ing?"

But Guespin persisted in his ferocious and stupid obstinacy.

"I've said what I have to say," said he.

M. Lecoq changed his tone to one of severity, stepping back to watch
the effect he was about to produce upon Guespin.

"You haven't any right to hold your tongue. And even if you do,
you fool, the police know everything. Your master sent you on an
errand, didn't he, on Wednesday night; what did he give you? A
one-thousand-franc note?"

The prisoner looked at M. Lecoq in speechless amazement.

"No," he stammered. "It was a five-hundred-franc note."

The detective, like all great artists in a critical scene, was
really moved. His surprising genius for investigation had just
inspired him with a bold stroke, which, if it succeeded, would
assure him the victory.

"Now," said he, "tell me the woman's name."

"I don't know."

"You are only a fool then. She is short, isn't she, quite pretty,
brown and pale, with very large eyes?"

"You know her, then?" said Guespin, in a voice trembling with
emotion.

"Yes, comrade, and if you want to know her name, to put in your
prayers, she is called--Jenny."

Men who are really able in some specialty, whatever it may be, never
uselessly abuse their superiority; their satisfaction at seeing it
recognized is sufficient reward. M. Lecoq softly enjoyed his
triumph, while his hearers wondered at his perspicacity. A rapid
chain of reasoning had shown him not only Tremorel's thoughts, but
also the means he had employed to accomplish his purpose.

Guespin's astonishment soon changed to anger. He asked himself how
this man could have been informed of things which he had every
reason to believe were secret. Lecoq continued:

"Since I have told you the woman's name, tell me now, how and why
the count gave you a five-hundred-franc note."

"It was just as I was going out. The count had no change, and did
not want to send me to Orcival for it. I was to bring back the
rest."

"And why didn't you rejoin your companions at the wedding in the
Batignolles?"

No answer.

"What was the errand which you were to do for the count?"

Guespin hesitated. His eyes wandered from one to another of those
present, and he seemed to discover an ironical expression on all
the faces. It occurred to him that they were making sport of him,
and had set a snare into which he had fallen. A great despair
took possession of him.

"Ah," cried he, addressing M. Lecoq, "you have deceived me. You