When M. Lecoq was in a hurry he walked fast. He almost ran down the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, so that Plantat had great difficulty in keeping up with him; and as he went along he pursued his train of reflection, half aloud, so that his companion caught here and there a snatch of it.

"All goes well," he muttered, "and we shall succeed. It's seldom that a campaign which commences so well ends badly. If Job is at the wine merchant's, and if one of my men has succeeded in his search, the crime of Valfeuillu is solved, and in a week people will have forgotten it."

He stopped short on reaching the foot of the street opposite the church.

"I must ask you to pardon me," said he to the old justice, "for hurrying you on so and making you one of my trade; but your assistance might have been very useful at Madame Charman's, and will be indispensable when we get fairly on Tremorel's track."

They went across the square and into the wine shop at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs. Its keeper was standing behind his counter turning wine out of a large jug into some litres, and did not seem much astonished at seeing his new visitors. M. Lecoq was quite at home (as he was everywhere), and spoke to the man with an air of easy familiarity.

"Aren't there six or eight men waiting for somebody here?" he asked.

"Yes, they came about an hour ago."

"Are they in the big back room?"

"Just so, Monsieur," responded the wine merchant, obsequiously.

He didn't exactly know who was talking to him, but he suspected him to be some superior officer from the prefecture; and he was not surprised to see that this distinguished personage knew the ins and outs of his house. He opened the door of the room referred to without hesitation. Ten men in various guises were drinking there and playing cards. On M. Lecoq's entrance with M. Plantat, they respectfully got up and took off their hats.

"Good for you, Job," said M. Lecoq to him who seemed to be their chief, "you are prompt, and it pleases me. Your ten men will be quite enough, for I shall have the three besides whom I sent out this morning."

M. Job bowed, happy at having pleased a master who was not very prodigal in his praises.

"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. Step into this side room—first, though, order a bottle of wine, and ask the proprietor to see to it that we are not disturbed."

These orders were soon executed, and M. Plantat being duly ensconced with them in the little room, the detective turned the key.

"Speak up now," said he to Palot, "and be brief."

"I showed the photograph to at least a dozen upholsterers without any result; but at last a merchant in the Faubourg St. Germain, named Rech, recognized it."

"Tell me just what he said, if you can."

"He told me that it was the portrait of one of his customers. A month ago this customer came to him to buy a complete set of furniture—drawing-room, dining-room, bed-room, and the rest—for a little house which he had just rented. He did not beat him down at all, and only made one condition to the purchase, and that was, that everything should be ready and in place, and the curtains and carpets put in, within three weeks from that time; that is a week ago last Monday."

"And what was the sum-total of the purchase?"

"Eighteen thousand francs, half paid down in advance, and half on the day of delivery."

"And who carried the last half of the money to the upholsterer?"

"A servant."

"What name did this customer give?"

"He called himself Monsieur James Wilson; but Monsieur Rech said he did not seem like an English-man."

"Where does he live?"

"The furniture was carried to a small house, No. 34 Rue St. Lazare, near the Havre station."

M. Lecoq's face, which had up to that moment worn an anxious expression, beamed with joy. He felt the natural pride of a captain who has succeeded in his plans for the enemy's destruction. He tapped the old justice of the peace familiarly on the shoulder, and pronounced a single word:

"Nipped!"

Palot shook his head.

"It isn't certain," said he.

"Why?"

"You may imagine, Monsieur Lecoq, that when I got the address, having some time on my hands, I went to reconnoitre the house."

"Well?"

"The tenant's name is really Wilson, but it's not the man of the photograph, I'm certain."

M. Plantat gave a groan of disappointment, but M. Lecoq was not so easily discouraged.

"How did you find out?"

"I pumped one of the servants."

"Confound you!" cried M. Plantat. "Perhaps you roused suspicions."

"Oh, no," answered M. Lecoq. "I'll answer for him. Palot is a pupil of mine. Explain yourself, Palot."

"Recognizing the house—an elegant affair it is, too—I said to myself: 'I' faith, here's the cage; let's see if the bird is in it.' I luckily happened to have a napoleon in my pocket; and I slipped it without hesitation into the drain which led from the house to the street-gutter."

"Then you rang?"

