"I am sure of what I say," interrupted the detective. "The sheets,
it is true, have been thrown back, perhaps someone has rolled about
in the bed; the pillows have been tumbled, the quilts and curtains
ruffled, but this bed has not the appearance of having been slept
in. It is, perhaps, more difficult to rumple up a bed than to put
it in order again. To make it up, the coverings must be taken off,
and the mattresses turned. To disarrange it, one must actually lie
down in it, and warm it with the body. A bed is one of those
terrible witnesses which never misguide, and against which no counter
testimony can be given. Nobody has gone to bed in this--"

"The countess," remarked Plantat, "was dressed; but the count might
have gone to bed first."

"No," answered M. Lecoq, "I'll prove to the contrary. The proof is
easy, indeed, and a child of ten, having heard it, wouldn't think
of being deceived by this intentional disorder of the bedclothes."

M. Lecoq's auditors drew up to him. He put the coverings back upon
the middle of the bed, and went on:

"Both of the pillows are much rumpled, are they not? But look under
the bolster--it is all smooth, and you find none of those wrinkles
which are made by the weight of the head and the moving about of
the arms. That's not all; look at the bed from the middle to the
foot. The sheets being laid carefully, the upper and under lie
close together everywhere. Slip your hand underneath--there--you
see there is a resistance to your hand which would not occur if the
legs had been stretched in that place. Now Monsieur de Tremorel