“You must be mistaken,” he eventually remarked, rising from his seat and summoning all his energy to his assistance.  “That man is not Couturier.”

“Oh, I’m not mistaken; you may be quite sure of that.  He fully answers the description appended to the circular ordering his capture, and even the little finger of his left hand is lacking, as is mentioned.”

“Ah! that’s a proof indeed!” groaned Father Absinthe.

“It is indeed.  And I know another one more conclusive still.  Couturier is an old acquaintance of mine.  I have had him in custody before; and he recognized me last night just as I recognized him.”

After this further argument was impossible; hence it was in an entirely different tone that Lecoq remarked:  “At least, my friend, you will allow me to address a few questions to your prisoner.”

“Oh! as many as you like.  But first of all, let us bar the door and place two of my men before it.  This Couturier has a fondness for the open air, and he wouldn’t hesitate to dash out our brains if he only saw a chance of escape.”

After taking these precautions, the man was removed from the cage in which he had been confined.  He stepped forward with a smile on his face, having already recovered that nonchalant manner common to old offenders who, when in custody, seem to lose all feeling of anger against the police.  They are not unlike those gamblers who, after losing their last halfpenny, nevertheless willingly shake hands with their adversary.

Couturier at once recognized Lecoq.  “Ah!” said he, “It was you who did that business last night.  You can boast of having a solid fist!  You fell upon me very unexpectedly; and the back of my neck is still the worse for your clutch.”

“Then, if I were to ask a favor of you, you wouldn’t be disposed to grant it?”

“Oh, yes! all the same.  I have no more malice in my composition than a chicken; and I rather like your face.  What do you want of me?”

“I should like to have some information about the man who accompanied you last night.”

Couturier’s face darkened.  “I am really unable to give you any,” he replied.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know him.  I never saw him before last night.”

“It’s hard to believe that.  A fellow doesn’t enlist the first-comer for an expedition like yours last evening.  Before undertaking such a job with a man, one finds out something about him.”

“I don’t say I haven’t been guilty of a stupid blunder,” replied Couturier.  “Indeed I could murder myself for it, but there was nothing about the man to make me suspect that he belonged to the secret-service.  He spread a net for me, and I jumped into it.  It was made for me, of course; but it wasn’t necessary for me to put my foot into it.”

“You are mistaken, my man,” said Lecoq.  “The individual in question didn’t belong to the police force.  I pledge you my word of honor, he didn’t.”