“All this,” answered M. Domini, severely, “does not justify your delay.”

M. Lecoq glanced tenderly at the portrait.

“Monsieur the judge,” said he, “has only to inquire at the prefecture, and he will learn that I know my profession.  The great thing requisite, in order to make an effective search, is to remain unknown.  The police are not popular.  Now, if they knew who I was, and why I was here, I might go out, but nobody would tell me anything; I might ask questions—­they’d serve me a hundred lies; they would distrust me, and hold their tongues.”

“Quite true—­quite true,” murmured Plantat, coming to the support of the detective.

M. Lecoq went on: 

“So that when I was told that I was going into the country, I put on my country face and clothes.  I arrive here and everybody, on seeing me, says to himself, ’Here’s a curious bumpkin, but not a bad fellow.’  Then I slip about, listen, talk, make the rest talk!  I ask this question and that, and am answered frankly; I inform myself, gather hints, no one troubles himself about me.  These Orcival folks are positively charming; why, I’ve already made several friends, and am invited to dine this very evening.”

M. Domini did not like the police, and scarcely concealed it.  He rather submitted to their co-operation than accepted it, solely because he could not do without them.  While listening to M. Lecoq, he could not but approve of what he said; yet he looked at him with an eye by no means friendly.

“Since you know so much about the matter,” observed he, dryly, “we will proceed to examine the scene of the crime.”

“I am quite at Monsieur the judge’s orders,” returned the detective, laconically.  As everyone was getting up, he took the opportunity to offer M. Plantat his lozenge-box.

“Monsieur perhaps uses them?”

Plantat, unwilling to decline, appropriated a lozenge, and the detective’s face became again serene.  Public sympathy was necessary to him, as it is to all great comedians.

VI

M. Lecoq was the first to reach the staircase, and the spots of blood at once caught his eye.

“Oh,” cried he, at each spot he saw, “oh, oh, the wretches!”

M. Courtois was much moved to find, so much sensibility in a detective.  The latter, as he continued to ascend, went on: 

“The wretches!  They don’t often leave traces like this everywhere—­ or at least they wipe them out.”

On gaining the first landing, and the door of the boudoir which led into the chamber, he stopped, eagerly scanning, before he entered, the position of the rooms.

Then he entered the boudoir, saying: 

“Come; I don’t see my way clear yet.”

“But it seems to me,” remarked the judge, “that we have already important materials to aid your task.  It is clear that Guespin, if he is not an accomplice, at least knew something about the crime.”