But Robelot was too shrewd not to have already guessed that this cross-examination had a purpose.  What was M. Plantat after? he asked himself, not without a vague terror.  And, going over in his mind the questions which had been asked, and the answers he had given, and to what these questions led, he trembled.  He thought to escape further questioning by saying: 

“I am always at my old master’s orders when he needs me.”

“He’ll need you, be assured,” said M. Plantat, who added, in a careless tone, which his rapid glance at Robelot belied, “The interest attaching to this case will be intense, and the task difficult.  Monsieur Sauvresy’s body is to be disinterred.”

Robelot was certainly prepared for something strange, and he was armed with all his audacity.  But the name of Sauvresy fell upon his head like the stroke of a club, and he stammered, in a choked voice: 

“Sauvresy!”

M. Plantat had already turned his head, and continued in an indifferent tone: 

“Yes, Sauvresy is to be exhumed.  It is suspected that his death was not wholly a natural one.  You see, justice always has its suspicions.”

Robelot leaned against the wall so as not to fall.  M. Plantat proceeded: 

“So Doctor Gendron has been applied to.  He has, as you know, found reactive drugs which betray the presence of an alkaloid, whatever it may be, in the substances submitted to him for analysis.  He has spoken to me of a certain sensitive paper—­”

Appealing to all his energy, Robelot forced himself to stand up and resume a calm countenance.

“I know Doctor Gendron’s process,” said he, “but I don’t see who could be capable of the suspicions of which you speak.”

“I think there are more than suspicions,” resumed M. Plantat.  “Madame de Tremorel, you know, has been murdered:  her papers have, of course, been examined; letters have been found, with very damaging revelations, receipts, and so on.”

Robelot, apparently, was once more self-possessed; he forced himself to answer: 

“Bast! let us hope that justice is in the wrong.”

Then, such was this man’s self-control, despite a nervous trembling which shook his whole body as the wind does the leaves, that he added, constraining his thin lips to form a smile: 

“Madame Courtois does not come down; I am waited for at home, and will drop in again to-morrow.  Good-evening, gentlemen.”

He walked away, and soon the sand in the court was heard creaking with his steps.  As he went, he staggered like a drunken man.

M. Lecoq went up to M. Plantat, and taking off his hat: 

“I surrender,” said he, “and bow to you; you are great, like my master, the great Tabaret.”