"And," continued the doctor, "the whole neighborhood, aroused by it,
hastens to the spot."

"Permit me, pardon, permit me," said M. Courtois, testily, "that
would be so in a populous town. Here, in the midst of a vast park,
no. Think, doctor, of the isolation of this house. The nearest
neighbor is a long way off, and between there are many large trees,
intercepting the sound. Let us test it by experience. I will fire
a pistol in this room, and I'll wager that you will not hear the
echo in the road."

"In the daytime, perhaps, but not in the night."

"Well," said M. Domini, who had been reflecting while M. Courtois
was talking, "if against all hope, Guespin does not decide to speak
to-night, or to-morrow, the count's body will afford us a key to
the mystery."

During this discussion, M. Lecoq had continued his investigations,
lifting the furniture, studying the fractures, examining the
smallest pieces, as if they might betray the truth. Now and then,
he took out an instrument-case, from which he produced a shank,
which he introduced and turned in the locks. He found several keys
on the carpet, and on a rack, a towel, which he carefully put one
side, as if he deemed it important. He came and went from the
bedroom to the count's cabinet, without losing a word that was said;
noting in his memory, not so much the phrases uttered, as the
diverse accents and intonations with which they were spoken. In an
inquest such as that of the crime of Orcival, when several officials