"Exactly. The porter—there is a porter—opened the door, and with my most vexed air I told him how, in pulling out my handkerchief, I had dropped a twenty-franc piece in the drain, and begged him to lend me something to try to get it out. He lent me a poker and took another himself, and we got the money out with no difficulty; I began to jump about as if I were delighted, and begged him to let me treat him to a glass of wine."

"Not bad."

"Oh, Monsieur Lecoq, it is one of your tricks, you know. My porter accepted my invitation, and we soon got to be the best friends in the world over some wine in a shop just across the street from the house. We were having a jolly talk together when, all of a sudden, I leaned over as if I had just espied something on the floor, and picked up—the photograph, which I had dropped and soiled a little with my foot. 'What,' cried I, 'a portrait?' My new friend took it, looked at it, and didn't seem to recognize it. Then, to be certain, I said, 'He's a very good-looking fellow, ain't he now? Your master must be some such a man.' But he said no, that the photograph was of a man who was bearded, while his master was as clean-faced as an abbe. 'Besides,' he added, 'my master is an American; he gives us our orders in French, but Madame and he always talk English together.'"

M. Lecoq's eye glistened as Palot proceeded.

"Tremorel speaks English, doesn't he?" asked he of M. Plantat.

"Quite well; and Laurence too."

"If that is so, we are on the right track, for we know that Tremorel shaved his beard off on the night of the murder. We can go on—"

Palot meanwhile seemed a little uneasy at not receiving the praise he expected.

"My lad," said M. Lecoq, turning to him, "I think you have done admirably, and a good reward shall prove it to you. Being ignorant of what we know, your conclusions were perfectly right. But let's go to the house at once; have you got a plan of the ground-floor?"

"Yes, and also of the first floor above. The porter was not dumb, and so he gave me a good deal of information about his master and mistress, though he has only been there two days. The lady is dreadfully melancholy, and cries all the time."

"We know it; the plan—"

"Below, there is a large and high paved arch for the carriages to pass through; on the other side is a good-sized courtyard, at the end of which are the stable and carriage-house. The porter's lodge is on the left of the arch; on the right a glass door opens on a staircase with six steps, which conducts to a vestibule into which the drawing-room, dining-room, and two other little rooms open. 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. As soon as I am gone, pay up what you owe here, and then, as I must have you all within reach, go and install yourselves in the first wine-shop on the right as you go up the Rue d'Amsterdam. Take your dinner there, for you will have time—but soberly, you understand."

He took two napoleons out of his pocket and placed them on the table, adding:

"That's for the dinner."

M. Lecoq and the old justice went into the street, followed closely by
Palot. The detective was anxious above all to see for himself the house
inhabited by Tremorel. He saw at a glance that the interior must be as
Palot had described.

"That's it, undoubtedly," said he to M. Plantat; "we've got the game in our hands. Our chances at this moment are ninety to ten."

"What are you going to do?" asked the justice, whose emotion increased as the decisive moment approached.

"Nothing, just yet, I must wait for night before I act. As it is two hours yet before dark, let's imitate my men; I know a restaurant just by here where you can dine capitally; we'll patronize it."

And without awaiting a reply, he led M. Plantat to a restaurant in the Passage du Havre. But at the moment he was about to open the door, he stopped and made a signal. Palot immediately appeared.

"I give you two hours to get yourself up so that the porter won't recognize you, and to have some dinner. You are an upholsterer's apprentice. Now clear out; I shall wait for you here."

M. Lecoq was right when he said that a capital dinner was to be had in the Passage du Havre; unfortunately M. Plantat was not in a state to appreciate it. As in the morning, he found it difficult to swallow anything, he was so anxious and depressed. He longed to know the detective's plans; but M. Lecoq remained impenetrable, answering all inquiries with:

"Let me act, and trust me."

M. Plantat's confidence was indeed very great; but the more he reflected, the more perilous and difficult seemed the attempt to save Tremorel from a trial. The most poignant doubts troubled and tortured his mind. His own life was at stake; for he had sworn to himself that he would not survive the ruin of Laurence in being forced to confess in full court her dishonor and her love for Hector.

M. Lecoq tried hard to make his companion eat something, to take at least some soup and a glass of old Bordeaux; but he soon saw the uselessness of his efforts and went on with his dinner as if he were alone. He was very thoughtful, but any uncertainty of the result of his plans never entered his head. He drank much and often, and soon emptied his bottle of Leoville. Night having now come on the waiters began to light the chandeliers, and the two friends found themselves almost alone.

