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"And what if I could prove that you are uttering a falsehood?" insisted M. Segmuller. "What if I could prove it here and now?" "You would have to lie to do so! Oh! pardon! Excuse me; I mean " But the magistrate was not in a frame of mind to stickle for nicety of expression.

Besides, on principle, he always took the prisoner's part, in a mild, Platonic way, of course. "Let us consider the circumstances that followed your arrest," resumed M. Segmuller. "Why did you refuse to answer all the questions put to you?" A gleam of real or assumed resentment shone in the prisoner's eyes.

M. Segmuller did not even attempt to argue the point, but quietly retired, followed by his companions. Until they reached the governor's office, he did not utter a word; then, sinking down into an armchair, he exclaimed: "We must confess ourselves beaten. This man will always remain what he is an inexplicable enigma." "But what is the meaning of the comedy he has just played?

Neither the magistrate nor the young detective relished this unseasonable jest. "You forget yourself, sir," said M. Segmuller severely. "You forget that the sneers you address to your comrade also apply to me!" The General saw that he had gone too far; and while glancing hatefully at Lecoq, he mumbled an apology to the magistrate.

A moment afterward the soldiers who had escorted him to the magistrate's room conducted him back to the Depot. When the prisoner had gone, M. Segmuller sank back in his armchair, literally exhausted. He was in that state of nervous prostration which so often follows protracted but fruitless efforts.

"Your opinion in this matter coincides with mine," continued M. Segmuller, "and the public prosecutor informs me that M. d'Escorval shares the same views. An enigma is before us; and it ought to be solved." "Oh! we'll solve it, I am certain, sir," exclaimed Lecoq, who at this moment felt capable of the most extraordinary achievements.

Nevertheless, Lecoq distrusted these appearances, and in so doing he was right. Born near Strasbourg, M. Segmuller possessed that candid physiognomy common to most of the natives of blonde Alsace a deceitful mask, which, behind seeming simplicity, not unfrequently conceals a Gascon cunning, rendered all the more dangerous since it is allied with extreme caution.

This note, scribbled in pencil by Lecoq on a leaf torn from his memorandum book, gave the magistrate the name of the woman who had just entered his room, and recapitulated briefly but clearly the information obtained in the Rue de la Butte-aux-Cailles. "That young fellow thinks of everything!" murmured M. Segmuller. The meaning of the scene that had just occurred was now explained to him.

The magistrate broke the seal, and read aloud, as follows: "I feel compelled to advise M. Segmuller to take every precaution with the view of assuring his own safety before proceeding with the examination of the prisoner, May. Since his unsuccessful attempt at suicide, this prisoner has been in such a state of excitement that we have been obliged to keep him in a strait-waistcoat.

Nor did M. Segmuller escape scot free; for more than one fellow magistrate, meeting him on the stairs or in the corridor, inquired, with a smile, what he was doing with his Casper Hauser, his man in the Iron Mask, in a word, with his mysterious mountebank.