d grief.

"That," thought he, "is the price of my poor Sauvresy's life."

M. Lecoq found a small piece of paper, covered with figures,
deposited with the gold; it seemed to be Robelot's accounts. He
had put on the left hand the sum of forty thousand francs; on the
right hand, various sums were inscribed, the total of which was
twenty-one thousand five hundred francs. It was only too clear;
Mme. Sauvresy had paid Robelot forty thousand francs for the bottle
of poison. There was nothing more to learn at his house. They
locked the money up in the secretary, and affixed seals everywhere,
leaving two men on guard.

But M. Lecoq was not quite satisfied yet. What was the manuscript
which Plantat had read? At first he had thought that it was simply
a copy of the papers confided to him by Sauvresy; but it could not
be that; Sauvresy couldn't have thus described the last agonizing
scenes of his life. This mystery mightily worried the detective
and dampened the joy he felt at having solved the crime at
Valfeuillu. He made one more attempt to surprise Plantat into
satisfying his curiosity. Taking him by the coat-lapel, he drew
him into the embrasure of a window, and with his most innocent air,
said:

"I beg your pardon, are we going back to your house?"

"Why should we? You know the doctor is going to meet us here."

"I think we may need the papers you read to us, to convince Monsieur
Domini."

M. Plantat smiled sadly, and looking steadily at him, replied:

"You are very sly, Monsieur Lecoq; but I too am sly enough to keep
the last key of the mystery of which you hold all the others."

"Believe me--" stammered M. Lecoq.

"I believe," interrupted his companion, "that you would like very
well to know the source of my information. Your memory is too good
for you to forget that when I began last evening I told you that
this narrative was for your ear alone, and that I had only one
object in disclosing it--to aid our search. Why should you wish
the judge of instruction to see these notes, which are purely
personal, and have no legal or authentic character?"

He reflected a few moments, and added:

"I have too much confidence in you, Monsieur Lecoq, and esteem you
too much, not to have every trust that you will not divulge these
strict confidences. What you will say will be of as much weight as
anything I might divulge--especially now that you have Robelot's
body to back your assertions, as well as the money found in his