“In theory, certainly,” said the Judge, heartily.  “But oh! for some more positive proof of this change of character!  If we could only identify the corpse, prove clearly that it is not Quadling.  And still more, if we had not let this so-called Ripaldi slip through our fingers!  You will never find him, M. Flocon, never.”

The detective hung his head in guilty admission of this reproach.

“We may help you in both these difficulties, gentlemen,” said Sir Charles, pleasantly.  “My friend here, Colonel Papillon, can speak as to the man Quadling.  He knew him well in Rome, a year or two ago.”

“Please wait one moment only;” the detective touched a bell, and briefly ordered two fiacres to the door at once.

“That is right, M. Flocon,” said the Judge.  “We will all go to the Morgue.  The body is there by now.  You will not refuse your assistance, monsieur?”

“One moment.  As to the other matter, M. le General?” went on M. Flocon.  “Can you help us to find this miscreant, whoever he may be?”

“Yes.  The man who calls himself Ripaldi is to be found—­or, at least, you would have found him an hour or so ago—­at the Hotel Ivoire, Rue Bellechasse.  But time has been lost, I fear.”

“Nevertheless, we will send there.”

“The woman Hortense was also with him when last I heard of them.”

“How do you know?” began the detective, suspiciously.

“Psha!” interrupted the Judge; “that will keep.  This is the time for action, and we owe too much to the General to distrust him now.”

“Thank you; I am pleased to hear you say that,” went on Sir Charles.  “But if I have been of some service to you, perhaps you owe me a little in return.  That poor lady!  Think what she is suffering.  Surely, to oblige me, you will now set her free?”

“Indeed, monsieur, I fear—­I do not see how, consistently with my duty”—­protested the Judge.

“At least allow her to return to her hotel.  She can remain there at your disposal.  I will promise you that.”

“How can you answer for her?”

“She will do what I ask, I think, if I may send her just two or three lines.”

The Judge yielded, smiling at the General’s urgency, and shrewdly guessing what it implied.

Then the three departures from the Prefecture took place within a short time of each other.

A posse of police went to arrest Ripaldi; the Countess returned to the Hotel Madagascar; and the Judge’s party started for the Morgue,—­only a short journey,—­where they were presently received with every mark of respect and consideration.

The keeper, or officer in charge, was summoned, and came out bareheaded to the fiacre, bowing low before his distinguished visitors.

“Good morning, La Peche,” said M. Flocon in a sharp voice.  “We have come for an identification.  The body from the Lyons Station —­he of the murder in the sleeping-car—­is it yet arrived?”