ust ask you to pardon me," said he to the old justice, "for
hurrying you on so and making you one of my trade; but your
assistance might have been very useful at Madame Charman's, and
will be indispensable when we get fairly on Tremorel's track."

They went across the square and into the wine shop at the corner of
the Rue des Martyrs. Its keeper was standing behind his counter
turning wine out of a large jug into some litres, and did not seem
much astonished at seeing his new visitors. M. Lecoq was quite at
home (as he was everywhere), and spoke to the man with an air of
easy familiarity.

"Aren't there six or eight men waiting for somebody here?" he asked.

"Yes, they came about an hour ago."

"Are they in the big back room?"

"Just so, Monsieur," responded the wine merchant, obsequiously.

He didn't exactly know who was talking to him, but he suspected him
to be some superior officer from the prefecture; and he was not
surprised to see that this distinguished personage knew the ins and
outs of his house. He opened the door of the room referred to
without hesitation. Ten men in various guises were drinking there
and playing cards. On M. Lecoq's entrance with M. Plantat, they
respectfully got up and took off their hats.

"Good for you, Job," said M. Lecoq to him who seemed to be their
chief, "you are prompt, and it pleases me. Your ten men will be
quite enough, for I shall have the three besides whom I sent out
this morning."

M. Job bowed, happy at having pleased a master who was not very
prodigal in his praises.

"I want you to wait here a while longer," resumed M. Lecoq, "for my
orders will depend on a report which I am expecting." He turned to
the men whom he had sent out among the upholsterers:

"Which of you was successful?"

"I, Monsieur," replied a big white-faced fellow, with insignificant
mustaches.

"What, you again, Palot? really, my lad, you are lucky. Step into
this side room--first, though, order a bottle of wine, and ask the
proprietor to see to it that we are not disturbed."

These orders were soon executed, and M. Plantat being duly ensconced
with them in the little room, the detective turned the key.

"Speak up now," said he to Palot, "and be brief."

"I showed the photograph to at least a dozen upholsterers without
any result; but at last a merchant in the Faubourg St. Germain,
named Rech, recognized it."

"Tell me just what he said, if you can."

"He told me that it was the po