“A communication! a communication!” he repeated, with a horrified air.

Quick as lightning, Lecoq picked up the missile.  “Ah,” murmured he, “I guessed that this man was in communication with his friends.”

The young detective’s evident delight changed the governor’s stupor into fury.  “Ah! my prisoners are writing!” he exclaimed, wild with passion.  “My warders are acting as postmen!  By my faith, this matter shall be looked into.”

So saying, he was about to rush to the door when Lecoq stopped him.  “What are you going to do, sir?” he asked.

“I am going to call all the employees of this prison together, and inform them that there is a traitor among them, and that I must know who he is, as I wish to make an example of him.  And if, in twenty-four hours from now, the culprit has not been discovered, every man connected with this prison shall be removed.”

Again he started to leave the room, and Lecoq, this time, had almost to use force to detain him.  “Be calm, sir; be calm,” he entreated.

“I will punish—­”

“Yes, yes—­I understand that—­but wait until you have regained your self-possession.  It is quite possible that the guilty party may be one of the prisoners who assist in the distribution of food every morning.”

“What does that matter?”

“Excuse me, but it matters a great deal.  If you noise this discovery abroad, we shall never discover the truth.  The traitor will not be fool enough to confess his guilt.  We must be silent and wait.  We will keep a close watch and detect the culprit in the very act.”

These objections were so sensible that the governor yielded.  “So be it,” he sighed, “I will try and be patient.  But let me see the missive that was enclosed in this bit of bread.”

Lecoq could not consent to this proposal.  “I warned M. Segmuller,” said he, “that there would probably be something new this morning; and he will be waiting for me in his office.  We must only examine the letter in his presence.”

This remark was so correct that the governor assented; and they at once started for the Palais de Justice.  On their way, Lecoq endeavored to convince his companion that it was wrong to deplore a circumstance which might be of incalculable benefit to the prosecution.  “It was an illusion,” said he, “to imagine that the governor of a prison could be more cunning than the prisoners entrusted to him.  A prisoner is almost always a match in ingenuity for his custodians.”

The young detective had not finished speaking when they reached the magistrate’s office.  Scarcely had Lecoq opened the door than M. Segmuller and his clerk rose from their seats.  They both read important intelligence in our hero’s troubled face.  “What is it?” eagerly asked the magistrate.  Lecoq’s sole response was to lay the pellet of bread upon M. Segmuller’s desk.  In an instant the magistrate had opened it, extracting from the centre a tiny slip of the thinnest tissue paper.  This he unfolded, and smoothed upon the palm of his hand.  As soon as he glanced at it, his brow contracted.  “Ah! this note is written in cipher,” he exclaimed, with a disappointed air.