my eye on him. He has a carriage; you will drive it; and in the
easiest way you will know his acquaintances, and be able to give me an
account of his slightest proceedings."

"You shall be obeyed, patron."

"Still another word. M. De Clameran is very irritable and suspicious.
You will be introduced to him as Joseph Dubois. He will ask for your
recommendations. Here are three, showing that you have served the
Marquis de Sairmeuse, the Count de Commarin, and your last place--the
house of the Baron de Wortschen, who has just gone to Germany. Keep
your eyes open, be correct, and watch his movements. Serve well, but
without excess of manner. But don't be too cringing, for that would
arouse suspicion."

"Make yourself easy, patron: now, where shall I report?"

"I will come to see you every day. Until you have an order, don't step
inside of this house: you might be followed. If anything unforeseen
occurs, send a dispatch to your wife, and she will advise me. Now go;
and be prudent."

The door shut behind Fanferlot, and M. Lecoq passed quickly into his
bedroom.

In the twinkling of an eye he stripped off all traces of the official
detective chief,--the starched cravat, the gold spectacles, and the
wig, which when removed released the thick black hair.

The official Lecoq disappeared; the true Lecoq remained, a person that
no one knew,--a handsome young man with brilliant eyes and a resolute
manner.

Only a moment was he visible. Seated before a dressing-table, on which
were spread a greater array of paints, essences, rouge, cosmetics, and
false hair than is required for a modern belle, he began to substitute
a new face for the one accorded him by nature.

He worked slowly, handling his little brushes with extreme care, and
in about an hour had achieved one of his periodical masterpieces. When
he had finished, he was no longer Lecoq: he was the stout gentleman
with the red whiskers, not recognized by Fanferlot.

"There," he exclaimed, giving a last glance in the mirror, "I have
forgotten nothing; I have left nothing to chance. All my threads are
tied, and I can progress. I hope the Squirrel will not lose time."

But Fanferlot was too joyous to squander a moment. He did not run,--he
flew along the way toward the Palais de Justice and M. Patrigent the
judge.

At last he had the opportunity of demonstrating his own superior
perspicacity.

It never occurred to him that he was striving to triumph through the
ideas