Unable to explain the cause of his comrade’s absence, Lecoq addressed himself to the head keeper:  “It would seem that no one has recognized the victims,” he remarked.

“No one.  And yet, ever since opening, we have had an immense crowd.  If I were master here, on days like this, I would charge an admission fee of two sous a head, with half-price for children.  It would bring in a round sum, more than enough to cover the expenses.”

The keeper’s reply seemed to offer an inducement to conversation, but Lecoq did not seize it.  “Excuse me,” he interrupted, “didn’t a detective come here this morning?”

“Yes, there was one here.”

“Has he gone away then?  I don’t see him anywhere?”

The keeper glanced suspiciously at his eager questioner, but after a moment’s hesitation, he ventured to inquire:  “Are you one of them?”

“Yes, I am,” replied Lecoq, exhibiting his card in support of his assertion.

“And your name?”

“Is Lecoq.”

The keeper’s face brightened up.  “In that case,” said he, “I have a letter for you, written by your comrade, who was obliged to go away.  Here it is.”

The young detective at once tore open the envelope and read:  “Monsieur Lecoq—­”

“Monsieur?” This simple formula of politeness brought a faint smile to his lips.  Was it not, on Father Absinthe’s part, an evident recognition of his colleague’s superiority.  Indeed, our hero accepted it as a token of unquestioning devotion which it would be his duty to repay with a master’s kind protection toward his first disciple.  However, he had no time to waste in thought, and accordingly at once proceeded to peruse the note, which ran as follows: 

“Monsieur Lecoq—­I had been standing on duty since the opening of the Morgue, when at about nine o’clock three young men entered, arm-in-arm.  From their manner and appearance, I judged them to be clerks in some store or warehouse.  Suddenly I noticed that one of them turned as white as his shirt; and calling the attention of his companions to one of the unknown victims, he whispered:  ‘Gustave!’

“His comrades put their hands over his mouth, and one of them exclaimed:  ’What are you about, you fool, to mix yourself up with this affair!  Do you want to get us into trouble?’

“Thereupon they went out, and I followed them.  But the person who had first spoken was so overcome that he could scarcely drag himself along; and his companions were obliged to take him to a little restaurant close by.  I entered it myself, and it is there I write this letter, in the mean time watching them out of the corner of my eye.  I send this note, explaining my absence, to the head keeper, who will give it you.  You will understand that I am going to follow these men.  A. B. S.”

The handwriting of this letter was almost illegible; and there were mistakes in spelling in well-nigh every line; still, its meaning was clear and exact, and could not fail to excite the most flattering hopes.