“You are only a fool then.  She is short, isn’t she, quite pretty, brown and pale, with very large eyes?”

“You know her, then?” said Guespin, in a voice trembling with emotion.

“Yes, comrade, and if you want to know her name, to put in your prayers, she is called—­Jenny.”

Men who are really able in some specialty, whatever it may be, never uselessly abuse their superiority; their satisfaction at seeing it recognized is sufficient reward.  M. Lecoq softly enjoyed his triumph, while his hearers wondered at his perspicacity.  A rapid chain of reasoning had shown him not only Tremorel’s thoughts, but also the means he had employed to accomplish his purpose.

Guespin’s astonishment soon changed to anger.  He asked himself how this man could have been informed of things which he had every reason to believe were secret.  Lecoq continued: 

“Since I have told you the woman’s name, tell me now, how and why the count gave you a five-hundred-franc note.”

“It was just as I was going out.  The count had no change, and did not want to send me to Orcival for it.  I was to bring back the rest.”

“And why didn’t you rejoin your companions at the wedding in the Batignolles?”

No answer.

“What was the errand which you were to do for the count?”

Guespin hesitated.  His eyes wandered from one to another of those present, and he seemed to discover an ironical expression on all the faces.  It occurred to him that they were making sport of him, and had set a snare into which he had fallen.  A great despair took possession of him.

“Ah,” cried he, addressing M. Lecoq, “you have deceived me.  You have been lying so as to find out the truth.  I have been such a fool as to answer you, and you are going to turn it all against me.”

“What?  Are you going to talk nonsense again?”

“No, but I see just how it is, and you won’t catch me again!  Now I’d rather die than say a word.”

The detective tried to reassure him; but he added: 

“Besides, I’m as sly as you; I’ve told you nothing but lies.”

This sudden whim surprised no one.  Some prisoners intrench themselves behind a system of defence, and nothing can divert them from it; others vary with each new question, denying what they have just affirmed, and constantly inventing some new absurdity which anon they reject again.  M. Lecoq tried in vain to draw Guespin from his silence; M. Domini made the same attempt, and also failed; to all questions he only answered, “I don’t know.”

At last the detective waxed impatient.