The justice of the peace slowly ascended the narrow, ill-lighted staircase, which in its dark corners was almost dangerous.  He was thinking of the strange step he was about to take.  An idea had occurred to him, but he did not know whether it were practicable, and at all events he needed the aid and advice of the detective.  He was forced to disclose his most secret thoughts, as it were, to confess himself; and his heart beat fast.  The door opposite the staircase on the third story was not like other doors; it was of plain oak, thick, without mouldings, and fastened with iron bars.  It would have looked like a prison door had not its sombreness been lightened by a heavily colored engraving of a cock crowing, with the legend “Always Vigilant.”  Had the detective put his coat of arms up there?  Was it not more likely that one of his men had done it?  After examining the door more than a minute, and hesitating like a youth before his beloved’s gate, he rang the bell.  A creaking of locks responded, and through the narrow bars of the peephole he saw the hairy face of an old crone.

“What do you want?” said the woman, in a deep, bass voice.

“Monsieur Lecoq.”

“What do you want of him?”

“He made an appointment with me for this morning.”

“Your name and business?”

“Monsieur Plantat, justice of the peace at Orcival.”

“All right.  Wait.”

The peephole was closed and the old man waited.

“Peste!” growled he.  “Everybody can’t get in here, it seems.”  Hardly had this reflection passed through his mind when the door opened with a noise as of chains and locks.  He entered, and the old crone, after leading him through a dining-room whose sole furniture was a table and six chairs, introduced him to a large room, half toilet-room and half working-room, lighted by two windows looking on the court, and guarded by strong, close bars.

“If you will take the trouble to sit,” said the servant, “Monsieur Lecoq will soon be here; he is giving orders to one of his men.”

But M. Plantat did not take a seat; he preferred to examine the curious apartment in which he found himself.  The whole of one side of the wall was taken up with a long rack, where hung the strangest and most incongruous suits of clothes.  There were costumes belonging to all grades of society; and on some wooden pegs above, wigs of all colors were hanging; while boots and shoes of various styles were ranged on the floor.  A toilet-table, covered with powders, essences, and paints, stood between the fireplace and the window.  On the other side of the room was a bookcase full of scientific works, especially of physic and chemistry.  The most singular piece of furniture in the apartment, however, was a large ball, shaped like a lozenge, in black velvet, suspended beside the looking-glass.  A quantity of pins were stuck in this ball, so as to form the letters composing these two names:  Hector-Jenny.