Tabaret thought he recognized him in a man described to him by the porters at that station as rather young, dark, and with black whiskers, carrying an overcoat and an umbrella.

This person, who arrived by the train which left Paris for St. Germain at thirty-five minutes past eight in the evening, had appeared to be in a very great hurry.

On quitting the station, he had started off at a rapid pace on the road which led to Bougival.  Upon the way, two men from Marly and a woman from La Malmaison had noticed him on account of his rapid pace.  He smoked as he hurried along.

On crossing the bridge which joins the two banks of the Seine at Bougival, he had been still more noticed.

It is usual to pay a toll on crossing this bridge; and the supposed assassin had apparently forgotten this circumstance.  He passed without paying, keeping up his rapid pace, pressing his elbows to his side, husbanding his breath, and the gate-keeper was obliged to run after him for his toll.

He seemed greatly annoyed at the circumstance, threw the man a ten sou piece, and hurried on, without waiting for the nine sous change.

Nor was that all.

The station master at Rueil remembered, that, two minutes before the quarter past ten train came up, a passenger arrived very agitated, and so out of breath that he could scarcely ask for a second class ticket for Paris.

The appearance of this man corresponded exactly with the description given of him by the porters at Chatou, and by the gatekeeper at the bridge.

Finally, the old man thought he was on the track of some one who entered the same carriage as the breathless passenger.  He had been told of a baker living at Asnieres, and he had written to him, asking him to call at his house.

Such was old Tabaret’s information, when on the Monday morning he called at the Palais de Justice, in order to find out if the record of Widow Lerouge’s past life had been received.  He found that nothing had arrived, but in the passage he met Gevrol and his man.

The chief of detectives was triumphant, and showed it too.  As soon as he saw Tabaret, he called out, “Well, my illustrious mare’s-nest hunter, what news?  Have you had any more scoundrels guillotined since the other day?  Ah, you old rogue, you want to oust me from my place I can see!”

The old man was sadly changed.

The consciousness of his mistake made him humble and meek.  These pleasantries, which a few days before would have made him angry, now did not touch him.  Instead of retaliating, he bowed his head in such a penitent manner that Gevrol was astonished.

“Jeer at me, my good M. Gevrol,” he replied, “mock me without pity; you are right, I deserve it all.”

“Ah, come now,” said the chief, “have you then performed some new masterpiece, you impetuous old fellow?”

Old Tabaret shook his head sadly.