deuce to pay!"

M. Domini's voice was heard in the entry, calling out to his clerk.

"Now there's the judge of instruction," continued Lecoq, "who thinks
this a very simple affair; while I, Lecoq, the equal at least of
Gevrol, the favorite pupil of Papa Tabaret--I do not see it at all
clearly yet."

He stopped; and after apparently going over in his mind the result
of his discoveries, went on: "No; I'm off the track, and have
almost lost my way. I see something underneath all this--but
what? what?"

M. Plantat's face remained placid, but his eyes shone.

"Perhaps you are right," said he, carelessly; "perhaps there is
something underneath." The detective looked at him; he didn't
stir. His face seemed the most undisturbed in the world. There
was a long silence, by which M. Lecoq profited to confide to the
portrait of the defunct the reflections which burdened his brain.

"See here, my dear darling," said he, "this worthy person seems a
shrewd old customer, and I must watch his actions and gestures
carefully. He does not argue with the judge; he's got an idea that
he doesn't dare to tell, and we must find it out. At the very first
he guessed me out, despite these pretty blond locks. As long as he
thought he could, by misleading me, make me follow M. Domini's tack,
he followed and aided me showing me the way. Now that he sees me
on the scent, he crosses his arms and retires. He wants to leave