"If you please," said he, in a tone totally unlike that he had used
up to this time, "I would like to call your attention to the wounds
on the head, made by a blunt instrument, which I suppose to be a
hammer. I have studied these wounds, and though I am no doctor,
they seem to me suspicious."

"And to me," M. Plantat quickly added. "It seemed to me, that in
the places struck, there was no emission of blood in the cutaneous
vessels."

"The nature of these wounds," continued M. Lecoq, "will be a
valuable indication, which will fix my opinion." And, as he felt
keenly the brusque manner of the judge, he added:

"It is you, Doctor, who hold the match."

M. Gendron was about to leave the room, when Baptiste, the mayor's
servant--the man who wouldn't be scolded--appeared. He bowed and
said:

"I have come for Monsieur the Mayor."

"For me? why?" asked M. Courtois. "What's the matter? They don't
give me a minute's rest! Answer that I am busy."

"It's on account of madame," resumed the placid Baptiste; "she isn't
at all well." The excellent mayor grew slightly pale.

"My wife!" cried he, alarmed. "What do you mean? Explain yourself."