“Good news!” said he in a big voice:  “I didn’t make the journey to Paris for the King of Prussia; we are right on the track of this rogue of a Guespin.”

M. Domini encouraged him with an approving gesture.

“See here, Goulard,” said he, “let us go on in order if we can.  You went then, according to my instructions, to the Vulcan’s Forges?”

“At once, Monsieur.”

“Precisely.  Had they seen the prisoner there?”

“Yes; on the evening of Wednesday, July 8th.”

“At what hour?”

“About ten o’clock, a few minutes before they shut up; so that he was remarked, and the more distinctly observed.”

The judge moved his lips as if to make an objection, but was stopped by a gesture from M. Lecoq.

“And who recognized the photograph?”

“Three of the clerks.  Guespin’s manner first attracted their attention.  It was strange, so they said, and they thought he was drunk, or at least tipsy.  Then their recollection was fixed by his talking very fast, saying that he was going to patronize them a great deal, and that if they would make a reduction in their prices he would procure for them the custom of an establishment whose confidence he possessed, the Gentil Jardinier, which bought a great many gardening tools.”

M. Domini interrupted the examination to consult some papers which lay before him on his desk.  It was, he found, the Gentil Jardinier which had procured Guespin his place in Tremorel’s household.  The judge remarked this aloud, and added: 

“The question of identity seems to be settled.  Guespin was undoubtedly at the Vulcan’s Forges on Wednesday night.”

“So much the better for him,” M. Lecoq could not help muttering.

The judge heard him, but though the remark seemed singular to him he did not notice it, and went on questioning the agent.

“Well, did they tell you what Guespin went there to obtain?”

“The clerks recollected it perfectly.  He first bought a hammer, a cold chisel, and a file.”

“I knew it,” exclaimed the judge.  “And then?”

“Then—­”

Here the man, ambitious to make a sensation among his hearers, rolled his eyes tragically, and in a dramatic tone, added: 

“Then he bought a dirk knife!”

The judge felt that he was triumphing over M. Lecoq.

“Well,” said he to the detective in his most ironical tone, “what do you think of your friend now?  What do you say to this honest and worthy young man, who, on the very night of the crime, leaves a wedding where he would have had a good time, to go and buy a hammer, a chisel, and a dirk—­everything, in short, used in the murder and the mutilation of the body?”

Dr. Gendron seemed a little disconcerted at this, but a sly smile overspread M. Plantat’s face.  As for M. Lecoq, he had the air of one who is shocked by objections which he knows he ought to annihilate by a word, and yet who is fain to be resigned to waste time in useless talk, which he might put to great profit.