Four o’clock was striking when Lecoq sprang from his bed on which he had thrown himself without undressing; and five minutes later he was walking down the Rue Montmartre.  The weather was still cold and muggy; and a thick fog hung over the city.  But the young detective was too engrossed with his own thoughts to pay attention to any atmospherical unpleasantness.  Walking with a brisk stride, he had just reached the church of Saint Eustache, when a coarse, mocking voice accosted him with the exclamation:  “Ah, ha! my fine fellow!”

He looked up and perceived Gevrol, who, with three of his men, had come to cast his nets round about the markets, whence the police generally return with a good haul of thieves and vagabonds.

“You are up very early this morning, Monsieur Lecoq,” continued the inspector; “you are still trying to discover our man’s identity, I suppose?”

“Still trying.”

“Is he a prince in disguise, or only a marquis?”

“One or the other, I am quite certain.”

“All right then.  In that case you will not refuse us the opportunity to drink to your success.”

Lecoq consented, and the party entered a wine-shop close by.  When the glasses were filled, Lecoq turned to Gevrol and exclaimed:  “Upon my word, General, our meeting will save me a long walk.  I was going to the prefecture to request you, on M. d’Escorval’s behalf, to send one of our comrades to the Morgue this morning.  The affair at the Poivriere has been noised about, and all the world will be there, so he desires some officer to be present to watch the crowd and listen to the remarks of the visitors.”

“All right; Father Absinthe shall be there when the doors open.”

To send Father Absinthe where a shrewd and subtle agent was required was a mockery.  Still Lecoq did not protest, for it was better to be badly served than to be betrayed; and he could at least trust Father Absinthe.

“It doesn’t much matter,” continued Gevrol; “but you should have informed me of this last evening.  However, when I reached the prefecture you had gone.”

“I had some work to do.”

“Yes?”

“At the station-house near the Barriere d’Italie.  I wanted to know whether the floor of the cell was paved or tiled.”  So saying, Lecoq paid the score, saluted his superior officer, and went out.

“Thunder!” exclaimed Gevrol, striking his glass violently upon the counter.  “Thunder! how that fellow provokes me!  He does not know the A B C of his profession.  When he can’t discover anything, he invents wonderful stories, and then misleads the magistrates with his high-sounding phrases, in the hope of gaining promotion.  I’ll give him advancement with a vengeance!  I’ll teach him to set himself above me!”