm. "Not a word," said he sternly. The wretched creature seemed in abject terror, and obeyed him.
I never set eyes on him before." "Do you know," returned the commissaire sternly, "that the words you have uttered have caused the death of the poor fellow who has just fallen from the house?" "Why did he not take more care?" asked she indifferently. Palot, with an angry gesture, handed her over to a police-constable.
M. Lecoq hastened to throw a shawl which he saw on a chair about her shoulders, and passed her arm through M. Plantat's, saying to the latter: "Go, lead her away; my men have orders to let you pass, and Palot will lend you his carriage." "But where shall we go?" "To Orcival; Monsieur Courtois has been informed by a letter from me that his daughter is living, and he is expecting her.
"I want you to wait here a while longer," resumed M. Lecoq, "for my orders will depend on a report which I am expecting." He turned to the men whom he had sent out among the upholsterers: "Which of you was successful?" "I, Monsieur," replied a big white-faced fellow, with insignificant mustaches. "What, you again, Palot? really, my lad, you are lucky.
Look in that glass, and tell me if the expression of your face is not just what it was before? Aren't your eye and smile the same? Then your cap is too much on one side, it is not natural; and your hand is put in your pocket awkwardly." "I'll try to do better another time, Monsieur Lecoq," Palot modestly replied.
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