ttle boy furnished a striking contrast. He was pale and puny; his
eyes gleamed with a phosphorescent brilliancy; and his hair was of a
faded flaxen tint. One little circumstance attracted both detectives'
attention. If the mother was attired in an old, thin, faded calico
dress, the child was warmly clad in stout woolen material.

"Madame, you have doubtless heard of a dreadful crime, committed in your
mother-in-law's establishment," began Lecoq in a soft voice.

"Alas! yes, sir," replied Toinon the Virtuous, quickly adding: "But my
husband could not have been implicated in it, since he is in prison."

Did not this objection, forestalling, as it were, suspicion, betray the
most horrible apprehensions?

"Yes, I am aware of that," replied Lecoq. "Polyte was arrested a
fortnight ago--"

"Yes, and very unjustly, sir," replied the neglected wife. "He was led
astray by his companions, wicked, desperate men. He is so weak when he
has taken a glass of wine that they can do whatever they like with him.
If he were only left to himself he would not harm a child. You have only
to look at him--"

As she spoke, the virtuous Toinon turned her red and swollen eyes to
a miserable photograph hanging against the wall. This blotchy smudge
portrayed an exceedingly ugly, dissipated-looking young man, afflicted
with a terrible squint, and whose repulsive mouth was partially
concealed by a faint mustache. This rake of the barrieres was Polyte
Chupin. And yet despite his unprepossessing aspect there was no
mistaking the fact that this unfortunate woman loved him--had always
loved him; besides, he was her husband.

A moment's silence followed her indication of the portrait--an act which
clearly revealed how deeply she worshiped her persecutor; and during
this pause the attic door slowly and softly opened. Not of itself,
however, for suddenly a man's head peered in. The intruder, whoever he
was, instantly withdrew, uttering as he did so a low exclamation. The
door was swiftly closed again; the key--which had been left on the
outside--grated in the lock, and the occupants of the garret could hear
hurried steps descending the stairs.

Lecoq was sitting with his back to the door, and could not, therefore,
see the intruder's face. Quickly as he had turned, he had failed to see
who it was: and yet he was far from being surprised at the incident.
Intuition explained its meaning.

"That must have been the accomplice!" he cried.

Thanks to his