still
owns the Hotel de Mariembourg, and I will watch her."

"And what for, my boy?"

"What for? Why, to find my fugitive, to be sure!"

Had the young detective been less engrossed with his idea, he would have
detected a slight smile that curved Papa Tirauclair's thick lips.

"Ah, my son! is it possible that you don't suspect the real name of this
pretended buffoon?" inquired the oracle somewhat despondently.

Lecoq trembled and averted his face. He did not wish Tabaret to see his
eyes. "No," he replied, "I don't suspect--"

"You are uttering a falsehood!" interrupted the sick man. "You know as
well as I do, that May resides in the Rue de Grenelle-Saint-Germain, and
that he is known as the Duc de Sairmeuse."

On hearing these words, Father Absinthe indulged in a hearty laugh: "Ah!
that's a good joke!" he exclaimed. "Ah, ha!"

Such was not Lecoq's opinion, however. "Well, yes, Monsieur Tabaret,"
said he, "the idea did occur to me; but I drove it away."

"And why, if you please?"

"Because--because--"

"Because you would not believe in the logical sequence of your premises;
but I am consistent, and I say that it seems impossible the murderer
arrested in the Widow Chupin's drinking den should be the Duc de
Sairmeuse. Hence, the murderer arrested there, May, the pretended
buffoon, is the Duc de Sairmeuse!"

XXV

How this idea had entered old Tabaret's head, Lecoq could not
understand. A vague suspicion had, it is true, flitted through his own
mind; but it was in a moment of despair when he was distracted at having
lost May, and when certain of Couturier's remarks furnished the excuse
for any ridiculous supposition. And yet now Father Tirauclair calmly
proclaimed this suspicion--which Lecoq had not dared seriously to
entertain, even for an instant--to be an undoubted fact.

"You look as if you had suddenly fallen from the clouds," exclaimed the
oracle, noticing his visitor's amazement. "Do you suppose that I spoke
at random like a parrot?"

"No, certainly not, but--"

"Tush! You are surprised because you know nothing of contemporary
history. If you don't wish to remain all your life a common detective,
like your friend Gevrol, you must read, and make yourself familiar with
all the leading events of the century."

"I must confess that I don't see the connection."

M. Tabaret did not deign to reply. Turning to Father Absinthe, he
requested the old detective, in the most affable tones, to go to the