w horse."

As if the Marquise were enjoying the confusion into which the mention of
this phantom beast threw her persecutor, she continued to scribble on
scraps of paper which the concierge was told to take to the lawyer, who
never received them.

"There is one great difficulty; the yellow horse is wanted. I shall send
a safe and intelligent man to the place where it is, to tell the people
to have it killed twelve leagues away and skinned at once. Send me in
writing the road he must take, and the people to whom he must apply, so
as to be able to do it without asking anything. He is strong and able to
do fifteen leagues a day. Send me an answer."

Mme. de Combray had applied to the woman Delaitre for this "safe and
intelligent man," and the latter had, at Licquet's instance, offered the
services of her husband, an honest royalist, who in reality did not
exist, but was to be personated by a man whom Licquet had ready to send
in search of the horse as soon as its whereabouts should be determined.
Lefebre refused to answer this question for the same reason that he had
refused to answer others, and the detective was obliged to confess his
perplexity to Real. "There is no longer any trouble in intercepting the
prisoner's letters; the difficulty of sending replies increases each
day. You must give me absolution, Monsieur, for all the sins that this
affair has caused me to commit; for the rest, all is fair in love and
war, and surely we are at war with these people." To which Real replied:
"I cannot believe that the horse only served for Mme. Acquet's flight;
they would not advise the strange precaution of taking it twelve leagues
away, killing, and skinning it on the spot. These anxieties show the
existence of some grave offence, for which the horse was employed, and
which its discovery will disclose. You must find out the history of this
animal; how long Mme. de Combray has had it, and who owned it before."
In vain Licquet protested that he had exhausted his supply of inventions
and ruses; the invariable reply was, "Find the yellow horse!"

He cursed his own zeal; but an unexpected event renewed his confidence
and energy. Lefebre, who was arrested early in September, had just been
thrown into the Conciergerie at Rouen. This new card, if well played,
would set everything right. It was easy to induce Mme. de Combray to
write another letter insisting once more on knowing "the exact address
of the horse," and the lawyer at las