As he was passing through the room full of policemen, he met the man with gold spectacles, who had watched him so intently the day he was searched.

“Courage, M. Prosper Bertomy,” he said:  “if you are innocent, there are those who will help you.”

Prosper started with surprise, and was about to reply, when the man disappeared.

“Who is that gentleman?” he asked of the policeman.

“Is it possible that you don’t know him?” replied the policeman with surprise.  “Why, it is M. Lecoq, of the police service.”

“You say his name is Lecoq?”

“You might as well say ‘monsieur,’” said the offended policeman; “it would not burn your mouth.  M. Lecoq is a man who knows everything that he wants to know, without its ever being told to him.  If you had had him, instead of that smooth-tongued imbecile Fanferlot, your case would have been settled long ago.  Nobody is allowed to waste time when he has command.  But he seems to be a friend of yours.”

“I never saw him until the first day I came here.”

“You can’t swear to that, because no one can boast of knowing the real face of M. Lecoq.  It is one thing to-day, and another to-morrow; sometimes he is a dark man, sometimes a fair one, sometimes quite young, and then an octogenarian:  why, not seldom he even deceives me.  I begin to talk to a stranger, paf! the first thing I know, it is M. Lecoq!  Anybody on the face of the earth might be he.  If I were told that you were he, I should say, ‘It is very likely.’  Ah! he can convert himself into any shape and form he chooses.  He is a wonderful man!”

The constable would have continued forever his praises of M. Lecoq, had not the sight of the judge’s door put an end to them.

This time, Prosper was not kept waiting on the wooden bench:  the judge, on the contrary, was waiting for him.

M. Patrigent, who was a profound observer of human nature, had contrived the interview between M. Bertomy and his son.

He was sure that between the father, a man of such stubborn honor, and the son, accused of theft, an affecting scene would take place, and this scene would completely unman Prosper, and make him confess.

He determined to send for him as soon as the interview was over, while all his nerves were vibrating with terrible emotions:  he would tell the truth, to relieve his troubled, despairing mind.

His surprise was great to see the cashier’s bearing; resolute without obstinacy, firm and assured without defiance.

“Well,” he said, “have you reflected?”

“Not being guilty, monsieur, I had nothing to reflect upon.”

“Ah, I see the prison has not been a good counsellor; you forget that sincerity and repentance are the first things necessary to obtain the indulgence of the law.”

“I crave no indulgence, monsieur.”

M. Patrigent looked vexed, and said: 

“What would you say if I told you what had become of the three hundred and fifty thousand francs?”