“The experiments promised, to be all the more conclusive as aconitine is one, of those drugs which conceal themselves most obstinately from analysis.  I proceed thus:  After heating the suspected substances in twice their weight of alcohol, I drop the liquid gently into a vase with edges a little elevated, at the bottom of which is a piece of paper on which I have placed my tests.  If my paper retains its color, there is no poison; if it changes, the poison is there.  In this case my paper was of a light yellow color, and if we were not mistaken, it ought either to become covered with brown spots, or completely brown.  I explained this experiment beforehand to the judge of instruction and the experts who were assisting me.  Ah, my friend, what a success I had!  When the first drops of alcohol fell, the paper at once became a dark brown; your suspicions are thus proved to be quite correct.  The substances which I submitted to the test were liberally saturated with aconitine.  I never obtained more decisive results in my laboratory.  I expect that my conclusions will be disputed in court; but I have means of verifying them, so that I shall surely confound all the chemists who oppose me.  I think, my dear friend, that you will not be indifferent to the satisfaction I feel—­”

M. Plantat lost patience.

“This is unheard-of!” cried he.  “Incredible!  Would you say, now, that this poison which he found in Sauvresy’s body was stolen from his own laboratory?  Why, that body is nothing more to him than ‘suspected matter!’ And he already imagines himself discussing the merits of his sensitive paper in court!”

“He has reason to look for antagonists in court.”

“And meanwhile he makes his experiments, and analyzes with the coolest blood in the world; he continues his abominable cooking, boiling and filtering, and preparing his arguments—!”

M. Lecoq did not share in his friend’s indignation; he was not sorry at the prospect of a bitter struggle in court, and he imagined a great scientific duel, like that between Orfila and Raspail, the provincial and Parisian chemists.

“If Tremorel has the face to deny his part in Sauvresy’s murder,” said he, “we shall have a superb trial of it.”

This word “trial” put an end to M. Plantat’s long hesitation.

“We mustn’t have any trial,” cried he.

The old man’s violence, from one who was usually so calm and self-possessed, seemed to amaze M. Lecoq.

“Ah ha,” thought he, “I’m going to know all.”  He added aloud: 

“What, no trial?”

M. Plantat had turned whiter than a sheet; he was trembling, and his voice was hoarse, as if broken by sobs.

“I would give my fortune,” resumed he “to avoid a trial—­every centime of it, though it doesn’t amount to much.  But how can we secure this wretch Tremorel from a conviction?  What subterfuge shall we invent?  You alone, my friend, can advise me in the frightful extremity to which you see me reduced, and aid me to accomplish what I wish.  If there is any way in the world, you will find it and save me—­”