“On my word, you are speaking in riddles.”

A bland smile passed over Lecoq’s face as, drawing a folded letter from his pocket, he answered,—­

“Perhaps you are acquainted with the handwriting of your daughter.  Well, then, listen to what she wrote not so very long ago to the very Paul who is sitting on the sofa there.

“’MY DEAREST PAUL,—­

“‘We should be guilty of the deepest ingratitude if——­’”

“Enough!  Enough!” cried the banker in a hoarse voice.  “Lost, lost, lost!  My own child has been my ruin!”

The calmest of the conspirators was now the one who was generally the first to take alarm, and this was the genial Doctor Hortebise.  When he recognized Lecoq, he had gently opened his locket and taken from it a small pellet of grayish-colored paste, and, holding it between his fingers, had waited until his leader should declare that all hope was gone.

In the meantime Lecoq turned towards Catenac.

“And you too are included in this warrant,” said he.

Catenac, perhaps owing to his legal training, made no reply to Lecoq, but addressing the commissary, observed,—­

“I am the victim of a most unpleasant mistake, but my position——­”

“The warrant is quite regular,” returned the commissary.  “You can see it if you desire.”

“No, it is not necessary.  I will only ask you to conduct me to the magistrate who issued it, and in five minutes all will be explained.”

“Do you think so?” asked Lecoq in a quiet tone of sarcasm.  “You have not heard, I can see, of what took place yesterday.  A laborer, in the course of his work, discovers the remains of a newly-born infant, wrapped in a silk handkerchief and a shawl.  The police soon set inquiries on foot, and have found the mother—­a girl named Clarisse.”

Had not Lecoq suddenly grasped Catenac’s arm, the lawyer would have flown at Martin Rigal’s throat.

“Villain, traitor!” panted he, “you have sold me!”

“My papers have been stolen,” faltered the banker.

He now saw that the blows struck upon the other side of the wall were merely a trick, for Lecoq had thought that a little preliminary fright would render them more amenable to reason.

Hortebise still looked on calmly; he knew that the game was lost.

“I belong to a respectable family,” thought he, “and I will not bring dishonor upon it.  I have no time to lose.”

As he spoke he placed the contents of the locket between his lips and swallowed them.

“Ah,” murmured he, as he did so, “with my constitution and digestion, it is really hard to end thus.”

No one had noticed the doctor’s movements, for Lecoq had moved the screen, and was showing the commissary a hole which had been made in the wall large enough for the body of a man to pass through.  But a sudden sound cut these investigations short, for Hortebise had fallen to the ground, and was struggling in a series of terrible convulsions.