“That’s for the dinner.”

M. Lecoq and the old justice went into the street, followed closely by Palot.  The detective was anxious above all to see for himself the house inhabited by Tremorel.  He saw at a glance that the interior must be as Palot had described.

“That’s it, undoubtedly,” said he to M. Plantat; “we’ve got the game in our hands.  Our chances at this moment are ninety to ten.”

“What are you going to do?” asked the justice, whose emotion increased as the decisive moment approached.

“Nothing, just yet, I must wait for night before I act.  As it is two hours yet before dark, let’s imitate my men; I know a restaurant just by here where you can dine capitally; we’ll patronize it.”

And without awaiting a reply, he led M. Plantat to a restaurant in the Passage du Havre.  But at the moment he was about to open the door, he stopped and made a signal.  Palot immediately appeared.

“I give you two hours to get yourself up so that the porter won’t recognize you, and to have some dinner.  You are an upholsterer’s apprentice.  Now clear out; I shall wait for you here.”

M. Lecoq was right when he said that a capital dinner was to be had in the Passage du Havre; unfortunately M. Plantat was not in a state to appreciate it.  As in the morning, he found it difficult to swallow anything, he was so anxious and depressed.  He longed to know the detective’s plans; but M. Lecoq remained impenetrable, answering all inquiries with: 

“Let me act, and trust me.”

M. Plantat’s confidence was indeed very great; but the more he reflected, the more perilous and difficult seemed the attempt to save Tremorel from a trial.  The most poignant doubts troubled and tortured his mind.  His own life was at stake; for he had sworn to himself that he would not survive the ruin of Laurence in being forced to confess in full court her dishonor and her love for Hector.

M. Lecoq tried hard to make his companion eat something, to take at least some soup and a glass of old Bordeaux; but he soon saw the uselessness of his efforts and went on with his dinner as if he were alone.  He was very thoughtful, but any uncertainty of the result of his plans never entered his head.  He drank much and often, and soon emptied his bottle of Leoville.  Night having now come on the waiters began to light the chandeliers, and the two friends found themselves almost alone.

“Isn’t it time to begin?” asked the old justice, timidly.

“We have still nearly an hour,” replied M. Lecoq, consulting his watch; “but I shall make my preparations now.”

He called a waiter, and ordered a cup of coffee and writing materials.

“You see,” said he, while they were waiting to be served, “we must try to get at Laurence without Tremorel’s knowing it.  We must have a ten minutes’ talk with her alone, and in the house.  That is a condition absolutely necessary to our success.”