and to examine the inside of his mouth, so as to make sure
that he had not concealed either some fragment of glass, by the aid
of which captives can sever the strongest bars, or one of those
microscopical bits of lead with which prisoners write the notes they
exchange, rolled up in a morsel of bread, and called "postilions."

These formalities having been concluded, the superintendent rang for
one of the keepers. "Conduct this man to No. 3 of the secret cells," he
ordered.

There was no need to drag the prisoner away. He walked out, as he had
entered, preceding the guard, like some old habitue, who knows where he
is going.

"What a rascal!" exclaimed the clerk.

"Then you think--" began Lecoq, baffled but not convinced.

"Ah! there can be no doubt of it," declared the governor. "This man is
certainly a dangerous criminal--an old offender--I think I have seen him
before--I could almost swear to it."

Thus it was evident these people, with their long, varied experience,
shared Gevrol's opinion; Lecoq stood alone. He did not discuss the
matter--what good would it have done? Besides, the Widow Chupin was just
being brought in.

The journey must have calmed her nerves, for she had become as gentle
as a lamb. It was in a wheedling voice, and with tearful eyes, that she
called upon these "good gentlemen" to witness the shameful injustice
with which she was treated--she, an honest woman. Was she not the
mainstay of her family (since her son Polyte was in custody, charged
with pocket-picking), hence what would become of her daughter-in-law,
and of her grandson Toto, who had no one to look after them but her?

Still, when her name had been taken, and a keeper was ordered to remove
her, nature reasserted itself, and scarcely had she entered the corridor
than she was heard quarreling with the guard.

"You are wrong not to be polite," she said; "you are losing a good fee,
without counting many a good drink I would stand you when I get out of
here."

Lecoq was now free until M. d'Escorval's arrival. He wandered through
the gloomy corridors, from office to office, but finding himself
assailed with questions by every one he came across, he eventually left
the Depot, and went and sat down on one of the benches beside the quay.
Here he tried to collect his thoughts. His convictions were unchanged.
He was more than ever convinced that the prisoner was concealing his
real social standing, but, on the other hand, it was evident