have known of it--and so--"

"You are dreaming," interrupted Tabaret. "Why with his wife and his
valet de chambre for accomplices, the duke could absent himself for a
year if he liked, and yet all his servants would believe him to be in
the house."

"I admit that," said Lecoq, at last; "but unfortunately, there is one
circumstance which completely upsets the theory we have built up so
laboriously."

"And what is that if you please?"

"If the man who took part in the broil at the Poivriere had been the Duc
de Sairmeuse, he would have disclosed his name--he would have declared
that, having been attacked, he had only defended himself--and his name
alone would have opened the prison doors. Instead of that, what did the
prisoner do? He attempted to kill himself. Would a grand seigneur, like
the Duc de Sairmeuse, to whom life must be a perpetual enchantment, have
thought of committing suicide?"

A mocking whistle from the old Tabaret interrupted the speaker. "You
seem to have forgotten the last sentence in his biography: 'M. Sairmeuse
leaves behind him ill-will and hatred.' Do you know the price he might
have been compelled to pay for his liberty! No--no more do I. To explain
his presence at the Poivriere, and the presence of a woman, who was
perhaps his wife, who knows what disgraceful secrets he would have
been obliged to reveal? Between shame and suicide, he chose suicide. He
wished to save his name and honor intact."

Old Tirauclair spoke with such vehemence that even Father Absinthe was
deeply impressed, although, to tell the truth, he had understood but
little of the conversation.

As for Lecoq, he rose very pale, his lips trembling a little. "You will
excuse my hypocrisy, Monsieur Tabaret," he said in an agitated voice.
"I only offered these last objections for form's sake. I had thought of
what you now say, but I distrusted myself, and I wanted to hear you say
it yourself." Then with an imperious gesture, he added: "Now, I know
what I have to do."

Old Tabaret raised his hands toward heaven with every sign of intense
dismay. "Unhappy man!" he exclaimed; "do you think of going to arrest
the Duc de Sairmeuse! Poor Lecoq! Free, this man is almost omnipotent,
and you, an infinitesimal agent of police, would be shattered as easily
as glass. Take care, my boy, don't attack the duke. I wouldn't be
responsible for the consequences. You might imperil your life."

The young detective shook his head. "Oh! I don't dece