the snare, laughed heartily. Not a word, however, was exchanged
between these two men, both subtle in the science of life, and
equally cunning in its mysteries. They quite understood each other.

"My worthy old buck," said the detective to himself, "you've got
something in your sack; only it's so big, so monstrous, that you
won't exhibit it, not for a cannon-ball. You wish your hand forced,
do you? Ve-ry well!"

"He's sly," thought M. Plantat. "He knows that I've got an idea;
he's trying to get at it--and I believe he will."

M. Lecoq had restored his lozenge-box to his pocket, as he always
did when he went seriously to work. His amour-propre was enlisted;
he played a part--and he was a rare comedian.

"Now," cried he, "let's to horse. According to the mayor's account,
the instrument with which all these things were broken has been
found."

"In the room in the second story," answered M. Plantat, "overlooking
the garden, we found a hatchet on the floor, near a piece of
furniture which had been assailed, but not broken open; I forbade
anyone to touch it."

"And you did well. Is it a heavy hatchet?"

"It weighs about two pounds."

"Good. Let's see it."