ion, which would
inevitably have vent in a torrent of words, if Lecoq, who had consulted
his watch, had not forestalled the outburst by saying: "Nine o'clock--I
am an hour behind time already: still I shall have some news to tell.
Now take me to the Morgue as quickly as possible."

When a mysterious crime has been perpetrated, or a great catastrophe has
happened, and the identity of the victims has not been established,
"a great day" invariably follows at the Morgue. The attendants are so
accustomed to the horrors of the place that the most sickly sight fails
to impress them; and even under the most distressing circumstances, they
hasten gaily to and fro, exchanging jests well calculated to make an
ordinary mortal's flesh creep. As a rule, they are far less interested
in the corpses laid out for public view on the marble slabs in the
principal hall than in the people of every age and station in life who
congregate here all day long; at times coming in search of some lost
relative or friend, but far more frequently impelled by idle curiosity.

As the vehicle conveying Lecoq reached the quay, the young detective
perceived that a large, excited crowd was gathered outside the
building. The newspapers had reported the tragedy at the Widow Chupin's
drinking-den, of course, more or less correctly, and everybody wished to
see the victims.

On drawing near the Pont Notre Dame, Lecoq told the driver to pull up.
"I prefer to alight here, rather than in front of the Morgue," he said,
springing to the ground. Then, producing first his watch, and next
his purse, he added: "We have been an hour and forty minutes, my good
fellow, consequently I owe you--"

"Nothing at all," replied the driver, decidedly.

"But--"

"No--not a sou. I am too worried already to think that I took the money
these hussies offered me. It would only have served me right if the
liquor I bought with it had given me the gripes. Don't be uneasy about
the score, and if you need a trap use mine for nothing, till you have
caught the jades." As Lecoq's purse was low, he did not insist. "You
will, at least, take my name and address?" continued the driver.

"Certainly. The magistrate will want your evidence, and a summons will
be sent you."

"All right, then. Address it to Papillon (Eugene), driver, care of M.
Trigault. I lodge at his place, because I have some small interest in
the business, you see."

The young detective was hastening away, when Papillon cal