that. The truth is, that when I was taken
to the station-house, forty-eight hours--thirty-six of them spent in a
railway carriage--had elapsed since I had taken off my boots. My feet
were red and swollen, and they burned like fire. What did I do? I poured
some water over them. As for your other suspicions, if I have a soft
white skin, it is only because I take care of myself. Besides, as
is usual with most men of my profession, I rarely wear anything but
slippers on my feet. This is so true that, on leaving Leipsic, I only
owned a single pair of boots, and that was an old cast-off pair given me
by M. Simpson."

Lecoq struck his chest. "Fool, imbecile, idiot, that I am!" he thought.
"He was waiting to be questioned about this circumstance. He is so
wonderfully shrewd that, when he saw me take the dust, he divined my
intentions; and since then he has managed to concoct this story--a
plausible story enough--and one that any jury would believe."

M. Segmuller was saying the same thing to himself. But he was not so
surprised nor so overcome by the skill the prisoner had displayed in
fencing with this point. "Let us continue," said he. "Do you still
persist in your statements, prisoner?"

"Yes."

"Very well; then I shall be forced to tell you that what you are saying
is untrue."

The prisoner's lips trembled visibly, and it was with difficulty that he
faltered: "May my first mouthful of bread strangle me, if I have uttered
a single falsehood!"

"A single falsehood! Wait."

The magistrate drew from the drawer of his desk the molds of the
footprints prepared by Lecoq, and showing them to the murderer, he
said: "You told me a few minutes ago that the two women were as tall
as grenadiers; now, just look at the footprints made by these female
giants. They were as 'dark as moles,' you said; a witness will tell
you that one of them was a small, delicate-featured blonde, with an
exceedingly sweet voice." He sought the prisoner's eyes, gazed steadily
into them, and added slowly: "And this witness is the driver whose cab
was hired in the Rue de Chevaleret by the two fugitives, both short,
fair-haired women."

This sentence fell like a thunderbolt upon the prisoner; he grew pale,
tottered, and leaned against the wall for support.

"Ah! you have told me the truth!" scornfully continued the pitiless
magistrate. "Then, who is this man who was waiting for you while you
were at the Poivriere? Who is this accomplice who, after you