from Croisenois' persecutions,
and in return he promised you his daughter's hand in marriage. This, of
course, explains your present disguise, and now tell me again that I am
wrong, if you dare."

Andre would not lie, and therefore kept silence.

"And now," continued the gentleman, "how about the secret? Did not the
Count tell it you? I do not know it; and yet I think that if I were to
search for it, I could find it. I can call to my mind certain crimes
which three generations of detective have striven to find out. Did you
ever hear that De Croisenois had an elder brother named George, who
disappeared in a most wonderful manner? What became of him? This very
George, twenty-three years back, was a friend of Madame de Mussidan's.
Might not his disappearance have something to do with this marriage?"

"Are you the fiend himself?" cried the young man.

"I am M. Lecoq."

Andre started back in absolute dread at the name of this celebrated
detective.

"M. Lecoq!" repeated he.

The vanity of the great detective was much flattered when he saw the
impression that his name had produced.

"And now, my dear M. Andre," said he blandly, "now that you know who I
am, may I not hope that you will be more communicative?"

M. de Mussidan had not told his secret to the young artist, but he
had said enough for him to feel that the detective was correct in his
inference.

"Surely," continued Lecoq, "we ought to be able to come to a more
definite understanding, and I think that my openness should elicit some
frankness on your side. I saw that you were watched by the very person
that I was watching. For three days my men have followed you, and to-day
I made up my mind that you could furnish me with the clue I am seeking."

"I, sir?"

"For many years," continued Lecoq, "I have been certain that an
organized association of blackmailers exists in Paris; family
differences, sin, shame, and sorrow are worked by these wretches like
veritable gold mines, and bring them in enormous annual revenues."

"Ah," returned Andre, "I expected something of this kind."

"Of course, when I was quite sure of these facts," continued Lecoq, "I
said to myself, 'I will break up this gang;' but it was easier said than
done. There is one very peculiar thing about blackmailing. Those who
carry it on are almost certain of doing so with impunity, for the
victims will pay and not complain. Yes, I tell you that I have often
found out these unhappy pigeons, b