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He had the air, physiognomy, and manners of a highly respectable chief clerk of fifty. Gold spectacles, an umbrella, everything about him exhaled an odor of the ledger. "Now," said he to M. Plantat. "Let's hurry away." Goulard, who had made a hearty breakfast, was waiting for his hero in the dining-room. "Ah ha, old fellow," said M. Lecoq. "So you've had a few words with my wine.
Well, you have read this letter; but have you studied it, examined the hand-writing, weighed the words, remarked the context of the sentences?" "Ah," cried Plantat, "I was not mistaken then you had the same idea strike you that occurred to me!" And, in the energy of his excitement he seized the detective's hands and pressed them as if he were an old friend.
M. Lecoq lit an aromatic weed, and remarked: "You two may go to bed if you like; I am condemned, I see, to a sleepless night. But before I go to writing, I wish to ask you a few things, Monsieur Plantat." M. Plantat bowed in token of assent. "We must resume our conversation," continued the detective, "and compare our inferences.
He chose some shrewd and humble upholsterer, ordered his goods, made sure that they would be delivered on a certain day, and paid for them." M. Plantat could not repress a joyful exclamation; he began to see M. Lecoq's drift. "This merchant," pursued the latter, "must have retained his rich customer in his memory, this customer who did not beat him down, and paid cash.
"If you will take the trouble to sit," said the servant, "Monsieur Lecoq will soon be here; he is giving orders to one of his men." But M. Plantat did not take a seat; he preferred to examine the curious apartment in which he found himself. The whole of one side of the wall was taken up with a long rack, where hung the strangest and most incongruous suits of clothes.
The detective then took M. Plantat by the arm, and holding him firmly: "You see, my dear friend," said he, "the game is ours. Come along and in Laurence's name, have courage!" All M. Lecoq's anticipations were realized. Laurence was not dead, and her letter to her parents was an odious trick. It was really she who lived in the house as Mme. Wilson.
"Monsieur deigns to have his joke; those marks would not deceive a school-boy." "It appears to me, however " "There can be no mistake, Monsieur Plantat. Certain it is that the sand has been disturbed and thrown about. But all these trails that lay bare the earth which was covered by the sand, were made by the same foot. Perhaps you don't believe it.
"And could you find aconitine in Sauvresy's body?" "Undoubtedly." M. Lecoq was radiant, as if he were now certain of fulfilling what had seemed to him a very difficult task. "Very well," said he. "Our inquest seems to be complete. The history of the victims imparted to us by Monsieur Plantat gives us the key to all the events which have followed the unhappy Sauvresy's death.
They spent the afternoon together, and separated when the last train left." "Peste!" growled the mayor, "for a man who lives alone, who sees nobody, who would not for the world have anything to do with other people's business, it seems to me our dear Monsieur Plantat is pretty well informed." Evidently M. Courtois was jealous.
Stirs up the sand with the end of his foot. And he thinks that will deceive the police!" "Yes, yes," muttered Plantat, "exactly so I saw it." "Having got rid of the body, the count returns to the house. Time presses, but he is still anxious to find the paper. He hastens to take the last measures to assure his safety. He smears his slippers and handkerchief with blood.
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