and when, next day, Mme. de Combray enquired the cause of all this hubbub, she was easily induced to believe that Lefebre had been arrested at Falaise and imprisoned during the night.  An hour later the concierge, with a great show of secrecy, gave the Marquise a note written by Licquet, in which “Lefebre” informed her of his arrest, and said that he had disguised his writing as an act of prudence.  The stratagem was entirely successful.  Mme. de Combray answered, and her letter was immediately given to Licquet, who, awaiting some definite information, was astonished to find himself confronted with a fresh mystery.  “Let me know,” said the Marquise, “how the horse went back; that no one saw it anywhere.”

What horse?  What answer should he give?  If Lefebre had been really in prison, it would have been possible to give a sensible reply, but without his help how could Licquet avoid awakening her suspicions as to the personality of her correspondent?  In the role of the lawyer he wrote a few lines, avoiding any mention of the horse, and asking how the examinations went off.  To this the Marquise replied:  “The prefect and a bad fellow examined us.  But you do not tell me if the horse has been sent back, and by whom.  If they asked me, what should I say?”

The “bad fellow” was Licquet himself, and he knew it; but this time he must answer.  Hoping that chance would favour him, he adopted an expedient to gain time.  He let Mme. de Combray hear that Lefebre had fainted during an examination, and was not in a condition to write.  But she did not slacken her correspondence, and wrote several letters daily to the lawyer, which greatly increased Licquet’s perplexity: 

“Tell me what has become of my yellow horse.  The police are still at Tournebut; now if they hear about the horse—­you can guess the rest.  Be smart enough to say that you sold it at the fair at Rouen.  Little Licquet is sharp and clever, but he often lies.  My only worry is the horse; they will soon have the clue.  My hand trembles; can you read this?  If I hear anything about the horse I will let you know at once, but just now I know nothing.  Don’t worry about the saddle and bridle.  They were sent to Deslorieres, who told me he had received them.”

This yellow horse assumed gigantic proportions in Licquet’s imagination; it haunted him day and night, and galloped through all his nightmares.  A fresh search at Tournebut proved that the stables contained only a small donkey and four horses, instead of the usual five, and the peasants said that the missing beast was “reddish, inclining to yellow.”  As the detective sent Real all of Mme. de Combray’s letters in his daily budget, they were just as much agitated in Paris over this mysterious animal, whose discovery was, as the Marquise said, the clue to the whole affair.  Whom had this horse drawn or carried?  One of the Bourbon princes, perhaps?  D’Ache?  Mme. Acquet, whom they were vainly seeking throughout Normandy?  Licquet was obliged to confess to his chiefs that he did not know to what occurrence the story of the horse referred.  He felt that the weight attached by Mme. de Combray to its return, increased the importance of knowing what it had been used for.  “This is the main point,” he said; “the horse, the saddle and bridle must be found.”