But Father Absinthe’s confession was not ended.  Like most devotees, he had reserved the worst sin for the last.

“But that’s not all,” he resumed; “and as it’s best to make a clean breast of it, I will tell you that it seems to me this traitor talked about the affair at the Poivriere, and that I told him all we had discovered, and all we intended to do.”

Lecoq made such a threatening gesture that the old tippler drew back in consternation.  “You wretched man!” exclaimed the young detective, “to betray our plans to the enemy!”

But his calmness soon returned.  If at first sight the evil seemed to be beyond remedy, on further thought it had a good side after all.  It sufficed to dispel all the doubts that had assailed Lecoq’s mind after his visit to the Hotel de Mariembourg.

“However,” quoth our hero, “this is not the time for deliberation.  I am overcome with fatigue; take a mattress from the bed for yourself, my friend, and let us get a little sleep.”

Lecoq was a man of considerable forethought.  Hence, before going to bed he took good care to wind up his alarm so that it might wake him at six o’clock.  “With that to warn us,” he remarked to his companion, as he blew out the candle, “there need be no fear of our missing the coach.”

He had not, however, made allowance for his own extreme weariness or for the soporific effect of the alcoholic fumes with which his comrade’s breath was redolent.  When six o’clock struck at the church of St. Eustache, the young detective’s alarm resounded faithfully enough, with a loud and protracted whir.  Shrill and sonorous as was the sound, it failed, however, to break the heavy sleep of the two detectives.  They would indeed, in all probability, have continued slumbering for several hours longer, if at half-past seven a sturdy fist had not begun to rap loudly at the door.  With one bound Lecoq was out of bed, amazed at seeing the bright sunlight, and furious at the futility of his precautions.

“Come in!” he cried to his early visitor.  He had no enemies to fear, and could, without danger, sleep with his door unlocked.

In response to his call, Father Papillon’s shrewd face peered into the room.

“Ah! it is my worthy coachman!” exclaimed Lecoq.  “Is there anything new?”

“Excuse me, but it’s the old affair that brings me here,” replied our eccentric friend the cabman.  “You know—­the thirty francs those wretched women paid me.  Really, I shan’t sleep in peace till you have worked off the amount by using my vehicle.  Our drive yesterday lasted two hours and a half, which, according to the regular fare, would be worth a hundred sous; so you see I’ve still more than twelve hours at your disposal.”

“That is all nonsense, my friend!”

“Possibly, but I am responsible for it, and if you won’t use my cab, I’ve sworn to spend those twelve hours waiting outside your door.  So now make up your mind.”  He gazed at Lecoq beseechingly, and it was evident that a refusal would wound him keenly.