Lecoq had not been deceived.  The evening before, he had visited the station-house where the prisoner had first been confined, and had compared the soil of the cell floor with the dust he had placed in his pocket; and he carried away with him, as he believed, one of those crushing proofs that often suffice to extort from the most obstinate criminal a complete confession.  If Lecoq was in haste to part company with Gevrol, it was because he was anxious to pursue his investigations still further, before appearing in M. d’Escorval’s presence.  He was determined to find the cab-driver who had been stopped by the two women in the Rue du Chevaleret; and with this object in view, he had obtained at the prefecture the names and addresses of all the cab-owners hiring between the road to Fontainebleau and the Seine.

His earlier efforts at investigation proved unsuccessful.  At the first establishment he visited, the stable boys, who were not yet up, swore at him roundly.  In the second, he found the grooms at work, but none of the drivers had as yet put in an appearance.  Moreover, the owner refused to show him the books upon which are recorded—­or should be recorded—­each driver’s daily engagements.  Lecoq was beginning to despair, when at about half-past seven o’clock he reached an establishment just beyond the fortifications belonging to a man named Trigault.  Here he learned that on Sunday night, or rather, early on Monday morning, one of the drivers had been accosted on his way home by some persons who succeeded in persuading him to drive them back into Paris.

This driver, who was then in the courtyard harnessing his horse, proved to be a little old man, with a ruddy complexion, and a pair of small eyes full of cunning.  Lecoq walked up to him at once.

“Was it you,” he asked, “who, on Sunday night or rather on Monday, between one and two in the morning, drove a couple of women from the Rue du Chevaleret into Paris?”

The driver looked up, and surveying Lecoq attentively, cautiously replied:  “Perhaps.”

“It is a positive answer that I want.”

“Aha!” said the old man sneeringly, “you know two ladies who have lost something in a cab, and so—­”

The young detective trembled with satisfaction.  This man was certainly the one he was looking for.  “Have you heard anything about a crime that has been committed in the neighborhood?” he interrupted.

“Yes; a murder in a low wine-shop.”

“Well, then, I will tell you that these two women are mixed up in it; they fled when we entered the place.  I am trying to find them.  I am a detective; here is my card.  Now, can you give me any information?”

The driver had grown very pale.  “Ah! the wretches!” he exclaimed.  “I am no longer surprised at the luck-money they gave me—­a louis and two five-franc pieces for the fare—­thirty francs in all.  Cursed money!  If I hadn’t spent it, I’d throw it away!”