eam of real or assumed resentment shone in the prisoner's eyes.

"This examination," he growled, "will alone suffice to make a culprit
out of an innocent man!"

"I advise you, in your own interest, to behave properly. Those who
arrested you observed that you were conversant with all the prison
formalities and rules."

"Ah! sir, haven't I told you that I have been arrested and put in prison
several times--always on account of my papers? I told you the truth, and
you shouldn't taunt me for having done so."

The prisoner had dropped his mask of careless gaiety, and had assumed
a surly, discontented tone. But his troubles were by no means ended;
in fact, the battle had only just begun. Laying a tiny linen bag on his
desk, M. Segmuller asked him if he recognized it.

"Perfectly! It is the package that the governor of the Depot placed in
his safe."

The magistrate opened the bag, and poured the dust that it contained on
to a sheet of paper. "You are aware, prisoner," said he, "that this dust
comes from the mud that was sticking to your feet. The police agent who
collected it has been to the station-house where you spent the night
of the murder, and has discovered that the composition of this dust is
identical with that of the floor of the cell you occupied."

The prisoner listened with gaping mouth.

"Hence," continued the magistrate, "it was certainly at the
station-house, and designedly, that you soiled your feet with that mud.
In doing so you had an object."

"I wished--"

"Let me finish. Being determined to keep your identity secret, and to
assume the character of a member of the lower classes--of a mountebank,
if you please--you reflected that the care you bestow upon your person
might betray you. You foresaw the impression that would be caused when
the coarse, ill-fitting boots you wore were removed, and the officials
perceived your trim, clean feet, which are as well kept as your hands.
Accordingly, what did you do? You poured some of the water that was in
the pitcher in your cell on to the ground and then dabbled your feet in
the mud that had thus been formed."

During these remarks the prisoner's face wore, by turns, an expression
of anxiety, astonishment, irony, and mirth. When the magistrate had
finished, he burst into a hearty laugh.

"So that's the result of twelve or fourteen hours' research," he at
length exclaimed, turning toward Lecoq. "Ah! Mr. Agent, it's good to be
sharp, but not so sharp as