“Perhaps,” said M. Daburon, aloud, “it will suffice to issue a search-warrant, and a summons for the appearance of the accused.”

“Then all is lost!” cried old Tabaret.

“And why, pray?”

“Because we are opposed by a criminal of marked ability.  A most providential accident has placed us upon his track.  If we give him time to breathe, he will escape.”

The only answer was an inclination of the head, which M. Daburon may have intended for a sign of assent.

“It is evident,” continued the old fellow, “that our adversary has foreseen everything, absolutely everything, even the possibility of suspicion attaching to one in his high position.  Oh! his precautions are all taken.  If you are satisfied with demanding his appearance, he is saved.  He will appear before you as tranquilly as your clerk, as unconcerned as if he came to arrange the preliminaries of a duel.  He will present you with a magnificent alibi, an alibi that can not be gainsayed.  He will show you that he passed the evening and the night of Tuesday with personages of the highest rank.  In short, his little machine will be so cleverly constructed, so nicely arranged, all its little wheels will play so well, that there will be nothing left for you but to open the door and usher him out with the most humble apologies.  The only means of securing conviction is to surprise the miscreant by a rapidity against which it is impossible he can be on his guard.  Fall upon him like a thunder-clap, arrest him as he wakes, drag him hither while yet pale with astonishment, and interrogate him at once.  Ah!  I wish I were an investigating magistrate.”

Old Tabaret stopped short, frightened at the idea that he had been wanting in respect; but M. Daburon showed no sign of being offended.

“Proceed,” said he, in a tone of encouragement, “proceed.”

“Suppose, then,” continued the detective, “I am the investigating magistrate.  I cause my man to be arrested, and, twenty minutes later, he is standing before me.  I do not amuse myself by putting questions to him, more or less subtle.  No, I go straight to the mark.  I overwhelm him at once by the weight of my certainty, prove to him so clearly that I know everything, that he must surrender, seeing no chance of escape.  I should say to him, ’My good man, you bring me an alibi; it is very well; but I am acquainted with that system of defence.  It will not do with me.  I know all about the clocks that don’t keep proper time, and all the people who never lost sight of you.  In the meantime, this is what you did.  At twenty minutes past eight, you slipped away adroitly; at thirty-five minutes past eight, you took the train at the St Lazare station; at nine o’clock, you alighted at the station at Rueil, and took the road to La Jonchere; at a quarter past nine, you knocked at the window-shutter of Widow Lerouge’s cottage.  You were admitted.  You asked for something to