“Very well,” resumed the detective.  “The direction of the wound proves to me that the countess was in her chamber taking tea, seated, her body inclined a little forward, when she was murdered.  The assassin came up behind her with his arm raised; he chose his position coolly, and struck her with terrific force.  The violence of the blow was such that the victim fell forward, and in the fall, her forehead struck the end of the table; she thus gave herself the only fatal blow which we have discovered on the head.”

M. Gendron looked from one to the other of his companions, who exchanged significant glances.  Perhaps he suspected the game they were playing.

“The crime must evidently have been committed as you say,” said he.

There was another embarrassing silence.  M. Lecoq’s obstinate muteness annoyed Plantat, who finally asked him: 

“Have you seen all you want to see?”

“All for to-day; I shall need daylight for what remains.  I am confident, indeed, that with the exception of one detail that worries me, I have the key to the mystery.”

“We must be here, then, early to-morrow morning.”

“I will be here at any hour you will name.”

“Your search finished, we will go together to Monsieur Domini, at Corbeil.”

“I am quite at your orders.”

There was another pause.

M. Plantat perceived that M. Lecoq guessed his thoughts; and did not understand the detective’s capriciousness; a little while before, he had been very loquacious, but now held his tongue.  M. Lecoq, on the other hand, was delighted to puzzle the old man a little, and formed the intention to astonish him the next morning, by giving him a report which should faithfully reflect all his ideas.  Meanwhile he had taken out his lozenge-box, and was intrusting a hundred secrets to the portrait.

“Well,” said the doctor, “there remains nothing more to be done except to retire.”

“I was just going to ask permission to do so,” said M. Lecoq.  “I have been fasting ever since morning.”

M. Plantat now took a bold step.

“Shall you return to Paris to-night, Monsieur Lecoq?” asked he, abruptly.

“No; I came prepared to remain over-night; I’ve brought my night-gown, which I left, before coming up here, at the little roadside inn below.  I shall sup and sleep there.”

“You will be poorly off at the Faithful Grenadier,” said the old justice of the peace.  “You will do better to come and dine with me.”

“You are really too good, Monsieur—­”

“Besides, we have a good deal to say, and so you must remain the night with me; we will get your night-clothes as we pass along.”

M. Lecoq bowed, flattered and grateful for the invitation.

“And I shall carry you off, too, Doctor,” continued M. Plantat, “whether you will or not.  Now, don’t say no.  If you insist on going to Corbeil to-night, we will carry you over after supper.”