oon! At times I could scarcely restrain my admiration. What is a
famous comedian beside that fellow? The greatest actors need the adjunct
of stage scenery to support the illusion, whereas this man, entirely
unaided, almost convinced me even against my reason."

"Do you know what your very appropriate criticism proves?" inquired the
magistrate.

"I am listening, sir."

"Ah, well! I have arrived at this conclusion--either this man is really
May, the stroller, earning his living by paying compliments, as he
says--or else he belongs to the highest rank of society, and not to the
middle classes. It is only in the lowest or in the highest ranks that
you encounter such grim energy as he has displayed, such scorn of life,
as well as such remarkable presence of mind and resolution. A vulgar
tradesman attracted to the Poivriere by some shameful passion would have
confessed it long ago."

"But, sir, this man is surely not the buffoon, May," replied the young
detective.

"No, certainly not," responded M. Segmuller; "we must, therefore, decide
upon some plan of action." He smiled kindly, and added, in a friendly
voice: "It was unnecessary to tell you that, Monsieur Lecoq. Quite
unnecessary, since to you belongs the honor of having detected this
fraud. As for myself, I confess, that if I had not been warned in
advance, I should have been the dupe of this clever artist's talent."

The young detective bowed; a blush of modesty tinged his cheeks, but a
gleam of pleased vanity sparkled in his eyes. What a difference between
this friendly, benevolent magistrate and M. d'Escorval, so taciturn and
haughty. This man, at least, understood, appreciated, and encouraged
him; and it was with a common theory and an equal ardor that they were
about to devote themselves to a search for the truth. Scarcely had Lecoq
allowed these thoughts to flit across his mind than he reflected that
his satisfaction was, after all, a trifle premature, and that success
was still extremely doubtful. With this chilling conclusion, presence
of mind returned. Turning toward the magistrate, he exclaimed: "You will
recollect, sir, that the Widow Chupin mentioned a son of hers, a certain
Polyte--"

"Yes."

"Why not question him? He must know all the frequenters of the
Poivriere, and might perhaps give us valuable information regarding
Gustave, Lacheneur, and the murderer himself. As he is not in solitary
confinement, he has probably heard of his mother's arrest;