whose language they are ignorant; they attract attention at once, are observed, talked about, followed.  They do not make a purchase which is not remarked; they cannot make any movement without exciting curiosity.  The further they go the greater their danger.  If they choose to cross the ocean and go to free America, they must go aboard a vessel; and the moment they do that they may be considered as good as lost.  You might bet twenty to one they would find, on landing on the other side, a detective on the pier armed with a warrant to arrest them.  I would engage to find a Frenchman in eight days, even in London, unless he spoke pure enough English to pass for a citizen of the United Kingdom.  Such were Tremorel’s reflections.  He recollected a thousand futile attempts, a hundred surprising adventures, narrated by the papers; and it is certain that he gave up the idea of going abroad.”

“It’s clear,” cried M. Plantat, “perfectly plain and precise.  We must look for the fugitives in France.”

“Yes,” replied M. Lecoq.  “Now let’s find out where and how people can hide themselves in France.  Would it be in the provinces?  Evidently not.  In Bordeaux, one of our largest cities, people stare at a man who is not a Bordelais.  The shopkeepers on the quays say to their neighbors:  ‘Eh! do you know that man?’ There are two cities, however, where a man may pass unnoticed—­Marseilles and Lyons; but both of these are distant, and to reach them a long journey must be risked—­and nothing is so dangerous as the railway since the telegraph was established.  One can fly quickly, it’s true; but on entering a railway carriage a man shuts himself in, and until he gets out of it he remains under the thumb of the police.  Tremorel knows all this as well as we do.  We will put all the large towns, including Lyons and Marseilles, out of the question.”

“In short, it’s impossible to hide in the provinces.”

“Excuse me—­there is one means; that is, simply to buy a modest little place at a distance from towns and railways, and to go and reside on it under a false name.  But this excellent project is quite above Tremorel’s capacity, and requires preparatory steps which he could not risk, watched as he was by his wife.  The field of investigation is thus much narrowed.  Putting aside foreign parts, the provinces, the cities, the country, Paris remains.  It is in Paris that we must look for Tremorel.”

M. Lecoq spoke with the certainty and positiveness of a mathematical professor; the old justice of the peace listened, as do the professor’s scholars.  But he was already accustomed to the detective’s surprising clearness, and was no longer astonished.  During the four-and-twenty hours that he had been witnessing M. Lecoq’s calculations and gropings, he had seized the process and almost appropriated it to himself.  He found this method of reasoning very simple, and could now explain to himself certain exploits of the police which had hitherto seemed to him miraculous.  But M. Lecoq’s “narrow field” of observation appeared still immense.