are serviceable. The courts tie our
hands. The rogues are clever, but be sure that our cleverness is
much greater than theirs."

"But," interrupted M. Plantat, "Tremorel is now outside the law;
we have the warrant."

"What matters it? Does the warrant give me the right to search any
house in which I may have reason to suppose he is hiding himself?
No. If I should go to the house of one of Hector's old friends he
would kick me out of doors. You must know that in France the police
have to contend not only with the rogues, but also with the honest
people."

M. Lecoq always waxed warm on this subject; he felt a strong
resentment against the injustice practised on his profession.
Fortunately, at the moment when he was most excited, the black ball
suddenly caught his eye.

"The devil!" exclaimed he, "I was forgetting Hector."

M. Plantat, though listening patiently to his companion's indignant
utterances, could not help thinking of the murderer.

"You said that we must look for Tremorel in Paris," he remarked.

"And I said truly," responded M. Lecoq in a calmer tone. "I have
come to the conclusion that here, perhaps within two streets of
us, perhaps in the next house, the fugitives are hid. But let's go
on with our calculation of probabilities. Hector knows Paris too
well to hope to conceal himself even for a week in a hotel or
lodging-house; he knows these are too sharply watched by the police.
He had plenty of time before him, and so arranged to hire apartments
in some convenient house."

"He came to Paris three or four times some weeks ago."

"Then there's no longer any doubt about it. He hired some
apartments under a false name, paid in advance, and to-day he is
comfortably ensconced in his new residence."

M. Plantat seemed to feel extremely distressed at this.

"I know it only too well, Monsieur Lecoq," said he, sadly. "You
must be right. But is not the wretch thus securely hidden from us?
Must we wait till some accident reveals him to us? Can you search
one by one all the houses in Paris?"

The detective's nose wriggled under his gold spectacles, and the
justice of the peace, who observed it, and took it for a good sign,
felt all his hopes reviving in him.

"I've cudgelled my brain in vain--" he began.

"Pardon me," interrupted M. Lecoq. "Having hired apartments,
Tremorel naturally set about furnishing them."

"Evidently."

"Of course he would furnish them sumptuously, both because he is
fond of