Such was, at this moment, the situation of May, the mysterious murderer; as both M. Segmuller and Lecoq were forced to admit, with mingled grief and anger.  They had hoped to arrive at a solution of the problem by examining Polyte Chupin and his wife, and they had been disappointed; for the prisoner’s identity remained as problematical as ever.

“And yet,” exclaimed the magistrate impatiently, “these people know something about this matter, and if they would only speak—­”

“But they won’t.”

“What motive is it that keeps them silent?  This is what we must discover.  Who will tell us the price that has been promised Polyte Chupin for his silence?  What recompense can he count upon?  It must be a great one, for he is braving real danger!”

Lecoq did not immediately reply to the magistrate’s successive queries, but it was easy to see from his knit brows that his mind was hard at work.  “You ask me, sir,” he eventually remarked, “what reward has been promised Chupin?  I ask on my part who can have promised him this reward?”

“Who has promised it?  Why, plainly the accomplice who has beaten us on every point.”

“Yes,” rejoined Lecoq, “I suppose it must have been he.  It certainly looks like his handiwork—­now, what artifice can he have used?  We know how he managed to have an interview with the Widow Chupin, but how has he succeeded in getting at Polyte, who is in prison, closely watched?”

The young detective’s insinuation, vague as it was, did not escape M. Segmuller.  “What do you mean?” asked the latter, with an air of mingled surprise and indignation.  “You can’t suppose that one of the keepers has been bribed?”

Lecoq shook his head, in a somewhat equivocal manner.  “I mean nothing,” he replied, “I don’t suspect any one.  All I want is information.  Has Chupin been forewarned or not?”

“Yes, of course he has.”

“Then if that point is admitted it can only be explained in two ways.  Either there are informers in the prison, or else Chupin has been allowed to see some visitor.”

These suppositions evidently worried M. Segmuller, who for a moment seemed to hesitate between the two opinions; then, suddenly making up his mind, he rose from his chair, took up his hat, and said:  “This matter must be cleared up.  Come with me, Monsieur Lecoq.”

A couple of minutes later, the magistrate and the detective had reached the Depot, which is connected with the Palais de Justice by a narrow passage, especially reserved for official use.  The prisoners’ morning rations had just been served to them, and the governor was walking up and down the courtyard, in the company of Inspector Gevrol.  As soon as he perceived M. Segmuller he hastened toward him and asked if he had not come about the prisoner May.

As the magistrate nodded assent, the governor at once added:  “Well I was only just now telling Inspector Gevrol that I was very well satisfied with May’s behavior.  It has not only been quite unnecessary to place him in the strait-waistcoat again, but his mood seems to have changed entirely.  He eats with a good appetite; he is as gay as a lark, and he constantly laughs and jests with his keeper.”