will not be found,” said M. Plantat, quickly.
“You think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
M. Lecoq gazed intently at his companion, and simply said:
“Ah!”
But this is what he thought: “At last I am going to find out where the manuscript which we heard read the other night, and which is in two handwritings, came from.”
After a moment’s hesitation, M. Plantat went on:
“I have put my life in your hands, Monsieur Lecoq; I can, of course, confide my honor to you. I know you. I know that, happen what may—”
“I shall keep my mouth shut, on my honor.”
“Very well. The day that I caught Tremorel at the mayor’s, I wished to verify the suspicions I had, and so I broke the seal of Sauvresy’s package of papers.”
“And you did not use them?”
“I was dismayed at my abuse of confidence. Besides, had I the right to deprive poor Sauvresy, who was dying in order to avenge himself, of his vengeance?”
“But you gave the papers to Madame de Tremorel?”
“True; but Bertha had a vague presentiment of the fate that was in store for her. About a fortnight before her death she came and confided to me her husband’s manuscript, which she had taken care to complete. I broke the seals and read it, to see if he had died a violent death.”
“Why, then, didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me hunt, hesitate, grope about—”
“I love Laurence, Monsieur Lecoq, and to deliver up Tremorel was to open an abyss between her and me.”
The detective bowed. “The deuce,” thought he, “the old justice is shrewd—as shrewd as I am. Well, I like him, and I’m going to give him a surprise.”
M. Plantat yearned to question his host and to know what the sole means of which he spoke were, which might be successful in preventing a trial and saving Laurence, but he did not dare to do so.
The detective bent over his desk lost in thought. He held a pencil in his hand and mechanically drew fantastic figures on a large sheet of white paper which lay before him. He suddenly came out of his revery. He had just solved a last difficulty; his plan was now entire and complete. He glanced at the clock.
“Two o’clock,” cried he, “and I have an appointment between three and four with Madame Charman about Jenny.”
“I am at your disposal,” returned his guest.
“All right. When Jenny is disposed of we must look after Tremorel; so let’s take our measures to finish it up to-day.”
“What! do you hope to do everything to-day—”
“Certainly. Rapidity is above all necessary in our profession. It often takes a month to regain an hour lost. We’ve a chance now of catching Hector by surprise; to-morrow it will be too late. Either we shall have him within four-and-twenty hours or we must change our batteries. Each of my three men has a carriage and a good horse; they may be able to finish with the upholsterers within an hour from now. If I calculate aright, we shall have the address in an hour, or at most in two hours, and then we will act.”
Lecoq, as he spoke, took a sheet of paper surmounted by his arms out of his portfolio, and rapidly wrote several lines.
“See here,” said he, “what I’ve written to one of my lieutenants.”
“Monsieur Job— “Get together six or eight of our men at once and take them to the wine merchant’s at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs and the Rue Lamartine; await my orders there.”
“Why there and not here?”
“Because we must avoid needless excursions. At the place I have designated we are only two steps from Madame Charman’s and near Tremorel’s retreat; for the wretch has hired his rooms in the quarter of Notre Dame de Lorette.”
M. Plantat gave an exclamation of surprise.
“What makes you think that?”
The detective smiled, as if the question seemed foolish to him.
“Don’t you recollect that the envelope of the letter addressed by Mademoiselle Courtois to her family to announce her suicide bore the Paris postmark, and that of the branch office of Rue St. Lazare? Now listen to this: On leaving her aunt’s house, Laurence must have gone directly to Tremorel’s apartments, the address of which he had given her, and where he had promised to meet her on Thursday morning. She wrote the letter, then, in his apartments. Can we admit that she had the presence of mind to post the letter in another quarter than that in which she was? It is at least probable that she was ignorant of the terrible reasons which Tremorel had to fear a search and pursuit. Had Hector foresight enough to suggest this trick to her? No, for if he wasn’t a fool he would have told her to post the letter somewhere outside of Paris. It is therefore scarcely possible that it was posted anywhere else than at the nearest branch office.”
These suppositions were so simple that M. Plantat wondered he had not thought of them before. But men do not see clearly in affairs in which they are deeply interested; passion dims the eyes, as heat in a room dims a pair of spectacles. He had lost, with his coolness, a part of his clearsightedness. His anxiety was very great; for he thought M. Lecoq had a singular mode of keeping his promise.
“It seems to me,” he could not help remarking, “that if you wish to keep Hector from trial, the men you have summoned together will be more embarrassing than useful.”
M. Lecoq thought that his guest’s tone and look betrayed a certain doubt, and was irritated by it.
“Do you distrust me, Monsieur Plantat?”
The old man tried to protest.
“Believe me—”
“You have my word,” resumed M. Lecoq, “and if you knew me better you would know that I always keep it when I have given it. I have told you that I would do my best to save Mademoiselle Laurence; but remember that I have promised you my assistance, not absolute success. Let me, then, take such measures as I think best.”
So saying, he rang for Janouille.
“Here’s a letter,” said he when she appeared, “which must be sent to Job at once.”
“I will carry it.”
“By no means. You will be pleased to remain here and wait for the men that I sent out this morning. As they come in, send them to the wine merchant’s at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs; you know it—opposite the church. They’ll find a numerous company there.”
As he gave his orders, he took off his gown, assumed a long black coat, and carefully adjusted his wig.
“Will Monsieur be back this evening?” asked Janouille.
“I don’t know.”
“And
