“Why so, sir?  You will recollect the famous murder of the Chaboiseaus.  The police soon succeeded in capturing the guilty parties; but a robbery of a hundred and sixty thousand francs in bank-notes and coin had been committed at the same time, and this large sum of money couldn’t be found.  The murderers obstinately refused to say where they had concealed it; for, of course, it would prove a fortune for them, if they ever escaped the gallows.  In the mean while, however, the children of the victims were ruined.  Now, M. Patrigent, the magistrate who investigated the affair, was the first to convince the authorities that it would be best to set one of the murderers at liberty.  His advice was followed; and three days later the culprit was surprised unearthing the money from among a bed of mushrooms.  Now, I believe that our prisoner—­”

“Enough!” interrupted M. Segmuller.  “I wish to hear no more on the matter.  I have, it seems to me, forbidden you to broach the subject.”

The young detective hung his head with a hypocritical air of submission.  But all the while he watched the magistrate out of the corner of his eye and noted his agitation.  “I can afford to be silent,” he thought; “he will return to the subject of his own accord.”

And in fact M. Segmuller did return to it only a moment afterward.  “Suppose this man were released from prison,” said he, “what would you do?”

“What would I do, sir!  I would follow him like grim death; I would not once let him out of my sight; I would be his shadow.”

“And do you suppose he wouldn’t discover this surveillance?”

“I should take my precautions.”

“But he would recognize you at a single glance.”

“No, sir, he wouldn’t, for I should disguise myself.  A detective who can’t equal the most skilful actor in the matter of make-up is no better than an ordinary policeman.  I have only practised at it for a twelvemonth, but I can easily make myself look old or young, dark or light, or assume the manner of a man of the world, or of some frightful ruffian of the barrieres.”

“I wasn’t aware that you possessed this talent, Monsieur Lecoq.”

“Oh!  I’m very far from the perfection I hope to arrive at; though I may venture to say that in three days from now I could call on you and talk with you for half an hour without being recognized.”

M. Segmuller made no rejoinder; and it was evident to Lecoq that the magistrate had offered this objection rather in the hope of its being overruled, than with the wish to see it prevail.

“I think, my poor fellow,” he at length observed, “that you are strangely deceived.  We have both been equally anxious to penetrate the mystery that enshrouds this strange man.  We have both admired his wonderful acuteness—­for his sagacity is wonderful; so marvelous, indeed, that it exceeds the limits of imagination.  Do you believe that a man of his penetration would betray himself like an ordinary prisoner?  He will understand at once, if he is set at liberty, that his freedom is only given him so that we may surprise his secret.”