“Don’t swear to that.  There is a way.”

He was interrupted by the sudden entrance of his servant.

“Sir,” said the latter, “there is a gendarme below who brings you a man who has to be sent to the hospital at once.”

“Show them up,” said the doctor.

“And, while the servant was gone to do his bidding, the doctor said,—­

“And here is the way.  Now mind!”

A heavy step was heard shaking the stairs; and almost immediately a gendarme appeared, who in one hand held a violin, and with the other aided a poor creature, who seemed unable to walk alone.

“Goudar!” was on M. Folgat’s lips.

It was Goudar, really, but in what a state!  His clothes muddy, and torn, pale, with haggard eyes, his beard and his lips covered with a white foam.

“The story is this,” said the gendarme.  “This individual was playing the fiddle in the court of the barrack, and we were looking out of the window, when all of a sudden he fell on the ground, rolled about, twisted and writhed, while he uttered fearful howls, and foamed like a mad dog.  We picked him up; and I bring him to you.”

“Leave us alone with him,” said the physician.

The gendarme went out; and, as soon as the door was shut, Goudar cried with a voice full of intense disgust,—­

“What a profession!  Just look at me!  What a disgrace if my wife should see me in this state!  Phew!”

And, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his face, and drew from his mouth a small piece of soap.

“But the point is,” said the doctor, “that you have played the epileptic so well, that the gendarmes have been taken in.”

“A fine trick indeed, and very creditable.”

“An excellent trick, since you can now quite safely go to the hospital.  They will put you in the same ward with Cocoleu, and I shall come and see you every morning.  You are free to act now.”

“Never mind me,” said the detective.  “I have my plan.”

Then turning to M. Folgat, he added,—­

“I am a prisoner now; but I have taken my precautions.  The agent whom I have sent to England will report to you.  I have, besides, to ask a favor at your hands.  I have written to my wife to send her letters to you:  you can send them to me by the doctor.  And now I am ready to become Cocoleu’s companion, and I mean to earn the house in Vine Street.”

Dr. Seignebos signed an order of admission.  He recalled the gendarme; and, after having praised his kindness, he asked him to take “that poor devil” to the hospital.  When he was alone once more with M. Folgat, he said,—­

“Now, my dear friend, let us consult.  Shall we speak of what Martha has told us and of Goudar’s plan.  I think not; for M. Galpin is watching us; and, if a mere suspicion of what is going on reaches the prosecution, all is lost.  Let us content ourselves, then, with reporting to Jacques your interview with the countess; and as to the rest, Silence!”