"Isn't it time to begin?" asked the old justice, timidly.

"We have still nearly an hour," replied M. Lecoq, consulting his watch; "but I shall make my preparations now."

He called a waiter, and ordered a cup of coffee and writing materials.

"You see," said he, while they were waiting to be served, "we must try to get at Laurence without Tremorel's knowing it. We must have a ten minutes' talk with her alone, and in the house. That is a condition absolutely necessary to our success."

M. Plantat had evidently been expecting some immediate and decisive action, for M. Lecoq's remark filled him with alarm.

"If that's so," said he mournfully, "it's all over with our project."

"How so?"

"Because Tremorel will not leave Laurence by herself for a moment."

"Then I'll try to entice him out."

"And you, you who are usually so clear-sighted, really think that he will let himself be taken in by a trick! You don't consider his situation at this moment. He must be a prey to boundless terrors. We know that Sauvresy's declaration will not be found, but he does not; he thinks that perhaps it has been found, that suspicions have been aroused, and that he is already being searched for and pursued by the police."

"I've considered all that," responded M. Lecoq with a triumphant smile, "and many other things besides. Well, it isn't easy to decoy Tremorel out of the house. I've been cudgelling my brain about it a good deal, and have found a way at last. The idea occurred to me just as we were coming in here. The Count de Tremorel, in an hour from now, will be in the Faubourg St. Germain. It's true it will cost me a forgery, but you will forgive me under the circumstances. Besides, he who seeks the end must use the means."

He took up a pen, and as he smoked his cigar, rapidly wrote the following:

"MONSIEUR WILSON:

"Four of the thousand-franc notes which you paid me are counterfeits; I have just found it out by sending them to my banker's. If you are not here to explain the matter before ten o'clock, I shall be obliged to put in a complaint this evening before the procureur.

"RECH."

"Now," said M. Lecoq, passing the letter to his companion. "Do you comprehend?"

The old justice read it at a glance and could not repress a joyful exclamation, which caused the waiters to turn around and stare at him.

"Yes," said he, "this letter will catch him; it'll frighten him out of all his other terrors. He will say to himself that he might have slipped some counterfeit notes among those paid to the upholsterer, that a complaint against him will provoke an inquiry, and that he will have to prove that he is really Monsieur Wilson or he is lost."

"So you think he'll come out?"

"I'm sure of it, unless he has become a fool."

"I tell you we shall succeed then, for this is the only serious obstacle—"

He suddenly interrupted himself. The restaurant door opened ajar, and a man passed his head in and withdrew it immediately.

"That's my man," said M. Lecoq, calling the waiter to pay for the dinner, "he is waiting for us in the passage; let us go."

A young man dressed like a journeyman upholsterer was standing in the passage looking in at the shop-windows. He had long brown locks, and his mustache and eyebrows were coal-black. M. Plantat certainly did not recognize him as Palot, but M. Lecoq did, and even seemed dissatisfied with his get-up.

"Bad," growled he, "pitiable. Do you think it is enough, in order to disguise yourself, to change the color of your beard? 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.

"I hope so; but I guess your porter won't recognize you to-night, and that is all we want."

"And now what must I do?"

"I'll give you your orders; and be very careful not to blunder. First, hire a carriage, with a good horse; then go to the wine-shop for one of our men, who will accompany you to Monsieur Wilson's house. When you get there ring, enter alone and give the porter this letter, saying that it is of the utmost importance. This done, put yourself with your companion in ambuscade before the house. If Monsieur Wilson goes out—and he will go out or I am not Lecoq—send your comrade to me at once. As for you, you will follow Monsieur Wilson and not lose sight of him. He will take a carriage, and you will follow him with yours, getting up on the hackman's seat and keeping a lookout from there. Have your eyes open, for he is a rascal who may feel inclined to jump out of his cab and leave you in pursuit of an empty vehicle."

"Yes, and the moment I am informed—"

"Silence, please, when I am speaking. He will probably go to the upholsterer's in the Rue des Saints-Peres, but I may be mistaken. He may order himself to be carried to one of the railway stations, and may take the first train which leaves. In this case, you must get into the same railway carriage that he does, and follow him everywhere he goes; and be sure and send me a despatch as soon as you can."

"Very well, Monsieur Lecoq; only if I have to take a train—"

"What, haven't you any money?"

