“I am convinced,” said he, “that a crime was committed on Monsieur Sauvresy with the dearly paid assistance of this Robelot.  To-morrow I shall give instructions to Doctor Gendron to proceed at once to an exhumation and autopsy of the late master of Valfeuillu.”

“And you may be sure that I shall find the poison,” chimed in the doctor.

“Very well,” resumed M. Domini.  “But does it necessarily follow that because Monsieur Tremorel poisoned his friend to marry his widow, he yesterday killed his wife and then fled?  I don’t think so.”

“Pardon me,” objected Lecoq, gently.  “It seems to me that Mademoiselle Courtois’s supposed suicide proves at least something.”

“That needs clearing up.  This coincidence can only be a matter of pure chance.”

“But I am sure that Monsieur Tremorel shaved himself—­of that we have proof; then, we did not find the boots which, according to the valet, he put on the morning of the murder.”

“Softly, softly,” interrupted the judge.  “I don’t pretend that you are absolutely wrong; it must be as you say; only I give you my objections.  Let us admit that Tremorel killed his wife, that he fled and is alive.  Does that clear Guespin, and show that he took no part in the murder?”

This was evidently the flaw in Lecoq’s case; but being convinced of Hector’s guilt, he had given little heed to the poor gardener, thinking that his innocence would appear of itself when the real criminal was arrested.  He was about to reply, when footsteps and voices were heard in the corridor.

“Stop,” said M. Domini.  “Doubtless we shall now hear something important about Guespin.”

“Are you expecting some new witness?” asked M. Plantat.

“No; I expect one of the Corbeil police to whom I have given an important mission.”

“Regarding Guespin?”

“Yes.  Very early this morning a young working-woman of the town, whom Guespin has been courting, brought me an excellent photograph of him.  I gave this portrait to the agent with instructions to go to the Vulcan’s Forges and ascertain if Guespin had been seen there, and whether he bought anything there night before last.”

M. Lecoq was inclined to be jealous; the judge’s proceeding ruffled him, and he could not conceal an expressive grimace.

“I am truly grieved,” said he, dryly, “that Monsieur the Judge has so little confidence in me that he thinks it necessary to give me assistance.”

This sensitiveness aroused M. Domini, who replied: 

“Eh! my dear man, you can’t be everywhere at once.  I think you very shrewd, but you were not here, and I was in a hurry.”

“A false step is often irreparable.”

“Make yourself easy; I’ve sent an intelligent man.”  At this moment the door opened, and the policeman referred to by the judge appeared on the threshold.  He was a muscular man about forty years old, with a military pose, a heavy mustache, and thick brows, meeting over the nose.  He had a sly rather than a shrewd expression, so that his appearance alone seemed to awake all sorts of suspicions and put one instinctively on his guard.