“I say that if there is someone at the Hotel de Sairmeuse named Camille, I have the proof I desire.  Come, Papa Absinthe, let us hurry on.”

And without another word of explanation, he dragged his companion rapidly along.

When they reached the Rue de Crenelle, Lecoq saw a messenger leaning against the door of a wine-shop.  Lecoq called him.

“Come, my boy,” said he; “I wish you to go to the Hotel de Sairmeuse and ask for Camille.  Tell her that her uncle is waiting her here.”

“But, sir——­”

“What, you have not gone yet?”

The messenger departed; the two policemen entered the wine-shop, and Father Absinthe had scarcely had time to swallow a glass of brandy when the lad returned.

“Monsieur, I was unable to see Mademoiselle Camille.  The house is closed from top to bottom.  The duchess died very suddenly this morning.”

“Ah! the wretch!” exclaimed the young policeman.

Then, controlling himself, he mentally added: 

“He must have killed his wife on returning home, but his fate is sealed.  Now, I shall be allowed to continue my investigations.”

In less than twenty minutes they arrived at the Palais de Justice.

M. Segmuller did not seem to be immoderately surprised at Lecoq’s revelations.  Still he listened with evident doubt to the young policeman’s ingenious deductions; it was the circumstance of the starling that seemed to decide him.

“Perhaps you are right, my dear Lecoq,” he said, at last; “and to tell the truth, I quite agree with you.  But I can take no further action in the matter until you can furnish proof so convincing in its nature that the Duc de Sairmeuse will be unable to think of denying it.”

“Ah! sir, my superior officers will not allow me——­”

“On the contrary,” interrupted the judge, “they will allow you the fullest liberty after I have spoken to them.”

Such action on the part of M. Segmuller required not a little courage.  There had been so much laughter about M. Segmuller’s grand seigneur, disguised as a clown, that many men would have sacrificed their convictions to the fear of ridicule.

“And when will you speak to them?” inquired Lecoq, timidly.

“At once.”

The judge had already turned toward the door when the young policeman stopped him.

“I have one more favor to ask, Monsieur,” he said, entreatingly.  “You are so good; you are the first person who gave me any encouragement—­who had faith in me.”

“Speak, my brave fellow.”

“Ah!  Monsieur, will you not give me a message for Monsieur d’Escorval?  Any insignificant message—­inform him of the prisoner’s escape.  I will be the bearer of the message, and then—­Oh! fear nothing, Monsieur; I will be prudent.”

“Very well!” replied the judge.

When he left the office of his chief, Lecoq was fully authorized to proceed with his investigations, and in his pocket was a note for M. d’Escorval from M. Segmuller.  His joy was so intense that he did not deign to notice the sneers which were bestowed upon him as he passed through the corridors.  On the threshold his enemy Gevrol, the so-called general, was watching for him.