As if the Marquise were enjoying the confusion into which the mention of this phantom beast threw her persecutor, she continued to scribble on scraps of paper which the concierge was told to take to the lawyer, who never received them.

“There is one great difficulty; the yellow horse is wanted.  I shall send a safe and intelligent man to the place where it is, to tell the people to have it killed twelve leagues away and skinned at once.  Send me in writing the road he must take, and the people to whom he must apply, so as to be able to do it without asking anything.  He is strong and able to do fifteen leagues a day.  Send me an answer.”

Mme. de Combray had applied to the woman Delaitre for this “safe and intelligent man,” and the latter had, at Licquet’s instance, offered the services of her husband, an honest royalist, who in reality did not exist, but was to be personated by a man whom Licquet had ready to send in search of the horse as soon as its whereabouts should be determined.  Lefebre refused to answer this question for the same reason that he had refused to answer others, and the detective was obliged to confess his perplexity to Real.  “There is no longer any trouble in intercepting the prisoner’s letters; the difficulty of sending replies increases each day.  You must give me absolution, Monsieur, for all the sins that this affair has caused me to commit; for the rest, all is fair in love and war, and surely we are at war with these people.”  To which Real replied:  “I cannot believe that the horse only served for Mme. Acquet’s flight; they would not advise the strange precaution of taking it twelve leagues away, killing, and skinning it on the spot.  These anxieties show the existence of some grave offence, for which the horse was employed, and which its discovery will disclose.  You must find out the history of this animal; how long Mme. de Combray has had it, and who owned it before.”  In vain Licquet protested that he had exhausted his supply of inventions and ruses; the invariable reply was, “Find the yellow horse!”

He cursed his own zeal; but an unexpected event renewed his confidence and energy.  Lefebre, who was arrested early in September, had just been thrown into the Conciergerie at Rouen.  This new card, if well played, would set everything right.  It was easy to induce Mme. de Combray to write another letter insisting once more on knowing “the exact address of the horse,” and the lawyer at last answered unsuspectingly, “With Lanoe at Glatigny, near Bretteville-sur-Dives.”

With Lanoe!  Why had Licquet never guessed it!  This name, indeed, so often mentioned in the declarations of the prisoners, had made no impression on him.  Mme. Acquet was hidden there without doubt, and he triumphantly sent off an express to Real announcing the good news, and sent two sharp men to Glatigny at the same time.  They left Rouen on September 15th, and time lagged for Licquet while awaiting their