e did not tell me."

"Where was he when you left him?"

"At Leipsic."

"When was this?"

"Last Wednesday."

M. Segmuller shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "So you say you were
in Leipsic on Wednesday? How long have you been in Paris?"

"Since Sunday afternoon, at four o'clock."

"It will be necessary to prove that."

Judging by the murderer's contracted brow it might be conjectured
that he was making a strenuous effort to remember something. He cast
questioning glances first toward the ceiling and then toward the floor,
scratching his head and tapping his foot in evident perplexity. "How can
I prove it--how?" he murmured.

The magistrate did not appear disposed to wait. "Let me assist you,"
said he. "The people at the inn where you boarded while in Leipsic must
remember you."

"We did not stop at an inn."

"Where did you eat and sleep, then?"

"In M. Simpson's large traveling-carriage; it had been sold, but he was
not to give it up until he reached the port he was to sail from."

"What port was that?"

"I don't know."

At this reply Lecoq, who had less experience than the magistrate in the
art of concealing one's impressions, could not help rubbing his hands
with satisfaction. The prisoner was plainly convicted of falsehood,
indeed driven into a corner.

"So you have only your own word to offer in support of this story?"
inquired M. Segmuller.

"Wait a moment," said the prisoner, extending his arm as if to clutch at
a still vague inspiration--"wait a moment. When I arrived in Paris I had
with me a trunk containing my clothes. The linen is all marked with the
first letter of my name, and besides some ordinary coats and trousers,
there were a couple of costumes I used to wear when I appeared in
public."

"Well, what have you done with all these things?"

"When I arrived in Paris, I took the trunk to a hotel, close by the
Northern Railway Station--"

"Go on. Tell us the name of this hotel," said M. Segmuller, perceiving
that the prisoner had stopped short, evidently embarrassed.

"That's just what I'm trying to recollect. I've forgotten it. But I
haven't forgotten the house. I fancy I can see it now; and, if some one
would only take me to the neighborhood, I should certainly recognize
it. The people at the hotel would know me, and, besides, my trunk would
prove the truth of what I've told you."

On hearing this statement, Lecoq mentally resolved to make a tour of
investigation through the