hat served him as a muffler, to fold
it and slip it into his pocket, to spring to the ground and enter
the house indicated, was only the work of an instant for the young
detective.

In the concierge's little room he found an old woman knitting. Lecoq
bowed to her politely, and, displaying the silk handkerchief, exclaimed:
"Madame, I have come to return this article to one of your lodgers."

"To which one?"

"Really, I don't exactly know."

In a moment the worthy dame imagined that this polite young man was
making fun of her. "You scamp--!" she began.

"Excuse me," interrupted Lecoq; "allow me to finish. I must tell you
that at about three o'clock in the morning, of the day before yesterday,
I was quietly returning home, when two ladies, who were seemingly in
a great hurry, overtook me and passed on. One of them dropped this
handkerchief, which I picked up. I hastened after her to restore it,
but before I could overtake them they had rung the bell at your door and
were already in the house. I did not like to ring at such an unearthly
hour for fear of disturbing you. Yesterday I was so busy I couldn't
come; however, here I am at last, and here's the handkerchief." So
saying, Lecoq laid the handkerchief on the table, and turned as if to
go, when the concierge detained him.

"Many thanks for your kindness," said she, "but you can keep it. We have
no ladies in this house who are in the habit of coming home alone after
midnight."

"Still I have eyes," insisted Lecoq, "and I certainly saw--"

"Ah! I had forgotten," exclaimed the old woman. "The night you speak
of some one certainly did ring the bell here. I pulled the string that
opens the door and listened, but not hearing any one close the door
or come upstairs, I said to myself: 'Some mischievous fellow has been
playing a trick on me.' I slipped on my dress and went out into the
hall, where I saw two women hastening toward the door. Before I could
reach them they slammed the door in my face. I opened it again as
quickly as I could and looked out into the street. But they were
hurrying away as fast as they could."

"In what direction?"

"Oh! they were running toward the Rue de Varennes."

Lecoq was baffled again; however, he bowed civilly to the concierge,
whom he might possibly have need of at another time, and then went back
to the cab. "As I had supposed, they do not live here," he remarked to
the driver.

The latter shrugged his shoulders in evident vexat