“Oh, Monsieur Lecoq, it is one of your tricks, you know.  My porter accepted my invitation, and we soon got to be the best friends in the world over some wine in a shop just across the street from the house.  We were having a jolly talk together when, all of a sudden, I leaned over as if I had just espied something on the floor, and picked up—­the photograph, which I had dropped and soiled a little with my foot.  ‘What,’ cried I, ‘a portrait?’ My new friend took it, looked at it, and didn’t seem to recognize it.  Then, to be certain, I said, ’He’s a very good-looking fellow, ain’t he now?  Your master must be some such a man.’  But he said no, that the photograph was of a man who was bearded, while his master was as clean-faced as an abbe.  ‘Besides,’ he added, ’my master is an American; he gives us our orders in French, but Madame and he always talk English together.’”

M. Lecoq’s eye glistened as Palot proceeded.

“Tremorel speaks English, doesn’t he?” asked he of M. Plantat.

“Quite well; and Laurence too.”

“If that is so, we are on the right track, for we know that Tremorel shaved his beard off on the night of the murder.  We can go on—­”

Palot meanwhile seemed a little uneasy at not receiving the praise he expected.

“My lad,” said M. Lecoq, turning to him, “I think you have done admirably, and a good reward shall prove it to you.  Being ignorant of what we know, your conclusions were perfectly right.  But let’s go to the house at once; have you got a plan of the ground-floor?”

“Yes, and also of the first floor above.  The porter was not dumb, and so he gave me a good deal of information about his master and mistress, though he has only been there two days.  The lady is dreadfully melancholy, and cries all the time.”

“We know it; the plan—­”

“Below, there is a large and high paved arch for the carriages to pass through; on the other side is a good-sized courtyard, at the end of which are the stable and carriage-house.  The porter’s lodge is on the left of the arch; on the right a glass door opens on a staircase with six steps, which conducts to a vestibule into which the drawing-room, dining-room, and two other little rooms open.  The chambers are on the first floor, a study, a—­”

“Enough,” M. Lecoq said, “my plan is made.”

And rising abruptly, he opened the door, and followed by M. Plantat and Palot, went into the large room.  All the men rose at his approach as before.

“Monsieur Job,” said the detective, “listen attentively to what I have to say.  As soon as I am gone, pay up what you owe here, and then, as I must have you all within reach, go and install yourselves in the first wine-shop on the right as you go up the Rue d’Amsterdam.  Take your dinner there, for you will have time—­but soberly, you understand.”

He took two napoleons out of his pocket and placed them on the table, adding: