To kill time, he sent for Guespin and Bertaud and questioned them anew, but learned nothing more than he had extracted from them the night before.  One of the prisoners swore by all things sacred that he knew nothing except what he had already told; the other preserved an obstinate and ferocious silence, confining himself to the remark:  “I know that I am lost; do with me what you please.”

M. Domini was just going to send a mounted gendarme to Orcival to find out the cause of the delay, when those whom he awaited were announced.  He quickly gave the order to admit them, and so keen was his curiosity, despite what he called his dignity, that he got up and went forward to meet them.

“How late you are!” said he.

“And yet we haven’t lost a minute,” replied M. Plantat.  “We haven’t even been in bed.”

“There is news, then?  Has the count’s body been found?”

“There is much news, Monsieur,” said M. Lecoq.  “But the count’s body has not been found, and I dare even say that it will not be found—­for the very simple fact that he has not been killed.  The reason is that he was not one of the victims, as at first supposed, but the assassin.”

At this distinct declaration on M. Lecoq’s part, the judge started in his seat.

“Why, this is folly!” cried he.

M. Lecoq never smiled in a magistrate’s presence.  “I do not think so,” said he, coolly; “I am persuaded that if Monsieur Domini will grant me his attention for half an hour I will have the honor of persuading him to share my opinion.”

M. Domini’s slight shrug of the shoulders did not escape the detective, but he calmly continued: 

“More; I am sure that Monsieur Domini will not permit me to leave his cabinet without a warrant to arrest Count Hector de Tremorel, whom at present he thinks to be dead.”

“Possibly,” said M. Domini.  “Proceed.”

M. Lecoq then rapidly detailed the facts gathered by himself and M. Plantat from the beginning of the inquest.  He narrated them not as if he had guessed or been told of them, but in their order of time and in such a manner that each new incident which, he mentioned followed naturally from the preceding one.  He had completely resumed his character of a retired haberdasher, with a little piping voice, and such obsequious expressions as, “I have the honor,” and “If Monsieur the Judge will deign to permit me;” he resorted to the candy-box with the portrait, and, as the night before at Valfeuillu, chewed a lozenge when he came to the more striking points.  M. Domini’s surprise increased every minute as he proceeded; while at times, exclamations of astonishment passed his lips:  “Is it possible?” “That is hard to believe!”

M. Lecoq finished his recital; he tranquilly munched a lozenge, and added: 

“What does Monsieur the Judge of Instruction think now?”

M. Domini was fain to confess that he was almost satisfied.  A man, however, never permits an opinion deliberately and carefully formed to be refuted by one whom he looks on as an inferior, without a secret chagrin.  But in this case the evidence was too abundant, and too positive to be resisted.