owing you?"

"But your presence is indispensable; without your help I can do
nothing:"

"What could I do?"

"Save Laurence, Monsieur Plantat."

This name restored a part of his courage.

"If that is so--" said he. He began to walk firmly toward the
street, but M. Lecoq stopped him.

"Not yet," said the detective, "not yet; the battle now depends on
the precision of our movements. A single fault miserably upsets
all my combinations, and then I shall be forced to arrest and
deliver up the criminal. We must have a ten minutes' interview
with Mademoiselle Laurence, but not much more, and it is
absolutely necessary that this interview should be suddenly
interrupted by Tremorel's return. Let's make our calculations.
It will take the rascal half an hour to go to the Rue des
Saints-Peres, where he will find nobody; as long to get back; let
us throw in fifteen minutes as a margin; in all, an hour and a
quarter. There are forty minutes left us."

M. Plantat did not reply, but his companion said that he could not
stay so long on his feet after the fatigues of the day, agitated
as he was, and having eaten nothing since the evening before. He
led him into a neighboring cafe, and forced him to eat a biscuit and
drink a glass of wine. Then seeing that conversation would be
annoying to the unhappy old man, he took up an evening paper and
soon seemed to be absorbed in the latest news from Germany. The
old justice, his head leaning on the back of his chair and his eyes
wandering over the ceiling, passed in mental review the events of
the past four years. It seemed to him but yesterday that Laurence,
still a child, ran up his garden-path and picked his roses and
honeysuckles. How pretty she was, and how divine were her great
eyes! Then, as it seemed, between dusk and dawn, as a rose blooms
on a June night, the pretty child had become a sweet and radiant
young girl. She was timid and reserved with all but him--was he
not her old friend, the confidant of all her little griefs and her
innocent hopes? How frank and pure she was then; what a heavenly
ignorance of evil!

Nine o'clock struck; M. Lecoq laid down his paper.

"Let us go," said he.

M. Plantat followed him with a firmer step, and they soon reached
M. Wilson's house, accompanied by Job and his men.

"You men," said M. Lecoq, "wait till I call before you go in; I
will leave the door ajar."

He rang; the door swung open; and M. Plantat and the detective went
in under