that he was
well acquainted with the prison and its usages.

He had also proved himself to be endowed with far more cleverness than
Lecoq had supposed. What self-control! What powers of dissimulation
he had displayed! He had not so much as frowned while undergoing the
severest ordeals, and he had managed to deceive the most experienced
eyes in Paris.

The young detective had waited during nearly three hours, as motionless
as the bench on which he was seated, and so absorbed in studying his
case that he had thought neither of the cold nor of the flight of
time, when a carriage drew up before the entrance of the prison, and M.
d'Escorval alighted, followed by his clerk.

Lecoq rose and hastened, well-nigh breathless with anxiety, toward the
magistrate.

"My researches on the spot," said this functionary, "confirm me in the
belief that you are right. Is there anything fresh?"

"Yes, sir; a fact that is apparently very trivial, though, in truth, it
is of importance that--"

"Very well!" interrupted the magistrate. "You will explain it to me by
and by. First of all, I must summarily examine the prisoners. A mere
matter of form for to-day. Wait for me here."

Although the magistrate promised to make haste, Lecoq expected that
at least an hour would elapse before he reappeared. In this he was
mistaken. Twenty minutes later, M. d'Escorval emerged from the prison
without his clerk.

He was walking very fast, and instead of approaching the young
detective, he called to him at some little distance. "I must return home
at once," he said, "instantly; I can not listen to you."

"But, sir--"

"Enough! the bodies of the victims have been taken to the Morgue. Keep
a sharp lookout there. Then, this evening make--well--do whatever you
think best."

"But, sir, I must--"

"To-morrow!--to-morrow, at nine o'clock, in my office in the Palais de
Justice."

Lecoq wished to insist upon a hearing, but M. d'Escorval had entered, or
rather thrown himself into, his carriage, and the coachman was already
whipping up the horse.

"And to think that he's an investigating magistrate," panted Lecoq, left
spellbound on the quay. "Has he gone mad?" As he spoke, an uncharitable
thought took possession of his mind. "Can it be," he murmured, "that M.
d'Escorval holds the key to the mystery? Perhaps he wishes to get rid of
me."

This suspicion was so terrible that Lecoq hastened back to the prison,
hoping that the prisoner's bearing might h