"Well—no, my chief."

"Then take this five-hundred-franc note; that's more than is necessary to make the tour of the world. Do you comprehend everything?"

"I beg your pardon—what shall I do if Monsieur Wilson simply returns to his house?"

"In that case I will finish with him. If he returns, you will come back with him, and the moment his cab stops before the house give two loud whistles, you know. Then wait for me in the street, taking care to retain your cab, which you will lend to Monsieur Plantat if he needs it."

"All right," said Palot, who hastened off without more ado.

M. Plantat and the detective, left alone, began to walk up and down the gallery; both were grave and silent, as men are at a decisive moment; there is no chatting about a gaming-table. M. Lecoq suddenly started; he had just seen his agent at the end of the gallery. His impatience was so great that he ran toward him, saying:

"Well?"

"Monsieur, the game has flown, and Palot after him!"

"On foot or in a cab?"

"In a cab."

"Enough. Return to your comrades, and tell them to hold themselves ready."

Everything was going as Lecoq wished, and he grasped the old justice's hand, when he was struck by the alteration in his features.

"What, are you ill?" asked he, anxiously.

"No, but I am fifty-five years old, Monsieur Lecoq, and at that age there are emotions which kill one. Look, I am trembling at the moment when I see my wishes being realized, and I feel as if a disappointment would be the death of me. I'm afraid, yes, I'm afraid. Ah, why can't I dispense with following you?"

"But your presence is indispensable; without your help I can do nothing:"

"What could I do?"

"Save Laurence, Monsieur Plantat."

This name restored a part of his courage.

"If that is so—" said he. He began to walk firmly toward the street, but M. Lecoq stopped him.

"Not yet," said the detective, "not yet; the battle now depends on the precision of our movements. A single fault miserably upsets all my combinations, and then I shall be forced to arrest and deliver up the criminal. We must have a ten minutes' interview with Mademoiselle Laurence, but not much more, and it is absolutely necessary that this interview should be suddenly interrupted by Tremorel's return. Let's make our calculations. It will take the rascal half an hour to go to the Rue des Saints-Peres, where he will find nobody; as long to get back; let us throw in fifteen minutes as a margin; in all, an hour and a quarter. There are forty minutes left us."

M. Plantat did not reply, but his companion said that he could not stay so long on his feet after the fatigues of the day, agitated as he was, and having eaten nothing since the evening before. He led him into a neighboring cafe, and forced him to eat a biscuit and drink a glass of wine. Then seeing that conversation would be annoying to the unhappy old man, he took up an evening paper and soon seemed to be absorbed in the latest news from Germany. The old justice, his head leaning on the back of his chair and his eyes wandering over the ceiling, passed in mental review the events of the past four years. It seemed to him but yesterday that Laurence, still a child, ran up his garden-path and picked his roses and honeysuckles. How pretty she was, and how divine were her great eyes! Then, as it seemed, between dusk and dawn, as a rose blooms on a June night, the pretty child had become a sweet and radiant young girl. She was timid and reserved with all but him—was he not her old friend, the confidant of all her little griefs and her innocent hopes? How frank and pure she was then; what a heavenly ignorance of evil!

Nine o'clock struck; M. Lecoq laid down his paper.

"Let us go," said he.

M. Plantat followed him with a firmer step, and they soon reached M.
Wilson's house, accompanied by Job and his men.

"You men," said M. Lecoq, "wait till I call before you go in; I will leave the door ajar."

He rang; the door swung open; and M. Plantat and the detective went in under the arch. The porter was on the threshold of his lodge.

"Monsieur Wilson?" asked M. Lecoq.

"He is out."

"I will speak to Madame, then."

"She is also out."

"Very well. Only, as I must positively speak with Madame Wilson, I'm going upstairs."

The porter seemed about to resist him by force; but, as Lecoq now called in his men, he thought better of it and kept quiet.

M. Lecoq posted six of his men in the court, in such a position that they could be easily seen from the windows on the first floor, and instructed the others to place themselves on the opposite sidewalk, telling them to look ostentatiously at the house. These measures taken, he returned to the porter.

"Attend to me, my man. When your master, who has gone out, comes in again, beware that you don't tell him that we are upstairs; a single word would get you into terribly hot water—"

"I am blind," he answered, "and deaf."

"How many servants are there in the house?"

"Three; but they have all gone out."

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!"