on his name favorably in Gevrol's
presence, the jealous inspector could scarcely control himself, and
retorted by denouncing an unfortunate mistake which this remarkable
man once made. Inclined to obstinacy, like all enthusiastic men, he
had indeed once effected the conviction of an innocent prisoner--a poor
little tailor, who was accused of killing his wife. This single error (a
grievous one no doubt), in a career of some duration, had the effect of
cooling his ardor perceptibly; and subsequently he seldom visited the
Prefecture. But yet he remained "the oracle," after the fashion of those
great advocates who, tired of practise at the bar, still win great
and glorious triumphs in their consulting rooms, lending to others the
weapons they no longer care to wield themselves.

When the authorities were undecided what course to pursue in some great
case, they invariably said: "Let us go and consult Tirauclair." For this
was the name by which he was most generally known: a sobriquet derived
from a phrase which was always on his lips. He was constantly saying:
"_Il faut que cela se tire au clair_: That must be brought to
light." Hence, the not altogether inappropriate appellation of "Pere
Tirauclair," or "Father Bring-to-Light."

Perhaps this sobriquet assisted him in keeping his occupation secret
from his friends among the general public. At all events they never
suspected them. His disturbed life when he was working up a case, the
strange visitors he received, his frequent and prolonged absences from
home, were all imputed to a very unreasonable inclination to gallantry.
His concierge was deceived as well as his friends, and laughing at his
supposed infatuation, disrespectfully called him an old libertine. It
was only the officials of the detective force who knew that Tirauclair
and Tabaret were one and the same person.

Lecoq was trying to gain hope and courage by reflecting on the career of
this eccentric man, when the buxom housekeeper reentered the library
and announced that the physician had left. At the same time she opened a
door and exclaimed: "This is the room; you gentlemen can enter now."

XXIII

On a large canopied bed, sweating and panting beneath the weight
of numerous blankets, lay the two-faced oracle--Tirauclair, of the
Prefecture--Tabaret, of the Rue Saint Lazare. It was impossible to
believe that the owner of such a face, in which a look of stupidity
was mingled with one of perpetual astonishm