lied M. Lecoq. "Now let's find out where and how people
can hide themselves in France. Would it be in the provinces?
Evidently not. In Bordeaux, one of our largest cities, people stare
at a man who is not a Bordelais. The shopkeepers on the quays say
to their neighbors: 'Eh! do you know that man?' There are two
cities, however, where a man may pass unnoticed--Marseilles and
Lyons; but both of these are distant, and to reach them a long
journey must be risked--and nothing is so dangerous as the railway
since the telegraph was established. One can fly quickly, it's
true; but on entering a railway carriage a man shuts himself in,
and until he gets out of it he remains under the thumb of the
police. Tremorel knows all this as well as we do. We will put all
the large towns, including Lyons and Marseilles, out of the
question."

"In short, it's impossible to hide in the provinces."

"Excuse me--there is one means; that is, simply to buy a modest
little place at a distance from towns and railways, and to go and
reside on it under a false name. But this excellent project is
quite above Tremorel's capacity, and requires preparatory steps
which he could not risk, watched as he was by his wife. The field
of investigation is thus much narrowed. Putting aside foreign
parts, the provinces, the cities, the country, Paris remains. It
is in Paris that we must look for Tremorel."

M. Lecoq spoke with the certainty and positiveness of a
mathematical professor; the old justice of the peace listened, as
do the professor's scholars. But he was already accustomed to the
detective's surprising clearness, and was no longer astonished.
During the four-and-twenty hours that he had been witnessing M.
Lecoq's calculations and gropings, he had seized the process and
almost appropriated it to himself. He found this method of
reasoning very simple, and could now explain to himself certain
exploits of the police which had hitherto seemed to him miraculous.
But M. Lecoq's "narrow field" of observation appeared still immense.

"Paris is a large place," observed the old justice.

M. Lecoq smiled loftily.

"Perhaps so; but it is mine. All Paris is under the eye of the
police, just as an ant is under that of the naturalist with his
microscope. How is it, you may ask, that Paris still holds so
many professional rogues? Ah, that is because we are hampered by
legal forms. The law compels us to use only polite weapons against
those to whom all weapons