Lecoq turned away his head; he did not wish them to read in his eyes how perfectly he understood the whole game.

“Seeing this,” pursued Gevrol, “I called two men and asked them to aid me in raising the poor devil.  We went up to him; he had apparently fallen asleep:  we shook him—­we made him sit up; we told him that he could not remain there, but he immediately flew into a furious rage.  He swore at us, threatened us, and began fighting us.  And, on my word, we had to take him to the station-house, and leave him there to recover from the effects of his drunken debauch.”

“Did you shut him up in the same cell with the murderer?” inquired Lecoq.

“Naturally.  You know very well that there are only two cages in the station-house at the barriere—­one for men and the other for women; consequently—­”

The commissary seemed thoughtful.  “Ah! that’s very unfortunate,” he stammered; “and there is no remedy.”

“Excuse me, there is one,” observed Gevrol, “I can send one of my men to the station-house with an order to detain the drunken man—­”

Lecoq interposed with a gesture:  “Trouble lost,” he said coldly.  “If this individual is an accomplice, he has got sober by now—­rest assured of that, and is already far away.”

“Then what is to be done?” asked the inspector, with an ironical air.  “May one be permitted to ask the advice of Monsieur Lecoq.”

“I think chance offered us a splendid opportunity, and we did not know how to seize it; and that the best thing we can do now is to give over mourning, and prepare to profit by the next opportunity that presents itself.”

Gevrol was, however, determined to send one of his men to the station-house; and it was not until the messenger had started that Lecoq commenced the reading of his report.  He read it rapidly, refraining as much as possible from placing the decisive proofs in strong relief, reserving these for his own benefit; but so strong was the logic of his deductions that he was frequently interrupted by approving remarks from the commissary and the two physicians.

Gevrol, who alone represented the opposition, shrugged his shoulders till they were well-nigh dislocated, and grew literally green with jealousy.

“I think that you alone, young man, have judged correctly in this affair,” said the commissary when Lecoq had finished reading.  “I may be mistaken; but your explanations have made me alter my opinion concerning the murderer’s attitude while I was questioning him (which was only for a moment).  He refused, obstinately refused, to answer my questions, and wouldn’t even give me his name.”

The commissary was silent for a moment, reviewing the past circumstances in his mind, and it was in a serious tone that he eventually added:  “We are, I feel convinced, in presence of one of those mysterious crimes the causes of which are beyond the reach of human sagacity—­this strikes me as being one of those enigmatical cases which human justice never can reach.”  Lecoq made no audible rejoinder; but he smiled to himself and thought:  “We will see about that.”