prove his
guilt. The longer investigation is delayed the more difficult it becomes
to adduce conclusive evidence.

In the present instance there were various matters that M. Segmuller
might at once attend to. With which should he begin? Ought he not to
confront May, the Widow Chupin, and Polyte with the bodies of their
victims? Such horrible meetings have at times the most momentous
results, and more than one murderer when unsuspectedly brought into the
presence of his victim's lifeless corpse has changed color and lost his
assurance.

Then there were other witnesses whom M. Segmuller might examine.
Papillon, the cab-driver; the concierge of the house in the Rue de
Bourgogne--where the two women flying from the Poivriere had momentarily
taken refuge; as well as a certain Madame Milner, landlady of the Hotel
de Mariembourg. In addition, it would also be advisable to summon, with
the least possible delay, some of the people residing in the vicinity of
the Poivriere; together with some of Polyte's habitual companions, and
the landlord of the Rainbow, where the victims and the murderer had
apparently passed the evening of the crime. Of course, there was no
reason to expect any great revelations from any of these witnesses,
still they might know something, they might have an opinion to express,
and in the present darkness one single ray of light, however faint,
might mean salvation.

Obeying the magistrate's orders, Goguet, the smiling clerk, had just
finished drawing up at least a dozen summonses, when Lecoq returned from
the Prefecture. M. Segmuller at once asked him the result of his errand.

"Ah, sir," replied the young detective, "I have a fresh proof of that
mysterious accomplice's skill. The permit that was used yesterday to see
young Chupin was in the name of his mother's sister, a woman named
Rose Pitard. A visiting card was given her more than a week ago, in
compliance with a request indorsed by the commissary of police of her
district."

The magistrate's surprise was so intense that it imparted to his face
an almost ludicrous expression. "Is this aunt also in the plot?" he
murmured.

"I don't think so," replied Lecoq, shaking his head. "At all events, it
wasn't she who went to the prison parlor yesterday. The clerks at the
Prefecture remember the widow's sister very well, and gave me a full
description of her. She's a woman over five feet high, with a very dark
complexion; and very wrinkled and weatherbeat