“Paris is a large place,” observed the old justice.

M. Lecoq smiled loftily.

“Perhaps so; but it is mine.  All Paris is under the eye of the police, just as an ant is under that of the naturalist with his microscope.  How is it, you may ask, that Paris still holds so many professional rogues?  Ah, that is because we are hampered by legal forms.  The law compels us to use only polite weapons against those to whom all weapons are serviceable.  The courts tie our hands.  The rogues are clever, but be sure that our cleverness is much greater than theirs.”

“But,” interrupted M. Plantat, “Tremorel is now outside the law; we have the warrant.”

“What matters it?  Does the warrant give me the right to search any house in which I may have reason to suppose he is hiding himself?  No.  If I should go to the house of one of Hector’s old friends he would kick me out of doors.  You must know that in France the police have to contend not only with the rogues, but also with the honest people.”

M. Lecoq always waxed warm on this subject; he felt a strong resentment against the injustice practised on his profession.  Fortunately, at the moment when he was most excited, the black ball suddenly caught his eye.

“The devil!” exclaimed he, “I was forgetting Hector.”

M. Plantat, though listening patiently to his companion’s indignant utterances, could not help thinking of the murderer.

“You said that we must look for Tremorel in Paris,” he remarked.

“And I said truly,” responded M. Lecoq in a calmer tone.  “I have come to the conclusion that here, perhaps within two streets of us, perhaps in the next house, the fugitives are hid.  But let’s go on with our calculation of probabilities.  Hector knows Paris too well to hope to conceal himself even for a week in a hotel or lodging-house; he knows these are too sharply watched by the police.  He had plenty of time before him, and so arranged to hire apartments in some convenient house.”

“He came to Paris three or four times some weeks ago.”

“Then there’s no longer any doubt about it.  He hired some apartments under a false name, paid in advance, and to-day he is comfortably ensconced in his new residence.”

M. Plantat seemed to feel extremely distressed at this.

“I know it only too well, Monsieur Lecoq,” said he, sadly.  “You must be right.  But is not the wretch thus securely hidden from us?  Must we wait till some accident reveals him to us?  Can you search one by one all the houses in Paris?”

The detective’s nose wriggled under his gold spectacles, and the justice of the peace, who observed it, and took it for a good sign, felt all his hopes reviving in him.

“I’ve cudgelled my brain in vain—­” he began.

“Pardon me,” interrupted M. Lecoq.  “Having hired apartments, Tremorel naturally set about furnishing them.”